Welcome to Generation X, Teacher
Chapter 4
By Yasmin M.

Basic disclaimers and notes in Chapter One. Additional disclaimer: Starfleet is the brainchild of Gene Roddenberry, and it belongs to Paramount/Viacom. A round of enthusiastic applause goes to my beta readers: Indigo, Lynx, and Sara, for their invaluable help with this monster. Many apologies to SJM and SK, whose personalities I have appropriated for this story. ;) Feedback is much appreciated!

Italic text represent emphasis or thoughts, and {{...}} indicate telepathic communication. Rated PG-13 for language.

**** ComicsAddict enters the chat ****

<DejaVu> 'lo there! Long time no chat. ;)
<ComicsAddict> heya faez
<DejaVu> How are things in good ol' Malaysia? I miss home :(
<DejaVu> <thinks longingly of nasi briyani[1]>
<ComicsAddict> more or less the same. bloody hot over here
<DejaVu> <hands Jane a cold can of Coke>
<ComicsAddict> thanks!
<ComicsAddict> how's yer first day teaching?
<DejaVu> Well, it was a nice morning. Birds chirping, flowers blooming... the whole works
<ComicsAddict> aha...
<DejaVu> Then I entered the class... and it went downhill from there
<DejaVu> <slumps down in seat>
<ComicsAddict> eheh... sounds like a good story
<DejaVu> More like "hellish". <sigh>
<ComicsAddict> what happened?
<DejaVu> Horror...
<ComicsAddict> okayyyyy...
<DejaVu> Terror...
<DejaVu> Chaos...
<ComicsAddict> <jabs faez in the ribs>
<DejaVu> Woi!
<DejaVu> <hefts rotten melon threateningly>
<ComicsAddict> so tell me about it already!
<DejaVu> <rubs ribs and glares at Jane>
<DejaVu> Fine, fine, whatever. Okay, I was pretty nervous about my first class...

I looked at myself in the mirror, debating whether I was insane for accepting Sean's offer. It was a road I had travelled far too many times, so while "Sane" was laying seige on "Insane", most of my mind was devoted to finding an elusive scarf in my suitcase. By the time "Insane" had boiled some tar to pour down the walls, I was clothed, made-up, and extremely apprehensive.

The clothes I chose were simple: a white, long-sleeved blouse in a masculine cut, tailored black slacks, and a wine-red headscarf. Most importantly, they were made from unstable molecules and guaranteed to last under the most extreme condition. It better be, or I'll have Richards' hide, I thought grimly. Even if I didn't have precog powers, it was easy to tell that the kids were up to something, judging from the furtive looks they shot at each other over breakfast. I can only hope that it doesn't involve explosions, carnage, and blood-curdling screams of agony.

Hah. Right.

Once more into the breach, my friends...

Stop that!

Says you and what Starfleet?

Damn, I'm talking to myself again.

I eyed the door of the classroom warily, shifting the books I carried to my left arm. It was slightly ajar, and I could hear clearly the sound of someone trying to muffle giggles. A scrabbling noise followed as someone sensed my presence. Probably Jono or Monet, I thought.

Frowning at the door, I extended my precog power...

//flash//

hardpailwetlaughter...

//flash//

... and hid a grin.

So.

I nudged open the door, and as predicted a water-filled pail fell to the floor with a crash. A spectacular splash rained on the trousers of the people in its trajectory -- Paige, Everett, and unfortunately me. Both jumped in their seats, and dismay was clearly written on the faces of the students. Sighing under my breath, I carefully stepped over the puddle to the desk.

"Morning, class. Nice to see that you're not half-asleep. Then again, not having to catch the school bus at 5:30am probably counts a lot."[2] I studied the "gifted youngsters", noting that some of them sported bruises, probably from training. What a pity flitted through my mind.

"Good morning," they disharmoniously chorused. I was a little surprised that they didn't stand up, until I reminded myself that this isn't Malaysia. Different countries, different customs...

"Before we start, I'd like to make clear what you can expect from my English Literature class." I picked up a piece of chalk and fiddled with it, leaning against the desk. "My class will not be like the classes Mr Cassidy and Ms Frost teach. I will not attempt to make you learn through rote. My homework will not consist solely of papers, nor will they be few." I waited until they finished groaning. "Your grades at the end of the semester also depend on special projects I will assign to you, though 50% will come from your exam results."

Deliberately, I tossed the chalk out of the window. The students' eyes followed its journey, obviously surprised. Paige gaped, while Monet remained stone-faced. "In my class, I will do my best to teach you how to appreciate and analyse literary works. You will learn a little about the history of literature, as well as the background of the writers, poets, and playwrights we will cover in the course of our study." I added, "Articulateness, creativity, and depth are the three elements I look for in your work -- and be assured that active class participation will be a considerable point in your favour."

Jubilee's hand shot up.

//flash//

"Yes, I'm very particular about spelling and grammar." I grinned at her crestfallen expression. "Blame it on my secondary school -- it was once a missionary school. Don't worry, you'll have plenty of opportunities to polish your command of the English language. I guarantee that."

Monet arched an eyebrow.

//flash//

"If you would be so kind as to be patient, Monet, we will start in a minute. Any more questions?"

Jono shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

//flash//

Sigh.

