class of 2013 ✓

04 | positive feedback loop

There are so many other ways I'd rather spend my Friday evenings—at home, binging Netflix with Nea, for instance. Or in the library, checking out the latest dystopian novels. Hell, I'd even prefer being under a million blankets in bed, speeding through my math homework.

Instead, I'm in Mr. Chernyshevsky's classroom, pretending like I'm going to get some homework done as we're waiting for him to come back from the copier. Literally, I'd rather do anything else. Luckily, Blaise and I both brought our things so we can busy ourselves in lieu of sitting awkwardly in silence. I get it, he doesn't want to talk to me, and I wouldn't talk to him if he was the last person on Earth.

Like Wednesday, he's seated on the floor, leaning his back against the heater vents, the same journal sprawled on his lap. Since he's gotten here, he hasn't looked up from whatever he's working on. Curiosity got the better of me, and I've been stealing glances at him now and then. From what I can gather, I've deduced a couple of things.

One: he's probably not working on school stuff. His journal is expensive-looking, but the spine is worn out, suggesting he's had it for quite some time. Besides, no one looks that interested in school work.

And two: whatever he's working on, he definitely wants to keep a secret. When I walked by him, he instantly turned so his back was facing me. Moved like it was out of instinct.

Admittingly, his strange behavior has got me wondering. What is he doing that has him so enamored? Why does he want to hide it so badly? Is he writing something?

Guess I'll never know. I kind of want to though.

As if on cue, Mr. Chernyshevsky barges in, a stack of papers in a manila folder in one hand, and an empty mug in the other. Finally. It feels like he was gone for years.

"Hey guys, sorry for the delay," he says hastily, opening his suitcase. "The machine was jammed."

In fear I might come across as haughty, I bite my tongue. Mr. Chernyshevsky doesn't exactly look like an approachable guy, though he's a hell of a teacher. I heard last year virtually everyone in his Gov class got a 5 on the AP exam. He's well versed in the Constitution and is capable of doing his job, so that makes him a cool person to me.

Blaise, on the other hand, runs a hand through his wispy fringe and laughs. "It's fine. I have nothing better to do anyway."

"Still don't wanna waste your time," Mr. Chernyshevsky sighs, brushing the imaginary dust off his pant legs. "So let's get straight into things, alright? I want you guys, individually or together, to make me a lesson plan relating to this week's reading. There are some materials on my desk for you to use. I need to be out, but I'll be back. Have fun, you two."

Before I can open my mouth to reply, he's out the door as fast as he came in, leaving us alone and very confused again.

Uncomfortable, I decide it's probably best that I finish my lesson plan as fast as possible so I don't have to spend another torturous second in this room. He's funny to suggest we could even work together.

Honestly, I'm starting to wonder if this whole competition is just a whole ploy to get us to do work for teachers that their TAs are supposed to do. Mr. Chernyshevsky isn't in the room, so how the hell is he gonna use the criteria to evaluate us?

Mr. Chernyshevsky teaches American government, and if I recall correctly, this week's reading covers how bills are approved in the House and Senate. Scratching my head, I stare down so hard at the paper sitting in front of me that I swear it came to life. Maybe an idea will magically strike me like lightning if I continue to look at it.

I don't want to do something boring like a poster. I want it to be creative and fun.

C'mon Remi, think.