Mr. Harrison was dumbstruck for a solid three seconds. Then, a dark, challenging glint appeared in his eyes.
"Is that so?" he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "You absorbed it mentally. Fine. Follow me, Mr. Dunphy."
He spun on his heel and marched back to the front of the classroom. I stepped out from my desk and followed him with a slow, leisurely stride, keeping my hands in my pockets. I wasn't scared in the slightest. This was the easiest 'face-slapping' scenario I had ever encountered.
Mr. Harrison picked up a piece of chalk and began furiously writing on the blackboard. He didn't just write one question; he wrote five.
By the time the police arrived, the thief ________ (escape).
If I ________ (know) you were coming, I would have baked a cake.
This rare artifact belongs ________ the city museum.
My sister is exceptionally good ________ solving complex riddles.
Despite the high cost, he insisted ________ paying for everyone's meal.
He turned around, holding the piece of chalk out to me like a weapon. "Two from the advanced tenses, three from the complex prepositions I covered today. Since you are so mentally advanced, fill in the blanks. Correctly."
I took the chalk from his hand. "Sure."
I didn't even hesitate. I stepped up to the board, raising the chalk.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The sound of the chalk hitting the board was the only noise in the completely silent room. My hand moved swiftly, writing the answers without a single second of hesitation. It took me less than fifteen seconds to finish all five sentences.
had escaped
had known
to
at
on
I stepped back, placed the chalk neatly on the ledge, and dusted off my hands. "Done."
Mr. Harrison stared at the board. He blinked. He took a step closer, adjusting his glasses as if he couldn't believe his own eyes. He looked at the answers, then looked at me, then looked back at the answers.
The entire class was holding its breath, waiting for the teacher to scream at me for getting them all wrong.
Instead, Mr. Harrison's shoulders slumped slightly. He mumbled under his breath, his voice barely audible, "Oh... perfect. They're all perfect." He looked at me, his strict facade cracking to reveal pure bewilderment. "So good at English? Luke... how?"
I just gave him a modest, lazy shrug.
Mr. Harrison cleared his throat, trying to regain his authority in front of the stunned class. "Well. I suppose... forget it." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Listen, Mr. Dunphy. If you are truly this confident in the material, you can skip taking detailed notes. But you are still in my class. At least pretend to pay attention. Keep your head up."
The students began to whisper frantically. The 'weird' kid had just beaten the strictest teacher at his own game!
I smiled, deciding to throw the guy a bone. In the art of being lazy, having the teacher on your side was a massive advantage.
"Oh, sure, teacher," I said, my voice dripping with respectful sincerity. "Honestly, it's just because of your excellent teaching style that I understood it so quickly. The way you explain things just makes sense to me. Thank you for this."
Mr. Harrison paused. The flattery hit him right in the ego. The irritation completely vanished from his face, replaced by a slightly softened, proud expression. "Well... yes. Quite right. Take your seat, Luke. And... good job."
"Goodbye, teacher," I nodded, slowly walking back to my seat.
As I sat down, the kids around me were looking at me with a mix of awe and fear. I just ignored them, pulling my hoodie up slightly and leaning back in my chair.
Phase one of a peaceful school life: Establish dominance so the teachers leave you alone. Success.
The bell rang shortly after, signaling the end of English.
The next few classes—Mathematics and Social Science—were a breeze. I had learned my lesson from Mr. Harrison's class. Instead of putting my head down and sleeping openly, I perfected a new technique.
I opened my notebook, placed a pen in my hand, and rested my forehead on my other hand, angling my face downward toward the book. From the teacher's perspective, I looked like an incredibly diligent student deeply focused on his reading.
In reality, my eyes were half-closed, and I was comfortably resting my mind. It was the ultimate 'open notebook fake-out'.
The hours passed easily. The seventh-grade curriculum was so basic that I just let it wash over me without retaining a single bit of it.
Finally, the loud, glorious sound of the lunch bell echoed through the hallways.
The classroom erupted into chaos as kids scrambled to pack their bags and sprint for the door. I took my time, slowly placing my single notebook into my blue backpack and slinging it over my shoulder.
Stepping out into the hallway, the noise was deafening. Lockers were slamming, kids were shouting, and the smell of cheap pizza and overly sweet fruit punch drifted through the air.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and began the trek toward the canteen.
As I walked, I noticed the social dynamic. Groups of kids were clustering together—the jocks, the nerds, the popular girls complaining about their hair. A few kids brushed past me without a second glance. I was slightly ignored by the general populace of the middle school. The original Luke was a bit of an eccentric outcast, and apparently, that reputation held strong.
Honestly? I couldn't be happier.
Being popular required effort. It required maintaining conversations, caring about middle school drama, and trying to impress people whose brains hadn't even fully developed yet. Being ignored meant freedom. It meant I could eat my lunch in peace.
I entered the massive, echoing cafeteria. I grabbed a tray, loaded it up with a slice of decent-looking pizza, a carton of chocolate milk, and an apple. I paid with the crumpled dollar bills Claire had shoved into my pocket that morning, then scanned the room.
I spotted an empty table near the large windows at the far end of the canteen, away from the screaming masses.
Perfect.
I walked over, set my tray down, and took a seat alone. I cracked open the chocolate milk and took a long sip, looking out the window at the sunny courtyard. No drama, no screaming sisters, no overbearing parents, and no teachers bothering me.
Just a lazy guy, his pizza, and a front-row seat to watch the chaotic world go by. This reincarnated life wasn't so bad after all.