Epilogue - Somebody put me back in school I forget everything I used to know.

1 Vendémiaire Year CCXXXII, Potat, South Windland, Libertalia – Amazonia

Nigel Lange was disappointed to hear that his best friend, Oliver Young, would not be joining him for the first day of preschool. That lucky bastard got to stay home and be 'home schooled' while his dad was on sabbatical. This was Nigel's third go around since becoming a little, and it was going to be even harder this year.

Last year was hard, because the bigs no longer humored him as a first timer. That was when he had lost hope he would ever be grown up again. He went through a naughty period for a few months but then was back to his old self as he settled in for the long hall. Day after day of hand painting. Sing-a-longs. Stories about crocodiles. Two recesses. Then there was the lunch that was halfway between gruel and baby food. Plus, it all repeats in the afternoon. Mommy would almost always pick him up after lunch though, but sometimes she did not and those were the worst days because it was all the same thing in the afternoon, but this time with people he did not know.

Summer had been awesome, and once he got done with lunch today, he'd be racing home to play with his friend. He still thought of it as play, even though Oliver always pretended it was the most important thing in the universe. Nigel was even thinking of the best way to get through lunch early, maybe just throw it in the trash and ditch? Could he get home before his mom leaves? He could hold out until dinner; it was not like he was a growing boy anymore.

Nigel had wanted to take his new bike to school. It was just a mile away, but his mommy had insisted she drop him off on his big day. She said the bike would ruin his new clothes.

The two had gone clothes shopping last décade. It was a novel experience. He did not remember even doing something like this when he was an adult. It was not like shopping at Bullseye. The Amazon had wrapped him in measurement tape. When the big put the jacket on him, the old man would ask him how it felt in various spots. Is it too tight in the chest? How do the arms hang? Is the stomach flat if he turned this or that way? And mom would talk for him, one more inch here, one less here, make it hang this way or that. She used lots of big grown-up words he did not understand, but really just meant it had a have a fold in one place or another.

He was not sure if it was meant to be humiliating. This was not like the first time he crapped his pants in public, but kind of felt it should be in the same category. It was more like when the Amazons pretended to do big kid math without a calculator. He still remembered when that had come up in a court case. The moment you put bigs on the stand suddenly they could not even do basic addition. It was all just a dumb game the adults played to make him feel small in new ways.

Nigel did not know anything about clothes, and he was pretty sure he did not know anything last time around either. Maybe knowing about clothes was just a girl thing? His mom was just a girl playing dress up with her Nigel doll. He preferred this new phase. This felt better than being the 'baby-wet-himself and needs a diaper change' model she had put him through the first three years.

It was the most boring day of the otherwise most kick ass summer that had ever been filled with adventure. His mother had even asked him if he wanted a pocket square. A pocket square! She was the most uncool mom in the history of moms. He had erroneously said it the other way, just like Oliver had done with his mom, but she had known what he meant to say right?

Of course she would make him wear his new clothes today. Mother, did you not think this will get ruined at one of the six recesses we will take today? Or maybe when we get to hand painting? Or when the teachers inevitably would choose to ignore him when he said he had to go potty? Has it been so long since you had to go to preschool that you just forgot what our days were like?

It was her money, not his. If the suit gets ruined it gets ruined.

When she took his picture at the front door of his house, he almost looked like an adult again. Almost. He also had a bright blue Naomi and Oliver World backpack that ensured no one would take him seriously. Plus, his mommy was holding his hand the whole way to the building. She had asked him if there was anything less uncool than having his mom hold his hand on the first day of school, and he had been tricked into saying no, there was nothing less uncool. Well, she knew what he intended to say, and that was what mattered.

Mom brought him to the classroom door. He knew the name, Mrs. Buttzinsky. For a third time. Last year she insisted on being called Ms. B, because she did not think it appropriate for littles to say butt. She had frizzy gray-red hair, that stood on end almost like she had stuck a finger in an electrical socket. It was puffy and voluminous. Like she was a clown who had chosen to dress as an undercover spy. This was not the haircut of a woman who wanted to have conversations with adults her own age.

How many times would he experience the same first day of preschool over and over. Fifty? A hundred? Would his mommy still need to drop him off when he was ninety?

