Hannah parked along a salted concrete staircase at the front entrance of Ridgeview Middle School, where groves of alpine trees shivered underneath a coat of snow. Ari opened the car door and revealed the culminating chaos of other students rushing to make their way to the day's first class. They stepped in toe carrying stacks of books in matching navy polo shirts, the boys in fitted khaki pants, and the girls in dark, flowing skirts. A pair of older women stood in the biting cold, holding open doors for a swarm of children who briskly made their way into the warmth of the school.
She drew her son's bag from the back seat of her car and handed it to him. After hesitating to leave the safety of their confined space, he started for the front doors but felt his bag tug from behind. When he turned around, he discovered his mom wasn't letting go of it without giving him the look. It was her way of ensuring he would do well in school without another lecture on her limitless expectations. He responded to her silent insistence with a look of his own, releasing him and his backpack at once.
It wasn't just any day. The school's standardized exam would soon assess him on every subject he'd been taught. The results would determine his placement in next year's classes, and while there was ample room for error, there was no room for failure.
With a drumming heart, he hurriedly walked through the glass doors and down the school's echoing corridors with concerns he couldn't shake. What if he was called upon during class? What if someone talked to him? What if he ran into Zoie? There were too many ways another day of school could become unpleasant, and he wanted it to be over as quickly as it began.
He entered his first class, greeted by an intricate discussion on foreign literature. He found the first vacant chair and sat down, wedging his backpack between two shoes. The thought of joining a mundane debate about French literature was especially unappetizing. His thoughts were muddled within a hazy brain that rarely cleared for long enough to align with his focused efforts. If he ever did hold a contribution that would benefit the conversation, he wouldn't dare articulate it aloud. To Ari, anything that would draw notice to him should be avoided at all costs.
"Why do you think Joan of Arc was only able to earn the respect of France after she was successful in court, even though her visions were already verified as truth?" asked the teacher, pacing the front of the classroom as she looked around at the faces of her students.
Her question hung in the air, prompting the same eager hands to rise while the others averted the intimidating gaze of their teacher. Ari placed a flattened hand onto a green circle at the corner of his desk, and it came to life, illuminating as a computerized screen. He sifted through classroom content to which he hadn't devoted enough attention before, searching for a clue to her question.
"Just a guess," she added, pacing the room with an eager anticipation that played out along a spread grin.
"Anyone?"
She leaned her head in Ari's direction, and even though her eyes shifted as if to consider which one of the many kids she could call on, he could sense her decision was already predicated on selecting him from the rest.
"What about you, Ari?" asked the teacher. "Why did Joan find herself against so much apprehension even though her predictions came true?"
Ari fumbled through textbook pages on the screen before him, fervently hoping to discover last-minute insight into a book he hardly looked at. His eyes scanned the text quickly, but he couldn't find anything to help him answer her question. What she was asking required intimate familiarity with the subject, which he didn't have. He panicked, and as he glanced around, he felt the weight of the entire classroom bearing down on him, unable to come up with a response that would suffice.
"I don't know," Ari mumbled, causing his instructor to select one of the risen hands fluttering around him.
"Because she was a woman in 15th-century Europe," came the answer of one of the room's best students.
In his next class, the teacher drifted through a different topic, handing out the results of their latest quiz on its front page face down. When Ari flipped over the edge of the stapled exam to peek at his score, he wasn't surprised to find another dismal grade.
Before the accident, he wasn't exactly immersed in his schoolwork, but he performed well enough to get by. Afterward, everything changed. He suffered from bouts of amnesia, had a broken focus at school, and wasn't interested in anything that required a concerted effort. The frequent intrusion of unwelcome migraines deprived him of his usual capabilities, leaving a distinct mark on his academic routine.
He felt disengaged, his mind only partially attuned to lectures that once held him rapt. The headaches, at times utterly incapacitating, compelled him to depart from school frequently. He would be rushed home before seeking solace in the sanctuary of his home. His family hoped that the dramatic shift in his personality would fade with time, but unfortunately, it didn't. What happened to Ari changed him profoundly.
