The Bored Pupil: A Short Story

The Bored Pupil

'I hate writing', William thought as he slouched at his desk, his finger tracing the well worn letters, H...E...L...P carved into his desk; a desperate plea by a past pupil who may have actually died of boredom. William was your typical boy, brown hair tousled hair, brown eyes, average height, average weight, average in every way except for his, above average distaste for being bored. "Everybody hates writing," he muttered under his breath.

Glancing around at his classmates, they were all were exhibiting varying degrees of disinterest--Except for the girls, of course. They all sat up nice and straight, especially Sara, she had her hands clasped politely together on her desk, her pigtails aligned perfectly, showing off her

smug 'ask me' smile and flashing her 'I know the answer' eyes.

Miss Burns walked down the aisles, slow and deliberate, like a warden delivering bad news from the governor.

She wore a plain dark gray flannel dress that would make drab seem festive, and a white, starched, high buttoned blouse. Her black, silver streaked hair was pulled back from her face, lifted and spun into her signature, extra tight bun. Miss Burns handed back the essays as she went from desk to desk.

Sensing a steely gaze boring through the back of his head, William sat up straight, as Miss Burn’s shadow crept across his desk. Peering over her spectacles she said, "William," pausing to emphasize the gravity of the situation, "this," dangling his paper between her thumb and forefinger, "is not good," she added, dropping the essay on his desk as if it were toxic waste. William quickly scanned the paper and saw a large 'F' with a minus after it. What the... but... how can you even get an F minus?, he thought.

Miss Burns, a step ahead of him, proceeded to tell him exactly how you can get an F minus. "William, you cite zero references, also, you fail to name even half of our past presidents, and you couldn't even name our current one...President James Buchanan!" She added, "So tell me William, have any ideas how you could have earned an F

minus?"
William stammered out a few uh's and um's as the boys began snickering, and Sara and her pigtailed posse promptly raised their hands, declaring, "we know, we know".

Frustrated, Miss Burns exclaimed, “QUIET!”, then turned and marched to the front of the classroom where she picked up a piece of chalk, took a deep breath and said, "Okay, let's try something different." Turning to the blackboard she started writing "Today's homework assignment is to write about anything you want, an essay, tell a story, fact or fiction, write whatever comes to mind, with a minimum of 500 words, and…she added with a wry grin, It's due tomorrow." The classes low murmuring was replaced with a collective groaning and dread.
***
The next day, Miss Burns gathered the homework assignment with guarded optimism and spent the rest of the morning being brought back to reality after reading one disappointing paper after another. After lunch, she summoned the students to come up one by one to critique their sad scribblings. Drudging her way through the papers, she found a few bright spots of competent writing mixed in, mostly from girls, until she finally reached the bottom of the pile. Miss Burns picked up the last paper and said, "William, please come forward".

Rising from his desk, William, reluctantly trudged to her desk. Holding up the paper so William could see it, she asked, "is this yours?" William leaned forward for a better look and replied, "Yes mam" while carefully trying to avoid eye contact. Miss Burns flipped back to the cover page and leveled her eyes at William, "this is not good", she paused, I say that because, the truth is, it's above good, it’s excellent. It's quite imaginative, with a well constructed plot mixed with a few surprises.
“William, it really seems like you've found something, an interesting style, of course, it needs a lot of work, especially the grammar, but overall, it's quite promising.”

Pointing to the title page she asked "what does this mean, this title?, letting him ponder her question for a moment, she added, "all things considered, it does offer a bit of irony don't you think?" William shrugged his shoulders, pushed his hair back from his eyes and said "I don't know mam, it didn't start out that way, it's just a story I made up, but as I wrote it, things just seemed to fall into place".

"I love it", she added, handing his paper back. "Very well, William, this is the quality of work and effort I now expect from you."

As William walked back down the aisle toward his desk, his classmates leaned out, craning their necks trying get a look at his miraculous paper. Passing by Sara — Whom he would one day marry — she offered a generous smile and gave a subtle nod of approval that seemed to say, 'welcome to the

club'.
Sliding back into his desk, William was looking at something rare, something he had never seen before... shhhhh, quiet.., don't scare it away, he thought, while gazing at the beautiful 'A' marked on his paper. William Sydney Porter looked at his short story's title, 'I Hate Writing', and chuckled. Looking up, he realized the whole class was watching, including Miss Burns. The now, not so bored pupil who would one day use the pen name, 'O'Henry', laughed and announced, to no one in particular, "I love writing", and yes, he did recognize the irony, and he loved it as well.

--The End--