Nigel's mother got low and then hugged him. Enough to hurt. “I know it's been hard, but I just want you to know I'm proud of you. Just remember how important this is. The first day of the rest of your life.”

It was just preschool! He had done it three times before. He remembered last year. It sucked worse than the previous. The most difficult problem they ever worked on was on why some ducks are colorful and some ducks are not colorful.

The teachers had explained the colorful ones were the daddy ducks and the ugly ones were the mommy ducks. They gave some other examples, but the teacher wanted them to imagine why sometimes boy animals and girl animals were different and sometimes they were the same. He had shouted immediately that it was because boys rule and girls drool, which kicked off a healthy discussion. It was the most fun he had all year in preschool. The whole class was just sitting around the story circle and throwing out whatever their imaginations could come up with.

For a brief moment it was like being in law school again, and there were no right or wrong answers. Even the bigs pretended not to know what the real answer was, so everyone could be equal in their guesses. Then it was time for lunch, and then summer vacation started, and it was boring for a few weeks.

Then the Young's moved in next door. He and Oliver built the club house for L.N.D, went on bike rides, sneaked into the community pool and swam in it during the “adult swim” time, and even had an ice cream cake for his (thirty) fifth birthday party. He did not want to say it was the greatest summer vacation of his life, because he did not want to try to remember the ones from the first half of his life. It always made him cry. It was definitively the best one since he became a little.

There is no greater injustice in the world than being a little, but summer? A summer like that he could do for the rest of his life. Almost makes the other three hundred days of the year worth it. Almost.

His mother had gone off to talk to his teacher and Nigel just walked around the classroom. He found a label on the wall next to a hook with his name, so he put his suit jacket up and placed his backpack in the cubby next to it. The twelve desks had been rearranged in squares of four each, and Nigel found his near a window, not far from the teacher's desk. It had a bright yellow brown tag that showed his name in cursive. As he sat down, he heard his mom raise her voice.

“You listen to me you glorified babysitter, my son and I went through hell this summer to get him in control again, and he's not losing it. I don't care if there is a fire or a tornado or the wrath of god is coming down, if he has to go, he's going. No waiting, no asking for permission, no holding it in because you're too busy picking your nose or getting off on humiliation like a sicko. He's just going to go across the hall and go. That's why he's in this class.”

“I don't know if that's fair to the other...”

“No, you hear me. I didn't dress him up like a monkey just so he could ruin a thousand-dollar suit over some fantasy power trip you have. You know what something like that costs to clean? I will make this school pay for it, or if necessary to replace it. I did this because I know he can make it, so anytime he doesn't I'm blaming you, and the school. And the other moms in the Pee-Tee-Aye will find out, and all the children will be showing up in very nice suits and dresses until the school finds a way to make this work.”

Nigel had never heard her go off like that. Not even against him, even that one time he was super naughty. Not against the clerks at a store when they could not scan the coupons right. Not even with daddy, and daddy deserved to be yelled at sometimes.

His mother came back over and hugged him while he was putting supplies away in his school desk. She rocked him slightly, patted his hair, and then gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “I love you, I'll be back after three to pick you up? OK? You're going to be big until then, right?”

Three? It was not a half day? Fuck. No wonder she was being so nice. Yes, yes I'll be big, just stop making me look so uncool in front of the other kids.

He was not sure if he had said that aloud, or if he had just mumbled something. He knew she knew what he meant to say.

Not that there were a ton of children in the room yet, but Sally was now here and that was all he cared about. Sally even had a spot next to him this year. Another year of daycare, all the same repeated faces, everyone stuck in a time loop, the same day over and over. His mother left, blowing him a kiss at the door. He made a tiny wave with his hand so she would leave.

The small hand was almost to two, and the big hand was almost to eight, so three would be ... nine? hours away. Amazonian clocks worked on base eight, and zero o'clock always starts when the sun rises, so three would be almost dinner time tonight. At least his mom packed a lunch, and he would not have to eat the other kind of food.

“Nigel, can you come here a second.” Oh. Revenge of the teacher. He was going to get it for what his mom had said. Sins of the mommy become sins of the little. Ms. B looked a bit shaken. She had a piece of wood out; she was patting it in her hands and looking at him sternly.

