Alastair thought of his mother. The lonely, aging widow needed him to be around and that's why he did not go far when the time came for him to go to college. Before dying, his father had taught there briefly, uprooting the small family from their home in New York to accept a tenure-track position as a professor of physics at the small, midwestern University of O.
Alastair thought about when he was in grade school and how every Friday, after school, Alastair and his mother would go shopping at the smallish mall that was thirty minutes down the road. He didn't altogether enjoying shopping with his mother, especially when she would go to try on clothes for a seemingly interminable amount of time. Making the most of the opportunity of being beyond the watchful gaze of his mother though, Alastair would frequently hide behind the dresses on the clothes rack and peer out with that inimitable impish grin of his. For Alastair, this exercise was all about getting caught and being an annoyance to his mother. As he got older, his exercises in trying poor Chelsea's patience would become more complex and subtle.
One day, Alastair was flippantly making some remarks about his sixth grade classmates. Joanna was unable to finish the last arithmetic quiz as fast as he did. They would race to finish, and this meant that the both of them would frequently make little, careless mistakes. Alastair began picking up little tricks that confused Joanna, and she could not understand how he could finish so fast and do the work so well. Of course he would never let her in on his secrets because that would be giving up a great edge that he had on her.
His other nemesis was Jose. Jose's mother worked in the school as an algebra teacher for the junior high. Alastair and Jose were matching each other on the Accelerated Reader chart, book for book. The program was simple. You picked a book from a list, read it, and then took the corresponding quiz on the correct floppy disk. The computer recorded your score, you printed out the certificate which gave the quiz score and showed it to the teacher, and then the teacher would put some stars up on her chart next to your name. Each book had a number next to it, indicating level of difficulty and the number of points earned for successful completion of the book's quiz. The teacher, Mrs. Williams, would put up a number of stars that equaled the percent correct times the number of points earned for a perfectly done quiz. Of course, Alastair was excellent at this game. He was always an avid reader, and now he was finally getting some reward out of it. At the beginning of the program, Alastair was off to a maddening start, and then all of a sudden he slowed down. His large lead was slowly diminishing by Alastair's over-acheiving match Jose, who was largely disinterested until the accolades began pouring down on Alastair by Mrs. Williams.
Alastair, of course, was just biding his time. He let his mother in on the secret finally. For the past two weeks, he had been reading Charles Dicken's David Copperfield. He should be finished with the work by that evening. Alastair went on and on about how this would be his crowning achievement, how the class would be dazzled by his remarkable performance, and how poor Jose would be disheartened and defeated by this altogether, well-executed knock-out blow. Eighty-four points were up for the taking if Alastair managed a perfect score on the quiz. Alastair admitted that the depth and bredth of the work made it hard to discern how many points he would walk away with, but he was excited nevertheless. And of course he would do well on it. There was no question in his mind about that trivial fact. Upon examining the chart, Alastair realized that only twenty spots remained after his name on the Accelerated Reader chart hanging at the back of the classroom. He was not sure what Mrs. Williams would do, but Alastair was certain that whatever measure she took to recognize his feat would make obvious to any stranger who enetered the classroom that the boy known simply as Alastair Templeton was more than just your ordinary student. Alastair's former teachers and the teachers from the upper grades would come by and heap more accolades upon Alastair. They would rave about how they absolutely adored having him in class. The teachers he did not have class with yet would remark on how they looked forward to doing their part in molding his clearly brilliant mind.
Maybe Mrs. Williams would make a big ceremony over it. After all, his feat was worthy of some celebration, no matter how small. Alastair liked the idea of a great, big trophy -- one made of cheap plastic with a plastic, golden book resting at the top of a plastic, golden pedestal. There would be a little plaque on the fake marble base bearing his name, and it would be in recognition of his remarkable aptitude in literature. Alastair, of course, would act surprised by all the adoration heaped upon him. After all, feigning humility in front of his peers would better serve him in the long run, he reasoned. And then he could go home and bask in the warm glow of the cheaply made trophy and his copy of the quiz certificate. Maybe he could gain some points with his classmates if he brought in some cupcakes the next day.
His mother cut him off there while she was fiddling with some panties strewn about a table in the department store they were in.
"Oh honey, I love to listen to you brag," was all she said.
Alastair was a bit puzzled. Only later would he realize that she always knew more than she would let on. At the time, Alastair wasn't worried -- they would be going out for ice cream in about ten minutes.
...Some More
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