He was never the same.
To make matters worse, he couldn't concentrate in any of his classes. He couldn't think about anything else. All Ari could do was worry about the upcoming exam he wasn't prepared for. By the time he was on his way to one of the designated rooms where he'd begin his test, he found each of his steps growing heavier and heavier. He thought about pretending to become ill, although he wondered if he'd even have to pretend with a churning in his stomach that twisted and turned the closer he was to where he needed to be.
When he was finally in front of the fated standardized exam, he could only feel the thickening of his beating heart. He stared blankly ahead as he skimmed a series of meticulous questions ranging from complex math problems to challenging scientific questions, all meant to assess his understanding across an array of subjects.
The clock's ticking grew louder with every passing second until each one caused him to flinch. Crumbling in a flood of anxiety and fear, he felt time slip through his grasp until suddenly, he determined that a simple process of elimination was all that was needed to get moving. He cast aside the tension in his chest as he made his way through several questions in a short period of time. He was making good progress, or so he thought, but the test quickly took its toll until another headache threatened his pace. He grew exhausted from answering so many questions which leaped from subject to subject that it poisoned his better judgment.
He planted his face into both hands, wondering how on earth he would ever accomplish such a feat. Moments later, he was confronted by a testing proctor who woke him from an unexpected slumber he didn't realize he was having. He quickly glanced up to check the time and was astonished to discover there were only moments left to answer well over a hundred remaining questions.
He couldn't believe it. As if he wasn't already up against a monumental task, he'd fallen asleep and was now facing a hopeless time frame to finish the test. As his heart began to quicken twice as fast, he tried to work out every possible route to completing the test on time, but none would result in a passing grade. He had only enough time to make his best guess on the rest of the exam; otherwise, he'd submit the test with an appalling number of unanswered questions.
Ari read each of them one by one as quickly as he could, guessing his answers. It took every bit of effort left in him to make it through, and as his concentration grew, so did the pain in his head until it was throbbing uncontrollably. He did the best he could before his time was up, and when he walked away, he knew he would undoubtedly face the wrath of a disappointed mother who would soon be notified of his sub-par score.
The next day, his fear of the impending results of his exam faded. In its place, a new mystery came to light when he was seated comfortably in class.
"Can anyone guess the size of the Great Plains that stretches from Ontario all the way to the Rocky Mountains?" asked a teacher in a room full of indifferent students.
The room fell silent. The teacher shifted a glance from one student to the next. Those around Ari kept their eyes down, avoiding any chance they would be called upon for an answer they couldn't provide.
"165,000 miles," mumbled a voice that shattered the silence, and all eyes turned to find the speaker.
Ari, too, began searching, that is, until he realized that the voice was his own.
"Excellent, Ari," declared the teacher, offering an unfamiliar glimmering expression.
He didn't know how he knew the answer to her question. He just did. His response was more than a guess but less than concrete, and as the teacher droned her way through another monotonous lecture, Ari reconvened into a spell of apathy that carried him to his next class.
"Can any of you tell me the definition of the word symbiosis?" Asked a teacher in a different class.
It was a big word for 8th grade. Another challenging question to another room of students. This time, a few hands were raised at the front, and even though Ari was seated in the back, his hand, barely parted from the desk, caught the teacher's attention. Few could escape the fascination that motivated her gesture for Ari's response. After all, he was the boy who never bothered to participate more than he could get by with. He himself was unsure of the answer until he felt its meaning form at the tip of his tongue. Before he could second guess himself, he spoke to answer the question even though he couldn't remember learning its definition.
"The close and long-term relationship and interaction between two or more dissimilar organisms," said Ari, creeping a gaze at his teacher to see if the answer was correct.
Before she responded, she placed a finger against an open book, surprised that he answered her question in the most elaborate fashion. The kind unexpected from a child his age. Perhaps most surprising was that he spoke at all, a feeling unanimously shared throughout the class.