A spanking? Seriously? On the first day! It was his mom, not him. He did not do anything bad. This was unfair.

“Yes, Ms. B?”

“Now, Nigel, I know we're a bit close because I taught you last year, but I'm going to insist you call me Mrs. Buttzinsky now.”

“I can do that Mrs... Butt..zin...sky.” That felt weird. Her hair seemed to gray just with him saying it. Hardly showing any of the red he remembered. He could see she had wrinkles now. Her glasses seemed thicker and eyes more distant.

“Thank you, you're a good kid. You know that? I know you know how I like to teach, so I'm going to ask you to be my special little helper until the other kids get caught up to you, OK? So please don't take our friendship as an excuse to slack off. I need you to be a good example for the others.”

It's preschool! Who cares? He will throw a toy and then take a nap and then it all resets like nothing happened.

“Sure. You can count on me.”

Oh no. He was a helper now. He was supposed to be a little next door, standing up to tyranny and injustice, and here he was, helping. She had smelled his resistance and in two seconds turned him into a collaborator. Help or be spanked. Is that all it took to break him?

“Your mom informed me of your special condition, and we all know how hard it is for you, so I want you to have this. This is just for you. When the other kids are up to your level maybe we'll have to come up with some more formal system, but for now you're the only one who gets this.”

She handed him the paddle. It was a polished piece of wood with a rope handle in a loop. The words “Hall Pass” were painted on it in black.

“Now the boy's room is across the hall. You know the difference between the boys’ room and girls’ room, right?”

He nodded, the circle with a line and a hat.

“Now I know your mommy has worked extra special hard with you on this, but if I find out that you're horsing around or playing in there, she is going to be the first to know, and you're going to be back with the rest of the other students. Do you understand.”

“Thank you... Ms... B... uttzinsky. I'll be a … good helper.”

First day of the new resistance and the first adult he met had broken him. And with that he was back at his seat, waiting for the start of class. He stared at the wooden plank, slowly feeling the polished wood. He wasn't sure if he wanted to have it out as a badge of honor, or to hide it so the others wouldn't be jealous. In thirty-five years he had never been given something like this. After college he had studied for two months to take an important test that let him have his adult job, but this felt even more important than that. For all he knew he was the only little on the planet that had one of these.

“Why do you get one of those?” Sally was ten years younger. She had become a little at about the same time he did. It was a shared tragedy for the both of them, and each of them got to comfort each other in their misery together. They had watched each other lose their countenance, having to get used to calling their new parents mommy or daddy, forgetting the faces of their old families, new bed times, being forced to wear mittens, the changes in food, going to the doctor for shots, and even the spankings. Every day they cried and hugged, and they got close.

The two had done a short period of hand holding at recess and see-sawing together the first year. Even did simultaneous swinging while holding hands when the bigs were not looking, the most dangerous game on the playground.

Then her daddy had moved her to the afternoon class. He remembered when she had kissed him on the left cheek and said goodbye. They would try to leave messages or candy to each other in a hidden spot on the playground, but a long-distance relationship never lasts. Now? It was strange seeing her again, to have been in love and then to fall out of it and then see that person again.

She was wearing a “This is what a Princess looks like” shirt. Black text on a simple red shirt. Nothing fancy. T-shirt, jeans, and she had gotten her blond hair cut short. He wished he could dress like she did. He had to wear slacks, and he could not run in the grass with them on. Plus, his collared shirt had too many buttons and had to go inside the pants, and a tie he needed his mom to put on him. His clothing was too hot and too itchy.

Her dad gave her too much space, let her stay up late (7:00), and dress however she wanted. She even said he would let her make herself breakfast (cereal in a bowl, no milk) and if she was quiet, she could watch cartoons on the weekends while the rest of the house slept.

It was not fair. The girls got to grow up more. Maybe she would want to come over after school? He could see if she wanted to join the L.N.D. She seemed a better candidate for Oliver's mission than him. He was a traitor to the cause now.

“It's a boy thing. You wouldn't get it because you're just a dumb girl,” he finally answered.

“Whatever, nerd.”

More of the students had come in. He recognized most of them. There was even Billy the drooler. Billy had not taken to preschool well. He was an old foggy, a little from longer back than anyone could remember, and every year he seemed to be worse than the previous.

