The Test

"Gabriel, you're a bright young man, and a pleasure to teach, but this is going to be your last chance."

I flinched inwardly at the use of my 'formal' name.

Monday morning, and it was barely past eight. Of course I wasn't paying attention.

"Gabe, are you listening to me?"

No.

"Yeah," I lied, "I'll try harder this year."

"I don't think you will, to be completely honest."

I threw on my fake-apology voice, opting for an easy way out, "I'll try."

"You'd better try, young man. Just from flicking through your yearly report cards, every single member of staff has you pinned down as a bad student."

"But my grades are above average," I complained, "How is that bad?"

"We all know you're an able student, Gabe. But you're not going to achieve anything if you keep up your poor attendance record and, to be blunt, dismal concentration levels."

I was tempted to throw a punch. Placing the blame on me for my poor concentration always wound me up. Throughout my life, I had been described as a distracted, unfocused child, but I was never able to help myself. I could pay attention for twenty seconds, tops.

"I'm really sorry, sir."

My headteacher, Mr Wentz, gave me a stern, fixed gaze before finally nodding in approval.

I took this as my cue.

"Am I allowed to go back to my classroom now?" I asked, a little too boldly.

Mr Wentz sighed, letting it slip.

"Yes, you may."

"Do I have to come back here later, then?"

"No, Gabe. I hope this is the last time."

I had already stood up to leave when Mr Wentz spoke to me again.

"By the way, I've assigned you to show the new student around. I thought you might be good company for each other."

"What's he like?" I quizzed.

"Interesting, funny, witty," he began, "But quiet."

"How quiet are we talking?"

"Dead quiet."