"That's right!" she exclaimed, looking at him as if he'd just performed a miracle in the center of the room while the crowd looked at him with splendorous wonder.
His participation endured in every class. As he traveled from room to room, he could feel the eyes of those around him move in his direction as usual, although this time, their curious looks were quite different. He was the subject of a new rumor, but it wasn't about how strange or disconnected he was from the world around him. He was the center of an intriguing topic that carried from group to group — How Ari appeared quite different from the boy they knew.
"A parallel structure."
"1607, in Jamestown."
"Thomas Edison."
He was the one with all the answers.
To him, how he knew what he did mattered less than the fact that he knew it. Every time he stepped into a new space, he awaited the inception of class to see whether or not his chain of luck would remain unbroken, anticipating the glowing reaction of each of his instructors. But when he entered his history class, a menacing look decorated his teacher's face, and his eyes went straight to Ari. He must have heard about his newfound success because for no other reason would he have paid any attention to the quietest student in class. He should expect no less from a school as small as there's, in a town where gossip is currency.
The faculty at Ridgeview Middle School were assumed to speak to one another in private, the same as the students. If that were the case, he might have been the focus of their talks, too. Perhaps they were as surprised by Ari's sudden intellectual performance as he was. Maybe then they'd talk about him with esteem rather than sympathy. But as he looked more deeply at his history teacher, he noticed he didn't share the same excitement with Ari's presence as the others.
He seemed somewhat perturbed in fact, although why, he didn't know.
"Today, we're going over American history," announced the teacher, standing tall at the front of the room while he scribbled notes onto an enormous whiteboard.
"We haven't gone over this yet, so I don't expect you to know much."
Mr. Ellington began writing a large question in barely legible words, glancing behind him briefly at a classroom full of disinterested children. Once he concluded writing the words so all could see, he whipped around and took in the view with sharp, heavy eyes known for the fear they caused.
"Can anyone guess when England founded its first settlement in North America?"
The room grew cold and eerily silent. Everyone in class gazed down at their desk as if it shielded them from being called upon. They couldn't scan the text of their history books for a chapter they hadn't even laid eyes on yet. Their teacher asked them a question they'd never covered in class. He was calling on good memory from those who already knew the subject well enough to remember an event well before their time. When Ari answered, the teacher's head snapped in his direction, intrigued by what he heard.
"That's correct, except next time, I expect you to raise your hand when you feel so inclined to respond," said Mr. Ellington, looking everywhere except at Ari as if he were invisible while appearing just as annoyed after his answer as before.
"Can anyone tell me when the British signed the Treaty of Paris?" he asked with pursed lips and a crinkled face.
Without knowing how, Ari answered that question, too.
"That's right," said the teacher, returning to the board to write another twice as fast.
He lifted his hand again, but this time, Mr. Ellington waited for someone else to respond. Ari peered around the room to discover the others were intentionally yielding to him, and as he glanced back at the teacher, he finally understood why. The length of time he took to consider an answer from those who didn't offer one was unseemly. There was a pained look that creased his head and a sour tone in his voice. His teacher found his participation distasteful, and the only reason could be harbored animosity against Ari. Something unfounded, he determined to himself.
There was no way to dazzle him with knowledge. He wouldn't be moved by Ari's apparent intelligence or express pride with the result of what could only be academic effort. He wasn't agitated because he didn't believe the rumors were true. He was annoyed because they were. He accepted Ari's sudden spark of insight only as a challenge to his authority.
As the dawning realization began to take shape in his mind, another series of questions were posed as the room's silence stiffened. Ari answered every single one until it was obvious they threatened his teacher. Still, his eyes smiled as the questions grew more demanding, reveling in Ari's defeat when their topic became egregious.
"What about the year Luna 13 landed on the moon?"
"December 26, 1966."
