Shining Star: A Pavel Chekov Fanfiction

Eight

Pavel is ten years old when he completes his basic general education.

He spent the rest of last year in eighth grade, then all of this year in ninth. He has found it weird to pass by the Programming Clique or Valentina (who is usually surrounded by a gaggle of giggling girls and doesn't notice him) in the halls and think that he's in a higher grade than them, despite being younger.

Highlights of middle school: His five-minute friendship with Valentina. Oh, and the time in sixth-grade science when they learned about astronomy. They got to take a field trip to a Starfleet shipyard, and it made Pavel think about his old Carl Sagan doll, sitting on his bedside table. He wondered what the old astronomers would think if they could see what discoveries were being made today!

Lowlights: The time in eighth grade when he had to take a required "Health" class. Pavel believes it should be a criminal offense to put a nine-year-old who's barely hit his growth spurt yet in a room full of thirteen-year-olds and make him watch a video about the Wondrous Changes That Happen to Your Body.

One thing that's not exactly a highlight or lowlight, but that's always kind of bothered him, is the way his other classmates see him. He's well-known across the school, but not exactly in the sense that he has a lot of friends. It's more that everyone knows who he is: Pavel Chekov, the Russian whizkid. And because of that, they have all sorts of expectations for him.

Like, at the end of a class period, if they've had a test, whoever's sitting next to him will lean over and hiss, "What did you get?" If Pavel got a hundred, the other person will nod and say something like, "Wow, you're so smart," or "Lucky! I only got a..." Then they'll say their score and the interaction will end there. But if he got less than a hundred, then suddenly it becomes this big news event. Everyone in the surrounding desks will be saying things like, "Pavel got a ninety-two?" "Isn't he supposed to be the smart one?" "Oh, man. If Pavel couldn't crack this test, then imagine how I'm gonna do on it!" Or, if Pavel hands in his homework and there's one question skipped, either because he had too much other homework or he just didn't see the question nestled there at the bottom, everyone in his general vicinity is shocked at how Pavel skipped a question. Pavel, who's known to give five-paragraph answers to questions that only require five sentences.

And every time that happens, it bothers him. A lot. Why can't he just be a normal student, without his grades being some sort of "smart kid" benchmark? Can't he just have an honest conversation about a difficult test with friends who will acknowledge that yes, he found it difficult, and no matter how many times he's been labeled as the "smart kid," it's not a crime to find something challenging or to do a less-than-perfect job?

But, whatever's happened in the past two years, it's all over now. His final examinations have been taken, his textbooks returned to their classrooms, his yearbook signed (mostly by teachers, but that's better than nothing). His career as a student in basic general education is complete. And he has a whole summer stretching ahead of him.

He spends his vacation in the library, reading science books voraciously and destroying the Summer Reading Program in three days; at the Starfleet shipyards, watching ships take off; and sometimes just in his own bedroom, reading or working on his computers, lost in his own little universe. It's idyllic. His summer is turning out perfectly.

That is, until—without warning—his mom and dad load him into the car a month before school starts and drive him to the front office of his new secondary school.

As he walks into the office, he's reminded of that one day when he was six, when his teacher recommended moving him up to primary school. The day that got this whole confusing grade situation started. He may not be holding his Carl Sagan doll or clutching his father's hand today, but he is just as apprehensive. Are they going to get him to move up another grade? Or have him skip secondary education altogether and move straight up to university? Neither thought is very appealing, but as it turns out, neither is true.