though she knows she’s lying through her teeth, she continues, “Your smile doesn’t melt me. Your eyes don’t make me think of Ambrosia Truffles. Your body doesn’t belong in a museum,” she finishes grumbling.
“Me thinks the lady protests too much,” Truman says. When Genny doesn’t reply, he adds, “Ambrosia Truffles? Really?”
“I didn’t come up with that one myself.” She overheard girls in the locker room, ascribing a different kind of chocolate to each of his best attributes. That one stuck because it’s close to reality. He seems immortal. And godlike.
Genny rolls her eyes, disgusted with herself. “Please,” she says, “like you’ve never looked at yourself in the mirror.”
“Just to shave. Pull a comb through my hair,” he admits.
The bell rings, cutting through his words, and Genny turns and looks toward the front of the class. Cooke is placing a transparency on the overhead. Quiz. Ten questions in ten minutes. And not multiple choice.
“Write your answers in complete sentences,” Cooke reminds them. “Any sentence that starts with the word ‘because’ is not a true sentence and, therefore, will not be read.”
Genny opens her notebook to a clean page and scribbles her name in the top, right-hand corner. She watches Truman do the same.
Cooke snaps on the overhead, their signal to begin, then addresses Truman,
“You won’t need to take the test, Mr. Lennox.” A frown presses his lips together. “I placed a desk in the row nearest the windows for you.” He waves a hand toward the seat now occupied by a girl with blond hair. An uncertain smile opens her face and the pink bands of her braces peek out.
Truman doesn’t move. “I’m comfortable here, sir,” he explains, and then says, “Thank you,” like it’s a done deal.
Genny watches all of this go down and doesn’t refocus on the quiz until Truman angles his head slightly toward her and whispers, “Stonewall Jackson.”
Genny’s brain is definitely on ice. It must show in her expression because Truman taps his finger on her paper and repeats the answer.
“Five minutes,” Cooke announces and Genny jumps in her seat. Ugh. She cannot fail another history quiz. She scribbles Truman’s answer without even reading the question, then moves onto number two, which asks for a date. She knows this one and writes it out. Three and four are easy, too. Five she has to guess. Number six she leaves blank and the rest she knows but doesn’t have enough time to write out a complete sentence for number ten. She passes her quiz up, wondering if Cooke will give her half a point for the effort. Probably not.
“Eighty percent,” Truman says. “That’s a B.”
“What?”
“Your quiz. You missed numbers six and ten.”
“You read my answers?”
“Yes.”
Cooke hangs a topographical map on the board. It shows natural land forms that influenced the progress of the civil war.
“Your job,” he explains, “is to identify at least four ways in which natural land forms impacted both the confederate and union armies. Two pages. Type it up tonight. Hand it in tomorrow.”
Genny sinks in her seat. Her favorite class is science. She’s studying human anatomy this semester because she knows she’ll need it if she majors in sports psychology. Of course, she could be swayed into giving up college altogether and sailing around the world for a few years. But it would break
“Me thinks the lady protests too much,” Truman says. When Genny doesn’t reply, he adds, “Ambrosia Truffles? Really?”
“I didn’t come up with that one myself.” She overheard girls in the locker room, ascribing a different kind of chocolate to each of his best attributes. That one stuck because it’s close to reality. He seems immortal. And godlike.
Genny rolls her eyes, disgusted with herself. “Please,” she says, “like you’ve never looked at yourself in the mirror.”
“Just to shave. Pull a comb through my hair,” he admits.
The bell rings, cutting through his words, and Genny turns and looks toward the front of the class. Cooke is placing a transparency on the overhead. Quiz. Ten questions in ten minutes. And not multiple choice.
“Write your answers in complete sentences,” Cooke reminds them. “Any sentence that starts with the word ‘because’ is not a true sentence and, therefore, will not be read.”
Genny opens her notebook to a clean page and scribbles her name in the top, right-hand corner. She watches Truman do the same.
Cooke snaps on the overhead, their signal to begin, then addresses Truman,
“You won’t need to take the test, Mr. Lennox.” A frown presses his lips together. “I placed a desk in the row nearest the windows for you.” He waves a hand toward the seat now occupied by a girl with blond hair. An uncertain smile opens her face and the pink bands of her braces peek out.
Truman doesn’t move. “I’m comfortable here, sir,” he explains, and then says, “Thank you,” like it’s a done deal.
Genny watches all of this go down and doesn’t refocus on the quiz until Truman angles his head slightly toward her and whispers, “Stonewall Jackson.”
Genny’s brain is definitely on ice. It must show in her expression because Truman taps his finger on her paper and repeats the answer.
“Five minutes,” Cooke announces and Genny jumps in her seat. Ugh. She cannot fail another history quiz. She scribbles Truman’s answer without even reading the question, then moves onto number two, which asks for a date. She knows this one and writes it out. Three and four are easy, too. Five she has to guess. Number six she leaves blank and the rest she knows but doesn’t have enough time to write out a complete sentence for number ten. She passes her quiz up, wondering if Cooke will give her half a point for the effort. Probably not.
“Eighty percent,” Truman says. “That’s a B.”
“What?”
“Your quiz. You missed numbers six and ten.”
“You read my answers?”
“Yes.”
Cooke hangs a topographical map on the board. It shows natural land forms that influenced the progress of the civil war.
“Your job,” he explains, “is to identify at least four ways in which natural land forms impacted both the confederate and union armies. Two pages. Type it up tonight. Hand it in tomorrow.”
Genny sinks in her seat. Her favorite class is science. She’s studying human anatomy this semester because she knows she’ll need it if she majors in sports psychology. Of course, she could be swayed into giving up college altogether and sailing around the world for a few years. But it would break
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