At some point the bigs had done something terrible. Probably way back in the day when the tools were clumsier, and the Amazons did not have the patience for long regressions. Billy's hands could not grasp things right and if he ever went for more than five minutes without a pacifier or a thumb in his mouth, he would have spit running down his shirt. Some days he could barely keep his head up without it collapsing onto the floor.

But sometimes, when his head was turned around and you could not see the eyes, and when he wore a new plaid polo shirt, and had a professional thin haircut for his graying to white hair, you could pretend he was still a man. Then a second later he would snap his head around showing those tilted unfocused eyes and the impression would be gone.

Is that Nigel's future? The future of all littles? Just give up and stare at the lights all day. A slow death of the mind, the spirit, the ego, and then the body.

Ms. B walked up the map of the world that had covered the green chalkboard at the front of class. She commanded everyone's attention. There were no in tweener class helpers or assistants coming in yet. Running late maybe? The twelve littles all stared at the one big person.

Ms. Buttzinsky seemed off. She kept looking at her notes and then back at the class and then her notes and back at the class. Like she was trying to start something but couldn't. She fiddled with her jacket, just to keep her hands busy.

Was Ms. B nervous? It's preschool. You've done this a hundred times. Who cares? Just tell us when nap time is.

She pulled at the bottom of the map, and it zoomed back up into the roll, exposing the board behind it.

There was chalk writing “My name is Mrs. Buttzinsky. Welcome to...” Her back covered up the word preschool. This was just a bit too theatrical. Everyone would be getting diaper checks in ten minutes.

This is not a movie. Just tell us we can go play with the toys.

“Everyone, I want to thank you for showing how well behaved and ready for this adventure we are about to undertake. You all found your assigned seats and cubbies without direction and that shows some strong self-initiative. Now some of you I am only just meeting for the first time, and some of you I have worked with before. I haven't taught bigger children in a while, so this is a big day for me too. I hope you are patient with me as I get used to dealing with your special needs.”

Welcome to 1^st Grade.

Impossible. Landing on the moon impossible. No little ever made it to first grade. Everyone had day care at some point, maybe even preschool, and some very unlucky littles “went to kindergarten” if their mommies worked in a school. But first grade? He hadn’t been in first grade in thirty years!

What had Oliver said? “Six would be a problem. We'll deal with six when we get there.”

No this is gaslighting. It's all an Amazon trick. Get him to grow up for just a few months for a summer, have some hope, and then turn him back into a baby. Get him back to square one.

And to confirm his worst fears, Ms. B took out a book no one would associate with a child above the age of two.

“Hopping on the Pop”

It wasn't fair! All of this was an elaborate game to just fuck with him. How many layers did this go? He wasn't going to cry. He would just take the punishment. He deserved it for thinking he could resist. He could cry after three when his mommy picked him up. Or maybe lunch if he found a quiet corner.

“For our first assignment we'll read a passage from the text, a 'hopping on the pop'”

The other littles were zoning out. No one cared. It was preschool again. Sally started to draw on her desk's name tag. She had no intention of paying attention to a book she had heard a million times before.

He did not even notice he was raising his own hand. Don't cry. Boys don't cry. You're a little next door and they don't cry. You're going to beat this.

“Yes, Nigel.”

“Mrs. Buttzinsky. I think you read that to us last year.”

She looked at her notes and the class and her notes and the class. She was confused. Something wasn't right. These were... oh no! She had brought the wrong prep materials to school. On her first day too! This was bad. She could be fired if she didn't salvage this, and worse, she couldn't run out and fix it, she was the only adult in the room. She'd have to figure something out on the fly. She was incredibly bad at that. She always had a plan.

Don't let the children know you fucked up on your first day back to teaching grammar school. Just stay in control.

“Very good! You are correct. This was.”

What did children learn in first grade? Good versus bad? Right versus wrong? Responsibility?

“This was a test, and I'm glad one of you had the courage to point out an adult was trying to trick you. Now everyone pay attention to Nigel. He wasn't the only one to notice, right? In fact, I bet most of you did.”

Oh no, the body snatchers. Just like in that anthology of sci-fi stories Oliver gave him for his birthday. It was a test. You hang a body out to see if anyone notices something is wrong, and when someone complains, those are the littles you kill.

