Secrets Aren't Made Slowly

Understanding Is Not Appreciated

When John arrived at home his parents were relentless at trying to find out how he had been. His mother greeted him in the kitchen, one that was still yet to be fully unpacked despite them having lived there for about a month now. All of the utensils were still in a cardboard box, one for them to root around in to find the appropriate table settings, and the dishes were still yet to be stacked in the cupboard. Despite this Mrs. Watson was already at work, boiling water on the stove and sitting at the table with a book in her hands. As soon as she heard John coming she looked up excitedly, for the reappearance of her son was always the most exciting part of her day, and yet it wasn't like John was going into the kitchen to say hello, he was coming for a snack.
"Oh John there you are! How was school?" Mrs. Watson asked excitedly, setting down her book as if she expected this to be something of a conversation. John, however, made a dash for the chips and lingered there near the counter, deciding that he ought to humor her just so that she didn't get all moody over dinner.
"It was fine." He said with a shrug, for it was just that. Fine indeed.
"I'm sure it was. You've got some good classes there." Mrs. Watson said with a smile, looking as though she was on the edge of her seat to learn about all that John had experienced in his eight hours of education. John, however, was quite exhausted after being forced to socialize for so long, and so he just wanted to get his snack and get out, for talking to his mother was mentally exhausting. You always had to watch what you said, because mothers pick up on many things that kids would just overlook in their efforts to describe their day. For example, if John just went on about how first period with Ms. Hooper went, then how second period with Anderson went, and then how he had spent his lunch smoking in the bathrooms...see what I mean? It was a minefield, and if John wasn't careful his mother would be sure to blow up.
"My classes suck mom, they're boring, and they're useless." He insisted, to which Mrs. Watson just blinked innocently, as if she had no idea how horrible his work load was. Well of course she would never understand, she hadn't been in school for like one hundred years, she would never understand the tediousness and the complexity of modern day education.
"Make any new friends?" Mrs. Watson wondered, to which John just laughed, shaking his head as if he expected her to already know that answer.
"No of course not, but I did make a new enemy. I think." He admitted with a sigh.
"And who's that then? I don't like enemies." Mrs. Watson pointed out with a frown, sitting forward in her chair and wearing an expression of utmost concern. John found that face to be terribly obnoxious, and yet for now he let it go for he knew that it was only worn with the best intentions.
"My calc teacher, Mr. Holmes. He's a nightmare that one, always high, and today he called me out for zoning out!" John insisted, as if that really was such a crime.
"Well you shouldn't be zoning out John, you're a smart boy, you need to learn." Mrs. Watson insisted, which it basically what Mr. Holmes had said, without praising his intelligence so highly.
"I already know the stuff, we got taught integrals at my last school." John muttered. Mrs. Watson muttered, obviously not knowing how to respond to that, and yet her face contorted into a look of dedication, as if she was determined to decipher what was bothering John at this very moment.
"Oh well, then maybe he needs to keep his nose in his own business." Mrs. Watson decided finally, to which John just smiled, for that was his own thought exactly. 

 The next day was a testing day in calculus, and of course John felt prepared. How could he not be, he was the only one who ever understood anything that was going on in that class, and yet everyone else was having silent heart attacks. Some prayed to God, others tried to make deals with the Devil, and some just sat there in shell shocked silence, unable to do anything to try to help the desperate situation they were currently in. John was just leaning back in his chair, not looking at anyone and yet not looking at the back of his eyes, either. He kept his gaze fixed on his desk, poking his pencil around in the rivets that had been carved in classes before, trying to keep his mind fresh and alert for the impending test. He felt eyes on him as well, however, and with a quick sweep around the room he saw that none of his fellow classmates seemed interested in what he was doing. Therefore that gaze must be coming from somewhere other than a desk, yet he saw him now...Mr. Holmes's gaze was fixed on him once more. He was standing absentmindedly next to his desk, flexing the papers between his two hands and looking very deep in thought. John smiled to himself minutely, for he knew that he was the one on Mr. Holmes's mind. That was the entirety of his motivation in this class; he wanted to succeed simply because Mr. Holmes didn't want him to. It was a spiteful move of course, and yet it worked just as well if not better than those who were taking the class for their GPA. Mr. Holmes probably thought he was being bested somehow, and yet John's intelligence wasn't due to his teaching at all, but purely from past experience. Either way it obviously bothered the man, and John was determined to keep it that way.