Jane Austen, A Character Study: Wednesday Aug. 6th, 2014

“I know that most of you enjoyed the summer reading list, and I can tell you why.” Mrs. Powell, the Turkey, a thin, birdlike woman with close-cropped auburn hair and slender, pale fingers, paces before the class. “It’s because they are classics that delve deep into questions common to us all…”

We’re divided into groups with our desk pulled into tight circles. June Bug sits in front of me, all broad shoulders, black hair, and rolling I-told-you-so eyes. But true to form, our Austen and Bronte are in front of her-yellow and pink tabs marking essential passages-along with an opened three-ringed binder, and two No.2 pencils, each sharpened to needle points.

“The characters, though of a different time, present us with universal lessons we can all learn from.” Mrs. Powell pauses and tugs at the loose skin under her neck. Sure the Adkins diet can make the fat melt away, but your still left with the aftermath. After a moment she walks to our group and slaps her ruler on sleeping Matt Sumter’s desk, leering at him through a pair of elegant gold-rimmed glasses. “And you will learn or fail.”

He looks up, eyes red, a string of drool connecting his cheek to the desk. First period on the first day of school is too early to study anything let alone English Lit.

Turkey struts away, carrying on about grading criteria, attendance, and extra credit, before returning to her favorite subject: dead authors.

June is more alert than most, her eyes drifting between each member of our group. She studies writing utensils and notebooks, hand movements and facial expressions. While all have at least a pen or pencil-odd duck Rebecca Greene (known for sporting the same bowl cut hair style since preschool) is grasping a black Sharpie-none have the summer reading. Not out anyways.

Estamos rodeados de idiotas.” June whispers.

I nod. We are surrounded by idiots. Even if we started all three novels a little late, say a week ago, we got through them with time to spare. And, having gone through two or three highlighters per novel (Pride and Prejudice was particularly hard hit, for some reason June Bug figures Turkey will focus on that shallow piece of Georgian fiction the most) we’re sure to have every base covered in case of pop quizzes, pop tests, or (Turkey is known for these in the same way the Unabomber is known for anonymous packages) pop essays.

Now, standing in the center of the room and as theatrical as a Shakespearean actress, Turkey muses about laziness and how the “slothful never prosper.” I’m sure she gave this same day one speech to Morgan when she was a sophomore, and will give it to Oliver in a few years. What is it they say about old dogs and new tricks, about old habits? “Now to start the year with a bang.” Turkey’s voice sifts from slightly pompous to genuinely excited, “We have a group assignment.”

The class, West Greenville High’s finest, exhales a tormented groan as she begins handing out stacks of papers, each printed front and back with short answer questions. Needless to say, multiple choice isn’t Turkey’s cup of tea. “Twenty-five questions: fifteen from Pride and Prejudice, five each from Emma and Weathering Heights. Shouldn’t be a problem for the collective minds before me. Your grades will be averaged. You have to the end of class. Begin.”

The trick to group work, June once told me, is to remember that everyone around you is a dumba**.  If you rely on them, you’re screwed. I look at her remembering the advice. She’s already on her third or fourth question.

“Let’s see what you got there,” Matt says, peering sideways, attempting to make out June’s meticulous script.

“After I’m done.” She says, eyes down, pencil (one of her prized Ticonderogas) working feverously. She turns the page.

“We need to discuss some of these.” Penny Warren taps June’s paper; her fingernail is painted an adorable morning blue. “The grades will be averaged.”

“My answers aren’t changing,” June words come out casually as if she were ordering a Big Mac with fries. She shoos the finger away. “You can copy mine when I’m done.”

“Why would we do that?” Penny stiffens, lifting her naturally upturned nose an inch or two higher. Last year she was the junior editor on the yearbook staff, and for the previous two, she’s played Mother Mary during the school’s Christmas program. The Greenville Trumpet gave her rave reviews, calling her a ‘rising star.’ Perhaps she thinks that makes her a loud noise in the ears of June P. Rodriguez.

“Did you hear me?” Mother Mary asks, chewing her syllables like bubble gum. “Why?”

June’s pencil stops. She looks up, eyeing each member of the group. “Because you’re lazy, and you want a good grade.”

Around us, other groups of mostly white middle-class teens, stumble their way through the first few questions, each using more eraser than lead. No one seems to know up from down.

“Did you hear me?” June Bug, a descendant of some long dead Aztec bloodletter, shows her teeth.

“Ok, ok! Turkey’s looking at us.” Matt whispers, “She’s just scaring us anyways. This s*** won’t count.” Rebecca Greene, and all-but-invisible Megan Something, nod in unison.

“Yeah, a test on the first day…” Penny’s words trail as she pulls a massive book from her backpack, a worn copy of The Complete Jane Austen. Along its pages is a rainbow of carefully placed coloured tabs, each annotated in pen. “And I’m writing my own answers. It’ll be a giveaway grade anyway.”

“That would be nice.” June Bug says, eyes again on her paper, writing more quickly, her perfect, unused eraser fluttering about like a desperate, insect.

“What would?” Penny asks.

June opens Pride and Prejudice and begins citing a passage. “To be given something.”

About mable33

mable4879@gmail.com Contact me if you want to talk about anything.....?
This entry was posted in American Angst: Journal, Home and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s