Good Old Boys

13 - A Gauntlet Is Thrown

Will stood there both grateful and alarmed. Grateful in that he wasn't going to be crushed in the rush to get to class and alarmed that there seemed to be more secret passageways in these late 19th century school buildings than in a medieval castle. Normally, he'd take the time to explore – the stairs went down as well.

It took him a good minute to sprint up to the 4th floor. The stairs also continued upwards, presumably to the roof. As he exited, it was clear he'd beaten most of the freshmen to the punch, as the halls were clear. It was a short-lived impression, as he opened the door to 4-B and saw 25 freshmen standing at attention, saluting him with a hearty, "Good Morning, Mr. Poulet!"

He was so startled that he struggled to hide his surprise. Of course, they'd beaten him upstairs - they were 10 years younger, full of excitement mixed with nervous energy. He vowed to dedicate himself to sprinting that private staircase every day, until he beat his students to class.

"At ease, guys. Take your seats." He saw the small ring binders he'd prepared for, sitting on the edge of his desk, and walked down the five rows of five chairs each, distributing them. There were a few telltale moans, and one "Cool!"

"Here's a list of what we're going to cover in International Lit this year. For each story, poem and book, I've given a list of questions for you to answer, once you've finished reading them. These won't be graded – I just want your honest opinions and first impressions. Because I'll be using your input throughout the semester to choose the book we'll use for the final."

One cadet, a cherub-faced kid with a deep tan, raised his hand. There was a murmur around the room, no doubt his fellow students asking about him, and trying to decide if he's looking to be either the teacher's pet or the class clown. Will handed out the last binder.

"Yes, Cadet. Your name, please, and then your question." Will admitted how strange it felt to be on the other side of that statement. The boy stood straighter, eliminating his former slouch.

"Cadet John Paul Henderson, sir! That sounds like a lot of work, Mr. Poulet. How much research will such questions require? I'm gonna try out for the wrestling and baseball teams, and that means lots of practice."

"Well, Cadet, I'm only looking for your personal commentary – which means no research is necessary." Henderson gave a quick "whew" and sat back down, getting a pat and shoulder punch from his pals sitting fore and aft. "What that does mean is that you have to have read the assignments in order to answer them."

It was then that Will looked closely at the boys in front of him. Although they couldn't know it yet, they'd seated themselves in groups that would stay pretty consistent throughout their four years. Henderson was at the center of a circle of athletes – six all told; there were the artistic bunch, about five; the brainiacs, another 5; the smartasses, a trio; four introverts; and two loners. Some would change groups; he knew this by personal experience.

Will removed his 'homework assignment' for today and asked the student with a mass of black curly hair, Cadet Konstantin Ianoppolis, to hand it out. "This is a questionnaire that you are to fill out and hand in to me either today or tomorrow." Pens were in their hands immediately.

"Hold on!" he said sternly. "First, we're going to play a game of 'Would You Rather.' If any of you aren't familiar with it, it goes like this: I ask you something like 'Would you rather own a laptop or a game console?' and you choose one answer, telling us why you chose it over the other."

"Cadet Ianoppolis, would you rather go to an art museum or an outdoor concert?"

The young man quickly replied, "What's the weather like? Because if it isn't going to rain, I'd rather go to the concert."