He went out with Diana Sunday evening and told her what he’d been doing. “Perfect,” she said. “You’re going to be one of the great teachers of our time.” They were on the observation floor of the Sunsphere in World’s Fair Park, with a magnificent view of the city.
“So, how’s life with your new company?”
“Okay.”
“What do you actually do for them?” She seemed a bit young to be an advertising consultant.
“I write commercials.”
“You have any background in that?”
She laughed. “I like to write, and I know what turns people on.” Her eyes looked elsewhere as she said it.
The Monday teachers’ meeting was short and generally inconsequential. Walter already knew he’d have five classes per day. There would also be a study hall. And he’d been assigned a freshman homeroom. Dr. Mullen spoke for a few minutes, welcoming everyone back from summer vacation and asserting her confidence that Brackenwood would enjoy another productive year. She passed out folders containing teachers’ schedules, students’ names, and a copy of the Academy protocols. Do not spend time alone in a classroom with one student. Do not under any circumstances use physical force. Announcements will be made over the PA system during the first five minutes of homeroom. Students will be dismissed within one minute after a bell rings. They are to be in the next class when the second bell rings ten minutes later.
Were there any questions?
There were a few. Had last year’s effort to include parents more actively in the educational process succeeded?
“We’re happy with the results,” said Dr. Mullen. “It worked. Largely thanks to the efforts of Harry and Jackie. We’ll be expanding the effort this year. Details are in the protocols.”
Somebody wanted to know whether they would restore the senior field trip to DC.
And had the issues involving Internet use been settled?
When it was finally over, most of the teachers dispersed to local restaurants. Walter received two invitations, but since he didn’t know anyone, he declined both.
He didn’t sleep well, staring for hours at the ceiling while going over his opening remarks in his head. He’d compiled some jokes. Like: What do you say to Schrödinger’s cat at the end of the experiment? “Make up your mind.”
Why didn’t Einstein’s lamps work? Because energy is always conserved.
Why did Heisenberg’s wife hate to go shopping? Because she could never decide what she was looking for.
Hell, no. He’d never be able to get away with any of those. He wished he could get into his Robin Williams persona. But he’d need the Quark-box for that.
On Tuesday he got up too early. He made breakfast, sat down to watch the news show he now thought of as Morning Walter, and finally set out for school. Had he stayed with the taxi, he’d be in bed now. By the time he arrived at Brackenwood and pulled into the parking lot, he was a nervous wreck.
He walked in through the front doors, showed his ID to the security guard, and arrived in his classroom twenty minutes early. But there were already three kids behind their desks. He put his briefcase down, picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote his name on the board: MR. PEACOCK. Behind him, somebody giggled.
When he turned, they were all not very effectively hiding smiles. “Good morning,” he said, trying to be casual.
They all responded with “Good morning, Mr. Peacock,” followed by more snickers.
Get used to it, he thought. They don’t know they’re laughing at Captain America.
The homeroom was easy. And it was only fifteen minutes long. The classes ran three-quarters of an hour. In the first period, Walter tried his best to assume a confident stance and welcome everybody. He placed them into their assigned seats. “If at any time,” he said, “you have a question, please don’t hesitate to raise your hand.” He followed with a short description outlining what the program would cover. Then he gave them an assignment: “I’d like to know what you find most puzzling about physics. Think about it for a couple of minutes, and write your response in no more than four sentences.” The plan was to give them something to occupy them for a few minutes while he committed faces and names to memory.
But the timing didn’t work. The kids—there were twenty-four of them—opened their notebooks, frowned at them, and, for the most part, shook their heads. Nothing puzzled them about physics because they’d never really thought about it. But each of them wrote something down. There were a few questions about how curveballs work, and when you fall off a building, do you pick up speed as you get nearer to the sidewalk? And several wondered why they needed the class at all. Well, Okay. It was a start.
Wes Calvecchio, who looked as if he might be a linebacker on the Academy team, was the exception. He raised a hand. "Why can’t we travel faster than light?” he asked.
“Good question, Wes.” Somebody said something about bad roads. Walter tried to explain. It violates causality. “If you could move at the speed of light, there’d be no sense of passing time. You’d get the impression you were traveling at an infinite pace. No way you could go faster than that.” He saw confusion in their eyes. “Maybe,” he said, “we better let that go for a while.”
It was, he decided, going to be a long day.
“I’m sorry I got near it,” he told Diana. “I’m just the wrong person for the job.”
“Give yourself a chance,” she said. “The first day is never easy.”
He didn’t like confiding in her, putting his weakness on display. But she’d called him again. He didn’t get a sense she was being swept off her feet by him, but something seemed to be going on. And God knew there was no one else in his life. “Got to go,” he said. “I have to prep for tomorrow.”
That was a lie. No amount of prepping was going to get him through the next day. Some people just aren’t good with an audience. He settled in to watch some Seinfeld. With himself in the lead. He tried to prevent Jason Alexander, as George, from confronting the Soup Nazi. He inserted Diana for Elaine and persuaded her that the original title of War and Peace was War: What Is It Good For? He watched himself and George unknowingly con a couple of Nazis into a ride home from the airport. But he shut the TV down midway through the episode.
Walter was magnificent as Jerry. If he could only, somehow, take that personality into the classroom, he’d become the best teacher in the state. But the jokes hadn’t worked. And that was the point. It was the personality that was missing. The delivery. He got off the sofa and tried to deliver a couple of the Seinfeld routines, but it was no use. Everything came out flat.
Well, it was going to be all right. He’d met his students and survived.
His topic on the second day was the difference between speed and velocity, and why it matters. Wes Calvecchio stayed with him, nodding occasionally, biting his lower lip. And Linda Markham’s bored eyes softened, as she leaned forward over her desk, obviously trying to puzzle her way through what he was saying. The others for the most part stared quietly out windows or down at their notebooks. They looked frequently up at the clock, occasionally whispering. They were obviously all relieved when the bell rang.
The rest of the week followed a similar pattern. He wanted to talk to Diana, but he didn’t call her. It wouldn’t be a good idea to let her see him feeling sorry for himself. He was beginning to think seriously about quitting. His father checked in. “How’s it going, Walter?”