“Being a first grader is about responsibility and one of those responsibilities is understanding that things are going to be hard. Hard is good! The point of being here isn't to watch you, it's to help push you to be better than you were before. At no point should you end the day by saying 'this was easy', and if you feel that way it's your responsibility to let me know. We're all counting on you to want to be better, so we can push you to be the best you can be.”

“I know every single one of you wanted this day to be easy. 'Let's all just have a fun day, it's just the first day of class'. The first day is the most important! It sets the tone for the rest of the year. That's the difference between a little and an adult, adults show up and they do the work, and they work to improve themselves even if it's hard. Especially when it's hard. So, this is your first homework assignment.”

Homework. HOMEWORK! Nigel had never heard such a beautiful word in his life. Like opening the cellar door of elementary school. Wait, why was he excited for homework?

She wrote it in beautiful cursive on the chalkboard. Even if he practiced for a hundred years, he would never have cursive that good looking. He was in love again. Maybe Mrs. B could marry him if things didn't work out with Mr. B.

Then he read the full prompt. “Why is it important to do the right thing, even if it does not benefit you to do it?”

Huh?

He searched his mind and where there should have been some answer to that was just a big blank nothing. The great big library that was his head... zilch, nothing. Not misfiled, or hidden, it felt more like he was not supposed to know the answer to this specific question. Like how he knew he did not like to eat onions, it was just some primal revulsion.

“Now this is a big part of your grade this semester, so when you go home to your mommies and daddies tonight you will let them know this is a big project you're working on so they can help you. That means you might need to go to the library or interview people to help you with the writing. And later this week we'll get everyone a library card and the librarian will go over all the responsibilities that come with that.”

Project? Writing? This was not just a round table discussion for a few minutes and then snack time? Because he could fake that. He used to spin bullshit all the time.

“I think five hundred words should do it. Don't go overboard, just write what you think the answer is and get it to me by Monday. OK? We'll work on improving the essay over the semester, until we have something we can all be proud of writing.”

Sally stopped coloring in the letters on her name tag. That's not homework appropriate for a little. In fact, it seemed cruel to give any little homework. What was going on?

He and Sally gave each other confused looks. He looked across at Billy who was drooling on his desk. The rest of the class had started to wake up the moment they heard the dreaded 'h' word, and they were coming to grips that this was a big time show.

Nigel raised his hand again, OK, this is insane. Let's just get this all fixed. Right now. Everyone back to preschool like we belong.

“Very talkative today Nigel. Go ahead.”

“Um... I don't know how to answer that question.” Was that what he meant to ask? A question about the assignment? Something was not right. He meant to be a jerk and throw a tantrum, but something else came out instead. Why was he acting this way today? Like there was a block that was keeping him from being small no matter how hard he tried.

“That was very brave of you to say Nigel.”

It was? He just admitted he did not know the answer to a basic question in front of eleven of his peers. Surely, they all knew the answer, and now they thought he was stupid. Brave indeed, doing something that would draw attention to his failings and mistakes instead of hiding from them. It felt like there should be a word for that, but his mind was drawing a blank.

“Class, Nigel is being a star student today, but let's involve some others. Everyone, why is it important if you don't know the answer to not guess? Billy? Do you have something to say on this?”

“Meeeh.” She'd have to do something to get Billy more involved. There was always a shy one.

“Sally how about you help Billy?”

“Um... because if you don't know but act like you do, it's like lying, and that's wrong.” Where did that come from? Sally was confused, that's not anything her daddy had ever said. Maybe not even something she had picked up the first time around. It was like something inside her had clicked, and big lights flashed the answers to her.

“Yes perfect. The big boy and girl term we have for that is called 'Epistemic Humility' we're going to work on that as a theme for your instruction this year. It's your most important lesson you can learn when starting the process of learning. I'll write it on the board because it's on this week's spelling test.”

It was a long word to write, which gave Sally time to whisper to Nigel. “What's going on? You did something!”

Nigel whispered back at Sally, “I think she thinks she's teaching five-year-old Amazons. My nana lost it like this once.”

Is this what the littles had missed the first time around? He remembered speed running tests of addition and multiplication and memorizing the helping verbs. This was a bit more fun.