"No, Jonothon, I do not know why they made you take this bloomin' class. Kindly sit up and listen." I glared at him until I was sure that he was sufficiently receptive to my teaching. "First of all, we'll go through a list of literary terminologies and concepts. No use having ideas if you don't know how to express them, no?" I smiled at the students as I passed a sheaf of papers to them. "Please read the papers, and we'll revise the list again later."

//flash//

"Oh, and Jubilee? Please don't turn them into paper planes, nor any other form of origami. They are given to you to read."

The rest of the students took the hint, and bent their heads to the task. Even Jono, I noted happily. As was my habit, I paced quietly around the class, neatly avoiding stink capsules and tiny firecrackers -- hidden by bits of paper -- innocuously placed in my path. By the time I got to the glued-together dictionary on the class' bookshelf, I had to admire their ingenuity, if not their intention.

"Finished? Good. Time for a quick quiz." Ignoring Jubilee's grousing, I searched the class for a 'victim'. "Angelo, what is a binary? No telepathic help please, Jono."

{{The thought never crossed my mind.}}

Angelo visibly started, having been lost in his own thoughts for the last five minutes or so. One blink. Two blinks. "A star?" he ventured cautiously.

"This is English Literature, not Astronomy," I said briskly. "If you had been reading the papers I gave your, Mr Espinosa, instead of staring at my rear end, you would know that a binary is a pair of contrast. Hot and cold, black and white, and so on. Jubilee, can you give me another example?"

"That's easy," she answered confidently. "Wolvie an' Cyke."

Grins greeted her statement, including one on my own face. "Good one," I commented, and she looked pleased. "Paige, what are the differences between a parody and a satire?"

Thus, the rest of the morning passed peacefully.

That was sarcasm, by the way.

Phew. No casualties yet, I sighed as the class began to draw to a close. My clothes were mostly untouched, even after the near-incident with the bag of sticky porridge. Weary with the prolonged use of my precognition, I went back to my desk, fully intending to rest my feet for the first time in the morning. I don't think I can survive another morning like this, I thought. My arm brushed against a stack of books, and one of them fell to the chair.

The chair quietly collapsed into its component pieces.

I closed my eyes, blocking out the sniggers behind my back. I am *not* going to scream. Nor will I wring their little necks. Slowly, I turned around to face the class. Think nice thoughts, Faez. There were several unoccupied chairs on the classroom, but I didn't trust their seemingly benign nature.

"Everett, could you please lend me your chair? You'll have to use one of the vacant chairs until I can get a replacement."

"Huh?" He looked a little pale. "Sure, Ms Faez." Everett readily handed me his chair, but he took a long time to choose another. At last he took one from the back, and gingerly sat down.

The class held their breath.

For a while, nothing happened. Then there was a click, a pop, and finally...

//flash//

"Duck!" I shouted. The students, used to obeying similar orders, scrambled to safety. Everett, I noticed, already launched himself over a convenient desk. Inevitably, as if dragged by a magnet, our eyes turned towards the chair.

It seemed to shiver slightly, then with a "thock-BOOSH!" flour spewed out from under the chair into the room. Flour bomb! When I get my hands on the kid who made this... Choking on the billowing clouds of grain, the students immediately rushed to the door.

Ever heard of the domino effect? Generation X, in their eagerness to escape, forgot something: the stink capsules and tiny firecrackers were still spread on the floor. And very much in their path.

"Disastrous" would seem to describe the scene well.

<ComicsAddict> wow
<ComicsAddict> i'd love to see that! lol
<DejaVu> I'm glad *someone* enjoyed it. I don't want to talk about it anymore. Suffice to say that the kids will do penance for a long, long time
<ComicsAddict> <snicker>
<ComicsAddict> hey, I met mr george[3] the other day in my bookstore
<DejaVu> Great! How's he?
<ComicsAddict> he's fine. he thinks that you're going to marry an angmoh[4] <grin>
<DejaVu> WHAT?
<ComicsAddict> he said, and i quote, "she *said* she just goes over there to teach for a while. but in the end... you just see-lah, she's going to marry a white guy and settle down there".
<DejaVu> WHAT???
<ComicsAddict> <dodges rotten melon>
<DejaVu> <deep breath> <removes hand from keris>
<DejaVu> Well, tell him I still prefer to be a bachelor. Besides, who can I snag around here? The leprechaun? <snort> I think not!
<ComicsAddict> heh. what a blow to his ego ;D
<DejaVu> He'll survive. How's your bookstore doing? <concerned look>
<ComicsAddict> fine. a few people dropped some titles because of the ringgit[5], but the ones who can still afford comics tend to buy the new ones like spirit of the tao and battle chasers. it all balances out.
<DejaVu> Glad to hear that I won't have to offer you a job as a security guard at Xavier School after all. ;D
<ComicsAddict> lol! hold that position... who knows? ;)
<DejaVu> Ack, gotta go. Damn!
<DejaVu> Here's my new addy: faez@mass.xavier.edu. We can gossip about Sonia's new boyfriend later -- she's got a new one, y'know. ;)
<ComicsAddict> doesn't she always? ;)
<ComicsAddict> cheerios!
<DejaVu> Ta!

[1] Rice flavoured with spices, served with chicken curry.
[2] This happens here in Malaysia.
[3] My secondary school (high school) English teacher, also my favourite teacher. I hope he never finds out I'm writing this...
[4] Hokkien colloquialism for Caucasians. Used everywhere in Malaysia.
[5] Malaysian currency.