Credits

The classroom discipline was abysmal, the teaching style perfunctory. The young couple behind Song Ya were already embracing, yet the white male teacher at the front continued to drone on about Dickinson's poetry as if he saw nothing. The moment the bell rang, he stuffed his bag and vanished, showing no desire to linger.

"Hoo..."

Song Ya let out a helpless sigh. This body's English grades were already terrible, and his soul as a Chinese person provided no bonus to that. Reading was fine, but writing and public speaking were his weak points. It was a pity this teacher wasn't very reliable, though, of course, he couldn't blame him. It wasn't that the teacher didn't want to manage the class, but that he didn't dare.

The teacher might not be teaching well, but Song Ya couldn't afford to slack off. He had studied the situation carefully; no matter how he looked at it, he couldn't bypass the high-weighted English credits. Even if there were no conditions, he had to create them to force his way through. "I'll go to the library after lunch to borrow some books for self-study. So annoying, I still have to go play that damn basketball after school. What does a transmigrator who wants to become a top student lack most? Time!"

He dawdled in his seat for a while, and only when the classroom was mostly empty did Song Ya get up to head to the cafeteria. He had tentatively decided on a strategy to deal with bullying: become a "nobody." Hmm... he still needed to go have a word with that overly enthusiastic math teacher later; he had to stop her from attracting more hatred toward him!

Doing his best to lower his presence, he flowed with the crowd into the school cafeteria at a steady pace. This was the most disciplined place in the entire school. The vice principal stood guard at the entrance to supervise the line, PE teachers took turns patrolling the floor, security guards manned every exit, the lunch ladies stood ready, and the four walls were plastered with posters of an old Black man, with a striking line of large text underneath: 27 Years! A Delayed Victory!

Under the "smiling gaze" of the old man, Song Ya polished off a burger with meat, a scoop of mashed potatoes, a serving of boiled broccoli and carrots in white sauce, and a large carbonated drink in no time. He then dodged the teacher's gaze and "flew" his tray into the return bin. USA middle schools ended early, so the lunch break wasn't very generous. He rushed to the library without stopping, borrowed a collection of speeches by Franklin Roosevelt, and then sprinted to the teacher's office to subtly express his desire to "keep a low profile" to the math teacher.

The math teacher was an elegant elderly Black woman. Since Song Ya's math grades had soared, she found everything about him pleasing. She smiled and said, "Here's a suggestion: if you can pass my ninth-grade foundation course exam, I'll transfer you to the Advanced Math Class. How about that?"

"Advanced Class?" Song Ya was stunned.

"Advanced Class!"

Under the old lady's patient explanation, he learned that besides the annual foundation courses, USA middle schools also offered advanced courses—or Honors Courses—for elite students with extra capacity. Not only was the difficulty significantly higher, but they also came with more credits.

"Okay, I'll do my best!" Hearing there were credits involved, Song Ya perked up. It was just an exam, after all; that was his specialty!

He excitedly said goodbye to the math teacher, only to bump into the music teacher at the door.

This middle-aged white woman with a sharp, short haircut was not as easy to talk to. While the school's academic performance was mediocre, its arts and sports programs were quite strong. The orchestra and Choir under her leadership were well-known far and wide, so her standards were naturally very demanding. "Alexander, right? Last week, your trumpet had several obvious errors during rehearsal!"

Song Ya immediately wilted. There were gains and losses; this body originally had excellent musical and athletic talent, especially in music, where he was the lead trumpet for the school orchestra. Unfortunately, ever since Song Ya transmigrated, while his math grades went up, his musical sense and physical coordination had all gone downhill.

"I'll... next time..."

Just as he was planning to brush it off, "There will be no next time!" the music teacher barked sternly. "The public performance date is near, and I cannot take risks. Don't play the trumpet in the next joint rehearsal; go hit the iron instead!"

"Hit what?"

"The Triangle!"

"Alright..." Song Ya wiped away some sweat. "Hitting... hitting the iron should also earn credits, right?"

"If you make another mistake, you won't get any!"

"O-okay..."

As long as he could keep his credits, this little blow was nothing. Song Ya finished his afternoon classes diligently and met up with Tony, who was already waiting outside, at three o'clock sharp. The two of them went off-campus and got into the Toyota 86... model Eagle SUV belonging to Tony's best friend, nicknamed Silencer.

"What's wrong?"

Once he got into the backseat, Song Ya noticed that the two of them were in a foul mood.

Silencer started the car, turned his head from the driver's seat, pointed to the spot next to Song Ya, and then made a throat-slitting gesture.

Piled messily on the back seat next to him were some dirty jerseys, protective gear, and two footballs.

"What does that mean? Did you two get... by the Football Team?" Song Ya understood what Silencer's gesture implied.

Silencer nodded again, and Song Ya noticed the faint glimmer of tears in his eyes...

Tony and Silencer were both starters on the school Football Team. Tony was on the defensive unit, and Silencer was a running back on the offensive unit. Song Ya had even watched them play a scrimmage last week.

In the USA, whether in high school or college, football players could walk around school like they owned the place. Quarterbacks or star players were even more like celebrities, changing girls as they pleased. If they were cut from the team, it would indeed be a massive blow to both of them. However, come to think of it, Tony and Silencer were already in the twelfth grade, graduation was imminent, and considering the turnover of old and new players...

"Don't mention it. Why does someone call you APLUS?"

Before Song Ya could weigh his words of comfort, Tony wiped his face hard with his hand and took the initiative to change the subject.

"Uh..."

There were classmates of Song Ya's on the Football Team; Tony must have gotten the news from them. "It's nothing, just that I got an A+ on my last math exam, so..."

Before he could finish, the two people in the front, who had been wearing bitter expressions, suddenly had their faces contorted. Silencer, who was named for his extreme silence and introversion, turned back and shrieked, "A+?! You?!"

"W-what's wrong?" Song Ya felt a bit guilty.

"Hahaha!" The two of them burst into laughter.

"There's nothing funny about that, is there?"

"This is hilarious, APLUS, hahaha..." Tony laughed until he was doubled over. "This is very funny."

Regardless, this little interlude managed to dilute the gloom and fog from earlier. The three of them laughed and joked around. Silencer casually turned on the car radio, and he and Tony began to sway their bodies to the Black rap music playing.

Is chanting a thing in this era already... a thought flashed through Song Ya's mind.