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"William Wirt, 1973" (fiction by Mandy Fraser)

Chapter 3: History I manage to find my history class O.K., even though I'm really uncomfortable on the walk there. It feels like everyone is looking at me, and when I glance up from the ground, it seems that they all are. Some of the kids standing by their lockers actually stop talking when I walk by and stare. It did make me feel a little better when I ran into another student from Thomas Johnson. She was a ninth grader, so I don't really know her that well, but we smiled at each other in the hallway. In a school full of strangers, a familiar face makes me feel a little more at home. The classroom is right where Nick said it would be, and I'm glad because no one else really looks like they'd be willing to give me directions. I've got my notebook under my arm when I slip in the open door. Of course, I don't recognize anyone here and the front of the room looks like as good a place as any to sit, so I do. Now that I've got a chance to think a minute, without anything else to do, I realize that this is probably the first time I've been around this many white people. And, for them, I'm probably the first black kid they've ever met. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that this is the way it's been forever. I mean, we've all learned about Abraham Lincoln and slavery and all that, but I guess the idea that we're all brothers, that we're the same… well, never really stuck. Our worlds now are probably as separate as they were back then. Only, now that we're all free, it's just as much our fault as theirs that we're not friendly. Mom talks about things like this a lot with my Dad, especially when we're watching the news in the evening. She gets angry sometimes, pointing to the screen when something about Civil Rights or something is mentioned. She says things would be so much better for us, for us all, if we would just work and think together. When they finally got the notice that I'd be coming here this semester, she held the letter and sighed. "It's about time." And, like I said before, she's definitely more happy about this change than I am, or anybody else I know for that matter. The door closes and whatever talking that had been happening behind me stops. Class is starting, even though there are a lot fewer classmates here than I'm used to. Mr. Stevens looks like he's kind of young, and nervous. He's wearing an orange sweater that looks like it could almost match with his red hair. I'm just glad that he's no Mr. Ericson, so maybe I'll be able to stay awake through his lectures. "Hey, everybody." He walks over to his desk and leans against it, tipping over a cup full of pens. There are some giggles from the back of the room, then silence again. Mr. Stevens just kind of stands there looking even more nervous before bending down to pick up the mess he made. It takes another minute for him to stand up again. "Sorry about that." He carefully sits down this time. "As you all probably know, I'm Mr. Stevens. This is U.S. History and you guys are here to do me a big favor." He pauses before finishing his thought. "You've got to learn." I almost laugh at what he says, like some of the other kids are doing. But he seems like he's nice enough, and I was always taught that it's simply not polite. Even if your teacher is kind of goofy. He stands up again and walks over to the bookcase that sits next to the doorway. It's full of textbooks and he begins to pass them out, saying, "We may as well get started, you guys. There's a lot to cover. For instance, did you know that it just two short years, our country will be 200 years old?" Everyone soon has their books and all the books are brand new, some even still in their original plastic. This is completely different from my old school. I don't think I ever got a new textbook there. In fact, sometimes there were too few books. We had to share. When I take a closer look around the classroom and think about the school itself, I realize that things here are nicer than they were at Thomas Johnson. The boys bathroom here didn't have any 'out of order' stalls, something that was always a problem at my old school. I don't really get why things would be so much different here. I mean, we're all living in the same county, right? "Alright, everybody. Please turn to page 10. We're going to start with an overview of the most important events leading to the Revolutionary War. Can anybody tell me a little something about how those colonist folks even got over here?" He calls on a girl sitting the row behind me. "They were Puritans from England who fled religious persecution in their homeland and sought the freedom of the new world." "O.K. So, what year did this happen? And, more importantly, what land was actually settled by the government of England for profit?" There's silence, because nobody really wants to be the first person to speak up. I know the answer, though, and so I raise my hand. Mr. Stevens has a weird look on his face, like he smelled something bad. I think it's weird , but maybe he has to sneeze. He looks around the room again before I'm actually called on. "Oh, um, and what's your name?" He says the last part slow and loud, like I might not be able to hear him correctly. "Jesse, sir. And I know the answer." "Do you?" He asks, looking surprised. "I mean, really?" It occurs to me now that he doesn't think I'll be able to respond. Like I'm not as smart as the girl who answered before or something. What a strange man. I decide to prove him wrong. "I do. The first settlement in Plymoth, Massachusetts was in 1600 and was made up of families. But, the settlement a few years later at Jamestown was young men doing a job for the Virginia Company." As I speak, his eyes widen in a very surprised expression. When he finally speaks, he's quiet. "Completely correct." From the corner of my eye I see other kids whispering to each other and looking at me again. But it's not like participating in class is any big deal or anything. I guess they didn't think I would. Is it that hard to believe that I know the answer to a question like that? My old school may not have had new books or pretty classrooms like this one, but I certainly learned a whole lot. The rest of class is uneventful, but I'm not called on again, even when I raise my hand. Mr. Stevens avoids looking at me, really, and seems to only really pay attention to everyone around me. I wonder if all my teachers are going to be like this?   Go on to Chapter 4