The Good Old Days

[Theirmit]

Thorndike's law. Welcome to the Skinner box, Thomas.

Stella's expression remained tactfully unreadable.

"Now, we will be starting with the attendance." Mr. Owens stated. He flipped to a checklist on his desk.

She stopped chewing her gum. Switched her gaze to the front of the room.

"Ibrahim al-Amin," Owens said.

"Yo," Ibrahim al-Amin said.

"Lionel Anderson -"

Stella reached under her desk, unzipped her backpack, pulled out a binder. Put it on her desk. Opened it up, fresh and meaningless.

"-ia Bolanos."

"Bolaños," Alicia Bolaños corrected him.

"Bolaños." Owens sai-

There was this trick for remembering people, which Stella'd, like, figured out. Key was to create associations primarily between the name and the vibe. The face stabilized the connection between the two.

Mr. Owens, snivelly, passive-aggressive, might own a tweed jacket.

Evan Crabtree, bad acne, bad dandruff, talks quiet to make his voice sound deeper than it really is, Christ what a disaster.

Robert Kang, wearing only colors you can buy a dealership Civic in, probably says "sus" too often.

Svetlana Miller, weird name, gaudy hair dye.

Like that.

"Ingrid Mueller," Owens said.

"Here," Ingrid said.

"Stella Nyquist."

She raised her hand. Lowered it.

"I have a niece named Stella," Owens said, looking back down at the attendance list.

She smiled, mouth shut. Nodded her head silently. Didn't sigh or roll her eyes.

((Rest of the class went by uneventfully on her part.))

[Survival Chances]

(OOC: Cicada gave me permission to jump ahead. Thank you.)

And so began the stream of names, which to Thomas were little more than a long string of gibberish that followed. As this happened, Thomas occupied the time with some thinking. How odd is it that people have names, which people primarily use to get their attention? Should a name have more to it?

"Thomas Shaw..." Mr. Owens proclaimed, getting Thomas' attention. Yet before Thomas could say here, or raise his hand, or some way to identify that he was Thomas, Mr. Owens continued.

"Yes I know you already..." He proceeded to type something on his computer and muttered loud enough for the class to hear.

"The talky one..." With disdain in his voice. Thomas suddenly heard a few of his fellow classmates strike up a quiet chuckle.

Thomas began to break a sweat, not for the laughter. Whenever laughter like this was cooked up, Thomas always said something along the lines of "A laugh makes people feel better, no matter what the cause is. I always feel better to make people feel better as long as I don't break any bones."

No, what made Thomas nervous was the annoyance in Mr. Owens voice when he said "The talky one." What if he thinks I'm a troublemaker... This was one of the main things Thomas dreaded with teachers. If Mr. Owens thinks that Thomas is a troublemaker, then already he's on his bad side. Oh well... Nothing to do right now.

Thomas sat up a little straighter and made a little cough.

[Cicada]

Clarissa suddenly felt her eyes shrink a bit into her skull. Her desk- a full sized one instead of one of the tiny ones that made it more difficult to write with her dominant left hand- felt like it pinned her in place, shrinking to press right into her ribs.

That wasn't right, was it? Singling out poor Thomas like that. Hadn't other people been chatting? That one girl with the tomboy haircut had almost, like, been yelling.

Clarissa felt like she should have said something on Thomas' behalf. That was what friends did, right? But also. Good students didn't speak out against their teachers. And either way it wasn't Clarissa's place to speak. It never was. Whenever she spoke when not spoken to she said something stupid.

"Clarissa Shoemaker."

Clarissa half raised her hand into the air and said nothing. Nobody said anything, and they moved onto the next name.

All in an instant.

Eyes no longer on her, if they had ever been, Clarissa glanced sideways at Thomas. A half smile, friendly eyes. Hopefully it said 'I'm sorry he called you out like that'. She was pretty sure that action matched intent.

She focused on taking notes, listening about the syllabus, and trying to remember which face had which name.

[Clarissa Shoemaker Memory Thread 2 Concluded]

[Survival Chances]

After the few seconds of self-pity passed, Thomas sat up. Oh well, no use crying about it now. He felt a little better when he noticed Clarissa smiling at him, as it registered to Thomas that the two were now friends. All Thomas needed to do now was to convince his parents that he could get TicTok or Instagram, especially with his dad who he sometimes calls a "Technology Nazi" behind his back.

Oh well, that's for later, for now: Class.

((Thomas would spend the rest of class paying attention, which is more than what nearly half of the class could say.))