Shining Star: A Pavel Chekov Fanfiction

Nine

Pavel is eleven years old when he has to decide where to go next.

His year with Mrs. Brezhneva has been fine. In fact, he quite likes her. He was expecting it to be lonely being the only student in her clases, but in reality, it has offered the two of them them more freedom to do what they want. If it's a nice day, they can sit on the hill in the back of the school and have their lessons there. If they need to go to the library, they go to the library. And if Pavel already knows something in a lesson, they can skip it. Two days a week, they have "English-only" days, when neither of them are allowed to speak any Russian. (Pavel hates speaking English—he can read and write it just fine, but his mouth can never say English words right, so he mixes up his v's and w's, and his th's sound more like z's. It frustrates him to no end, but Mrs. Brezhneva just laughs gently and corrects him until he gets it right.) As Mrs. Nikolaeva had predicted, they complete not only the tenth grade curriculum that year, but the eleventh grade as well.

He and Mrs. Brezhneva have grown quite close, in fact. He loves the discussions they have after finishing a book, the way she insists on his doing math problems step by step instead of just plugging them into a computer program—"otherwise, you will never truly understand what you are doing," she says—the way she explains concepts in physics and chemistry so anyone can visualize and understand them.

One day, they're talking through a question on his science homework and he mentions, in passing, a star going supernova, when Mrs. Brezhneva holds up her hands. "Stop, stop, stop. Why is it going supernova?"

"Erm," Pavel says, "because it's dying?"

"Yes, yes, we all know that. Why is it dying?"

Pavel racks his brain. "Because, um, it has run out of elements to fuse in its core? It's gotten to elements that are too heavy to fuse, so it implodes. Right?"

"Why does it fuse elements in its core?"

Pavel squints at her. "Don't you know this already? I mean, you are teaching it to me, right?"

"Yes, I know this," Mrs. Brezhneva says. "I want you to know it, inside and out. You can't just memorize facts. I want you to know the why, so there are no holes in your knowledge. Now. Explain it to me like I'm five years old and I don't know anything about stars. Make me understand. Why do stars fuse elements in their core? And why can they not fuse heavier ones?"

That session is torture. Pavel has to work his way through layers and layers of muddled knowledge, and no matter what he comes up with, Mrs. Brezhneva still has a "why" question waiting for him. She absolutely will not take "I don't know" for an answer—whenever he says that, she just wordlessly hands him her Padd and makes him research until he has a real answer. Pavel's brain is fried by the time he goes to lunch that day. And yet, he has to admit, he does know the life cycle of stars inside and out now, better than his space books could ever teach him on their own. He feels like he truly understands. Maybe Mrs. Brezhneva was right—maybe that was worth it. And that's why he loves her.

At times, of course, he feels a little lonely. He has to admit that when the only times he sees other students are during lunch, when they happen to be in the library at the same time as him, and during the occasional field trip, it gets a bit desolate. He wonders what it would be like if he had been in normal classrooms. Would he have friends? Would he have a first kiss, like his dad said?

Probably not. But it's nice to imagine.

One day, when he is walking back to the gifted classroom after his lunch period, he overhears a conversation between two people behind him: "Yeah, when you get into honors classes you don't have to work as hard," one of them says. "They go so much easier on you! As if you've already proved you're smart 'cause you got a high score on some stupid test, so you just get to sit back and relax all day while the rest of us work. Especially the gifted program. It's like you get to play games all day and do whatever you want. Honestly, it's like they're not 'gifted' at all. They have it so easy. I bet I could get into the gifted program if I wanted to!"

The other kid nods in agreement. "I heard there's only one kid in the gifted program this year. Wonder how he's doing in there," she adds sarcastically.

Pavel wants to whirl around and argue. To snap that he's worked really hard to get where he is, and that he's sacrificed having friends for getting ahead academically. But he doesn't. Because the truth is...he does find it easy. He does play games, and the teacher is super accommodating. Is it supposed to be hard? What if he isn't learning anything at all?

He tentatively brings this up to Mrs. Brezhneva later that day, as they're playing a trivia game about the early years of the Romanov dynasty to study for Pavel's upcoming history exam. "Mrs. Brezhneva, do you think that this class is a little too...fun?"

She snorts. "It's supposed to be fun. All learning is fun."

"I know, but..." Pavel looks down uncomfortably. "I heard two kids talking today. They said the gifted program is too lenient on us, that we have it easy. What if they're right? Maybe I haven't earned this."

The buzzer in the trivia game goes off, indicating Pavel's failure to answer the question. He gestures to it, as if it proves his point.

Mrs. Brezhneva turns to Pavel and looks him in the eyes. "Pavel," she says. "You have been given an amazing gift, and you should not be ashamed of any way that you use it. Think about it: you are doing tenth and eleventh grade work at age eleven. And at this level, your learning is supposed to be fun, because you're going at your own pace and you're committed to it from the bottom of your heart. You should be incredibly proud of yourself, Pavel! Don't listen to those students!" Her voice softens, and she takes Pavel's face in her hands. "Never underestimate yourself. You are going to do great things."

Whenever he feels sad that year, he tries to repeat her words in his head.

At one point near the middle of the year—when Pavel has finished his tenth grade final exams and is just beginning the eleventh grade curriculum—Mrs. Brezhneva offhandedly mentions that he should consider applying to a university. Moscow State would be wonderful for him, she says. He nods as if it's nothing and gets back to his work, but inside he is freaking out. Apply to a university? Now? College has always seemed like a million miles away, and yet here it is, staring him right in the face.

When he mentions this to his parents that night, his father just nods and his mother quickly changes the subject. This, he knows, means they are deeply concerned.

Later that night, while passing by his parents' room, he hears his mother pacing the floor and muttering, "Too young...he is far too young." But they let him apply anyway, because what other choice do they have?

He and Mrs. Brezhneva look over his resume together—her with approval, him with some trepidation. His academic transcript is flawless—perfect grades in all subjects. But under "extracurricular activities," he had put "none"; there simply hasn't been time. And his college essay...The topic had been to write about your greatest fear. Pavel had turned in some generic stuff about death, even though he knew what his real greatest fear was—failure. Failing a class, failing a task, failing a person. Failing himself. And since he had never done that before—not really, anyway—it would make it all the more devastating the first time he did. "Isn't he supposed to be the smart one?" times ten. So he was desperately working all the time to make sure that never happened. It left him exhausted, physically and emotionally—but it was better than the alternative.

But of course, he can't turn that in for his college essay. If they knew he was so neurotic, they'd never let him in. (Or maybe they would. Argh! Pavel doesn't know.)

Whatever he turned in, it has evidently worked. He and his mom read the letter together: "Congratulations, Mr. Chekov! You have been accepted to Moscow State University." His mother's eyes widen at the news, and she puts a hand in Pavel's curls. He knows she's worried...but then she smiles down at him, and her pride beams through every pore.

When he reads the letter again to Mrs. Brezhneva the next morning, tears are practically filling her eyes. "I knew you could do it," she whispers.

Overall, the year has been great. He will miss Mrs. Brezhneva when he has to say goodbye to her, and it will undoubtedly be awkward being one of the youngest—if not the youngest—freshmen on campus. But he has to admit, he is looking forward to college, to talking to other astronomy majors like he will be. And he can't help wondering what it will bring.