Jeremy lay sprawled over the top of his desk, head down, in American History. A stream of drool snaked down his chin, pooling on his desktop. His heavy breathing and slurred mumbling earned stares and snickers from fellow classmates. Aggravated, Mr. Benson whacked the marker board. "Mr. Trotter," Mr. Benson snapped. "Mr. Trotter," he bellowed, slapping the board again with a yardstick.
Jeremy rose sluggishly, swatting at a string of saliva tethering him to his desk. "Yes, sir?" he answered groggily.
"You fell asleep again, Mr. Trotter."
“I'm sorry," he mumbled apologetically.
Mr. Benson stomped to the front of his desk, perching on the edge. "Mr. Trotter, can you please tell the class what the assignment is for the rest of the week?"
"I think I might have missed it Mr. Benson."
"You think? Well, try anyway."
“Yes, sir.” Jeremy pushed to his feet; a shade of crimson crept up from his collar. "I think we're supposed to study for a test on the first President of the United States," his voice cracked, uncertain.
Giggles sprang from all around the room
"That would be incorrect. That test was last semester."
"But, since you have brought up the topic, and since this class does have a comprehensive final at the end of the year, maybe this would be a good time to review the material."
"This oughta be good," a voice joked from the back of the room.
Mr. Benson returned to his chair, adjusting his half-glasses on the tip of his nose. "Proceed, Mr. Trotter."
"The first President of the United States was Abraham Lincoln. He came to America on the Mayflower in 1776 and charged up San Juan Hill on a streetcar named Desire."
“Phew,” he whistled. Jeremy collapsed into his chair, shaken by the whole ordeal. Around him, the dam broke. Giggles turned to waves of raucous laughter. Mr. Benson smacked his desk, calling the class to order.
"That was the most historically askew hodgepodge of information I have ever heard," informed Mr. Benson.
Jeremy breathed a sigh of relief. "Why thank-you sir."
"That was not a compliment," Mr. Benson's voice crescendoed.
"Oh," he responded dejectedly.
Mr. Benson scanned the seating chart, and then pointed. "Sarah, would you please inform Mr. Trotter of his upcoming assignment?"
"Certainly," she began. "We are to be prepared to take a test over World War II."
"Yes," he fist pumped. Ignoring the rest of Sarah’s explanation, his hand dove into his backpack and retrieved a pencil. He began scribbling notes furiously.
Mr. Benson noted the change in Jeremy's countenance. "It appears you have taken a real interest in the topic at hand."
"Oh, yes sir. I review this material all the time. In fact, I'm writing down cheat codes right now."
Mr. Benson's eyebrows arched. "Cheat codes?"
"Don't worry Mr. Benson, I won't use them in class, but they sure help while I play the game."
"Dogfight II. That's why I'm so sleepy today. I was up until four this morning playing online."
Looking unimpressed, Mr. Benson pushed for more information. "And this game is about World War II?"
"Sure, I guess."
A shrill bell sounded sending students spilling into a narrow hallway with multi-colored lockers marching from one end of the building to another. Mr. Benson observed his pupils shrugging into various types of outerwear, slinging backpacks over their shoulders. "Wait," Mr. Benson ordered. The students moaned and slid back into their seats. "So, Mr. Trotter, you think this game will help you on Friday’s test?"
Mr. Benson stood, leaning on his desk. "Name one American General who served in World War II."
Jeremy stroked his chin; his eyes lit up. "General George Washington," he blurted.
“Erghhhhhhhh,” he growled, slumping into his chair. “Class dismissed!”
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