Classroom discipline was terrible, and the teaching was perfunctory. The young couple behind Song Ya were already making out, yet the white male teacher at the front kept reciting Dickinson's poems as if he saw nothing. The moment the bell rang, he grabbed his bag and bolted without a backward glance.
"Phew..."
Song Ya let out a helpless sigh. This body's English grades had always been poor, and his Chinese soul didn't give him much of an advantage. Reading wasn't a problem, but writing and public speaking were weak points. Unfortunately, this teacher wasn't very reliable. Of course, he couldn't really blame him. It wasn't that he didn't want to keep the class in line; he just didn't dare.
The teacher might not be doing his job, but Song Ya couldn't afford to slack off. He'd looked into it carefully: there was no way around English, a high-weight subject, if he wanted to earn credits. If he had no opportunity, he'd have to make one and tackle it anyway. I'll borrow some books from the library after lunch and study at home. What a pain. I still have to play that damn basketball after school. What does a transmigrator hoping to become a top student need most? Time!
He dawdled at his seat for a while, then got up and headed for the cafeteria once most of the class had left. He'd tentatively settled on a plan to deal with the bullying: become "invisible." Hmm... He'd also have to talk to that overenthusiastic math teacher later. Stop drawing so much hostility my way!
Doing his best to keep a low profile, he joined the crowd streaming into the school cafeteria at an unhurried pace. This was the most disciplined place in the whole school. The vice principal stood at the entrance to supervise the lines, PE teachers took turns patrolling inside, security guards watched every exit, and the lunch ladies stood ready for action. Posters of a Black old man covered all four walls, with a large slogan beneath them: "27 YEARS! A VICTORY AT LAST!"
Under the old man's "smiling gaze," Song Ya quickly polished off a hamburger with a meat patty, a scoop of mashed potatoes, boiled broccoli and carrots in white sauce, and a large cup of soda. Then he dodged the teachers' eyes and "flew" his tray into the return bin. American middle schools let out early, so lunch break wasn't very long. He raced to the library and checked out a collection of Franklin Roosevelt's speeches, then sprinted to the teachers' office, where he tactfully asked the math teacher if she could help him "keep a low profile."
The math teacher was an elegant older Black woman. Ever since Song Ya's math scores had made a dramatic leap, she'd taken a great liking to him. Smiling, she said, "Here's a suggestion. If you can pass my ninth-grade fundamentals exam, I'll move you into the Advanced Math Class. How does that sound?"
"Advanced class?" Song Ya was stunned.
"Advanced class!"
After the woman patiently explained, he learned that American middle schools offered advanced courses, also known as Honors Courses, to gifted students who had room in their schedules, in addition to the standard courses everyone took each year. They were much harder, but came with more credits.
"Sure, I'll do my best!" The mention of credits put Song Ya in high spirits. It was just a test, after all. Tests were his thing!
He cheerfully said goodbye to the math teacher, only to bump straight into the music teacher at the door.
The white, middle-aged woman with a neat short haircut was not so easy to deal with. The school wasn't strong academically, but its arts and sports programs were excellent. The Orchestra and choir under her direction were well known throughout the area, so she was naturally very demanding. "Alexander, right? Last week, you made several obvious mistakes on the trumpet during rehearsal!"
Song Ya wilted at once. You gained some things and lost others. This body had been quite talented in music and sports, especially music. He'd been a star trumpet player in the school Orchestra. Unfortunately, ever since Song Ya had transmigrated, his math scores had improved, but his sense of rhythm, physical coordination, and the like had all gone to pieces.
"I'll do better next time..."
He was planning to bluff his way through it when the music teacher cut him off sternly. "There won't be a next time! The public performance is coming up. I can't take that risk. At the next full rehearsal, you're not playing trumpet. You can lift weights instead!"
"Lift what?"
"The Triangle!"
"Okay..." Song Ya wiped the sweat from his brow. "L-lifting weights still earns credits, right?"
"Make another mistake and you won't get any!"
"R-right..."
As long as he kept his credits, this setback was nothing. Song Ya paid attention through the afternoon classes, then met Tony at three sharp. The two of them headed off campus and climbed into the Toyota 86...-model Eagle SUV belonging to Tony's best friend Mute, nicknamed "Silencer."
"What's wrong?"
Only after getting into the back seat did Song Ya realize that the two of them seemed down.
"Silencer" started the car, turned around from the driver's seat, pointed beside Song Ya, then made a throat-slitting gesture.
The back seat beside him was a mess of dirty jerseys and pads, along with two footballs.
"What does that mean? You two got cut from the team..." Song Ya understood what "Silencer" was implying with the gesture.
"Silencer" nodded again. Song Ya noticed a faint glimmer of tears in his eyes...
Tony and "Silencer" were both starters on the school football team. Tony played defense, while "Silencer" was a running back on offense. Song Ya had watched them play in a practice game the week before.
In American high schools and colleges alike, football players could throw their weight around on campus. Quarterbacks and star players were especially popular, with girls coming and going at their beck and call. Getting cut from the team would certainly be a major blow to the two of them. Then again, they were both seniors, with graduation just around the corner. Given the usual turnover between graduating players and the next generation...
"Forget about that. Why are people calling you APLUS?"
Song Ya hadn't yet worked out what to say to comfort them when Tony roughly wiped his face with his hand and changed the subject.
"Uh..."
There were some of Song Ya's classmates on the football team, so Tony had probably heard the news from them. "It's nothing. I just got an A+ on the last math test, so..."
Before he could finish, the two men in the front, who had been looking miserable, suddenly contorted with laughter. "Silencer," whose nickname came from his extreme quietness and shyness, turned around and exclaimed, "A+?! You?!"
"W-what's wrong?" Song Ya asked, feeling a little guilty.
"Hahaha!" The two of them burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?"
"It's hilarious, APLUS! Hahaha..." Tony was laughing so hard he doubled over. "It's really hilarious."
Whatever the reason, the little exchange lifted the gloom from earlier. The three of them joked around, and "Silencer" casually turned on the car radio. He and Tony started swaying to the hip-hop music playing through the speakers.
Rap already sounded like chanting back then? A sarcastic thought drifted through Song Ya's mind.
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