Just as he turned his back to the shy boy, a quiet gasp cut through the air, and the teacher twisted himself around only to find Ari had abandoned his chair. Instead of sitting, he stood tall as he defiantly and correctly answered a question improbable for him to know. His teacher was nothing short of flustered, and after searching Ari's eyes for a clue as to how he could possibly know so much after being the least involved student in any of his classes, he emerged into Ari's sphere, bending himself to examine the desk where he sat. He hoped to find the contraption that allowed him to answer every question he asked, especially those considered overreaching.
But there was nothing on his desk, nor was there anything in his lap. Nothing could explain how Ari knew so much without cheating, though in his teacher's eyes, he most certainly was. As he retreated to the front of Ari's face to find the incriminating look that would give him away, he met two fiery eyes instead. Ari was seething at the notion that his questions were meant to make him look stupid, intellectually battling him to no end.
"Just what kind of game do you think you're playing here?" Asked the teacher, capping his marker and slamming it on his desk.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't, and believe me, whatever it is, I will find out."
When Ari returned home, Hannah was diligently forging through a host of trying tasks she'd fallen behind on, working tirelessly as she often did. When the front door squeaked open, she didn't even notice. Ari snuck into the house and tip-toed through the living room, attempting to make his way through the house unnoticed. Before he reached the staircase, the room's lights brightened amid his presence, casting a spotlight on him as he froze still. Startled, Hannah emerged from the dimly lit room, curious to see who had returned first.
"You're home," proclaimed Hannah.
"May I have a word with you?"
There it is, he thought to himself. Her rigid tone told him he was about to be confronted. It was then he remembered the results of his standardized test hadn't arrived yet, and he presumed that to be the reason why. He knew this day would come. He knew that she would have a lot to say, and there was no way for him to skirt her disappointment or refute the truth. He failed the exam; he had no excuse she would accept, and he could do nothing about it.
"How do you think you did on your test?" Inquired Hannah, folding her arms as she nearly scowled his way.
"Look, Mom, I wanted to do better, but I've been under a lot of pressure, and I wasn't feeling well at school."
For a moment, Hannah didn't say anything. Her hardened face didn't budge. She fixed her eyes on Ari's while he braced himself for the worst. She curved her knees and raised a flattened palm into the space between them, causing Ari to cringe in confusion.
"Good job! " Hannah declared, and only then did he understand she was giving him a high five.
What kind of sinister joke was this? He wondered. Whatever it was, he wanted no part of it and resented coming home as soon as he did.
"Ari, you scored a 92%!" She exclaimed sharply, grinning wildly, unlike anything he'd ever seen on her face before.
Ari instinctively adopted the same elation, but deep down, he knew something was terribly wrong. He couldn't believe he'd achieved such a high score. It simply wasn't possible. He wasn't the least bit prepared for the test. He made a guess in response to nearly every question. He even fell asleep during the exam! Such a score could only be the result of an error, but he would only be foolish to point it out.
To uncover the truth behind his inconceivable grade, he would have to risk exchanging his grade for the grade he should've received. Then, his parents would discover how little effort he put into the whole ordeal. He might not be the smartest kid at school, but he wasn't stupid by any stretch of the imagination. If it was believed he achieved a high score, then it was only logical for him to play the part of someone who did.
"I just wanted you to be proud of me," said Ari.
"I'm always proud of you," she moaned back, wrapping her arms around his frail shoulders.
On the outside, Hannah seemed modest, but inside, she was overflowing with excitement. While she prepared to tell her husband the good news upon his arrival, Ari withdrew to his bedroom upstairs entangled with his own questions. Then suddenly, it hit him. How much he changed since the big exam. The way he knew so much out of nowhere. He was so burdened by the fear of his mother's reaction that he didn't consider a different reason for the surprise. His latest score wasn't the result of a computerized error. It was the product of his own intuitive intelligence growing fast beyond measure. The only question he couldn't answer was the one that bothered him the most.
How was it possible?