by Rath Dalton
* * *
History class; first period. Benson sat two seats from the back. He was surprised to see the new kid lounging in his own seat a few rows ahead. Mark Adler was supposed to sit there. Adler had complained about a stomach ache most of last week, then, on Friday, the teacher announced he had been rushed to the hospital with a burst appendix. He had barely made it. Benson thought that was about the coolest thing he’d ever heard. He thought the story might have been better if the kid had died; Adler was another smart-ass, but it was still a cool story. At any rate, hamburger-head was in Adler’s seat.
Mrs. Trillo didn’t introduce him to the class like she had other newbies, she just launched into her lesson about the Revolutionary War. There was a worksheet. She dumped a bunch of them on the front desks and asked the kids to pass them back. Benson watched as the papers came up the aisle. When the worksheet reached hamburger-head, he just leaned aside and the papers skipped right past him. Benson watched, perplexed.
“Hey, he called, “doesn’t he have to do any work?”
The girl who had skipped ham-head gave Benson a weird look.
“Benson, settle down,” Mrs. Trillo said, not missing a beat.
Benson didn’t give up. “Doesn’t the new kid have to do any work? Give him a paper!”
“What new kid?” the girl asked, disgusted.
“Benson! Settle!”
Benson raised his finger to point and say more, then lowered it back down sensing he should shut up; an uncharacteristically good idea for him. No one else seemed to notice the kid. In fact, he was smiling at Benson as though he had put one over on him.