Shining Star: A Pavel Chekov Fanfiction

Four

Pasha is six years old when his teacher calls his parents in for a meeting.

It's a crisp, cold September day, and he shivers a little in his jacket. He walks into the school building with his parents, clutching his dad's sleeve with one hand and his Sagan doll (which is practically falling apart from all the times he's played with it) in the other. He's terrified. What will the teacher do to him? What did he do wrong? A few weeks ago, after his classmate Mikhail had stuffed Legos up another girl's nose during play time, he had heard that the teacher called Mikhail's parents in for a meeting. Since then, the boy hadn't been seen in the classroom at all. Will that happen to him? Will they kick him out of school? At the thought, he squeezes Sagan a little bit tighter.

The teacher looks cool and composed as she greets his parents and then leans down to shake his hand directly. He expects the four of them to go to his classroom like they always do in the mornings, but instead the teacher leads them to a big conference room with a huge oak table and chairs he practically has to climb into. He feels like he's sitting on a throne. He sits Sagan down next to him and then looks up expectantly at the teacher.

"As I am sure you know," she begins, "your son Pavel is exceptionally gifted. I have had the chance to observe his capabilities both inside and out of the classroom, and what I have seen is very telling...."

She goes on, describing the things he's done in the classroom, but Pasha focuses on that one word, gifted. What does she mean by that? He had been gifted with a model train set and some new coloring pencils last New Year's. But somehow he doubts that's what she means. He stares at the wood table and tries to count the boards between him and the teacher, but keeps losing track before he can finish.

"For these reasons," the teacher concludes, "I am recommending that Pavel skip kindergarten and go into primary school early, effective Monday."

Pasha snaps to attention at that. Skip kindergarten?

There is a long period of silence following this news. Finally, his father breaks it by saying, "But he's so...young."

"He is six years old, yes?" asks the teacher, looking a little impatient.

"Yes," Pasha says, feeling he should input something of his own. "I turned six one week and four days ago."

"There, you see?" says the teacher. "Six years is the standard age for entering primary school. Pavel won't be too young at all."

"But we were planning to let him stay a year in kindergarten and then be one of the older first graders," his mother explains. "We have to take his emotional maturity into consideration, yes?"

"Children's brains are extremely versatile, Mrs. Chekov," the teacher replies. "They can mold to any situation, like little balls of clay. Pavel will easily be able to adapt to the first grade classroom. Besides, he will be bored if he stays in kindergarten. He is already showing signs of stagnation."

I am? Pasha thinks. He didn't think he was bored. Both his parents look at him, concerned. His mother puts a hand on his shoulder. "Pasha, do you want to do this?"

He thinks about it. He likes kindergarten a lot. He likes the other students, and drawing on the little easel in the corner of the classroom, and when the teacher reads stories. But isn't it a good thing that they want him to move up to primary school? That means he's smart. Right? And is the teacher right about his brain being like clay? He's never thought about it like that.

He looks from her, to his dad, to to the teacher, all waiting for him to make a decision. Even Sagan looks like he's waiting.

Finally, he sighs and tells the truth. "I don't know."

That weekend, there's a lot of frantic arguing in his mom and dad's bedroom. A lot of pacing and phone calls and searches on the computer. They try to talk in hushed tones so Pavel won't hear. He can if he wants to—maybe by pressing the stethoscope from his toy doctor's kit against the wall—but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want them to argue, especially not about him. He doesn't know what he wants to do. He doesn't know how this choice will change what will happen next. He just tries to tune them out as he plays with his model train and reads his space books.

Finally, one Sunday afternoon as the family is eating lunch, his mother tells him, "Pasha, you'll be going to a different school tomorrow. And the days after that. You won't be a kindergartener anymore. We've placed you in primary school, which means the lessons will be harder and the kids will be a little bit bigger. But I think you can do it. Do you understand?"

He looks at her for a long time before answering. "Yes, Mama."

Then he goes off to play with Sagan.