Could they have done this when they were five the first time? Where the Amazons smarter because they took learning seriously in a way his race did not?

What a humiliating fact to know. He could have been even better, but he had taken the easier route, and the system had allowed him to do so.

Sally pointed at his hall pass, “Is it related to that boy thing you got? This is so unfair. Why do boys get to always get to do something, but the girls don't?”

Then she thought of the problem for five seconds.

If boys could choose to make the world like this, why the hell had Nigel chosen to go to preschool two times in a row before advancing to the good stuff? He could have gotten everyone out of being a little at any time! Gone straight to the full-time classes instead of ditching her in the afternoon. Did he just like wearing diapers and learning about frogs and doing sing-a-longs?

“You fucker, you could have stopped it! You had us go through...”

Mrs. B thwapped a stick onto Sally's desk before she could complete the sentence. Given the teacher's arm reach and the length of the ruler it wasn't difficult, even though her desk was on the other side of the classroom. The sound caused Sally to jump. She had never heard anything like that. It was not like a spanking with a hand or a paddle. It was a fast roar of air and then snap. Like a thunderstorm filled with bees.

Sally stared down at the ruler's end that hit the center of her desk. The last number was marked at ninety nine inches, but there was one more. If it had been one hundred and one and her hand would have been struck. She was surprised the 'half-pole-stick' had not broken when it slapped the surface, given the force the teacher had hit the desk with.

“Now I know everyone is excited for the first day of class, and yes, I apologize for being a bit of a Ms. Frizzle this morning. We should have gone over this when we had orientation, so I'm going to let that slip up pass with just this warning.”

Sally was shaking. She tried to whisper “Sorry” but could not get past the first few letters. She had never been spanked in preschool or by her daddy. She was just too cute. Further, this was not a paddle for smacking a butt. This was more like a weapon. You could kill a man with a piece of wood this big.

“This is the 'naughty word stick.'”

Mrs. B let the implications of that linger and brought it up against herself. When held straight up, it was a couple feet shorter than the giant. She balanced it against the ground, tilted it from just the point, with her hand cupping the top. She had the air of a kung-fu sensei. The class would come to fear the teacher who had rapped ten thousand knuckles with one piece of wood. A cobra strike that could come from anywhere. In comparison a spanking with a hand onto a padded butt did not sound so bad.

“The only time we are allowed to say naughty words is when we are holding the naughty word stick.”

She picked it up and waved it at a shaking boy who also was at the same table as Sally and Nigel. “Now, Damion, you haven't spoken up yet. When do you get to hold the naughty word stick?”

“I don't … I don't know. Never?”

“What? No! You're in first grade now. You're expected to learn how to use these words correctly, and that is something we'll learn together.” She let the class think about it for a second before giving the answer, “Some of the books we'll be reading will use the words correctly and if you have been a good student, like Nigel has been, you get a chance to hold the stick when we read it together. Now that also means no laughing.” She pointed it at the boys. “No giggling.” A wave through the girls. “You're big boys and girls now.”

Sally just blurted her question out, forgetting to raise her hand, “What happens if we say a naughty word when we're not holding the stick?” It had almost happened to her, she wanted to know how close she had come to death.

“This also functions as a 'naughty word stick.'” She turned and wrote a quick little word below 'Epistemic Humility'. 'Irony'

“Your second vocab word. Careful though! It only looks easy to spell. We'll go over what it means after lunch when we do some readings. Any other questions before we start our first assignment of the day? Oh, and for the future, please raise your hand Sally. This is first grade now you have to raise your hand.”

Damion raised his hand. It was ferocious, like he was trying to draw the attention of someone a football field away.

“Yes Damion?”

“Can we write the naughty words?”

“No. You'll learn when to write them when you're in second grade.”

Nigel was more interested in watching Billy. He had known the boy for three years and never seen him this lucid. The man's head was not lobbing anymore. He had a look in his eyes like what Nigel saw with Sally when she answered the question about humility. Billy's hands kept gripping and ungripping, like he was trying to grab at his pencil. He had a laser focus on the teacher; he seemed to be trying to take things in.

Mrs. B put back the stick and then started another prompt for the class, “Since this is the first day back from summer, we're all going to go around and talk about something we learned over the summer. Would anyone like to share with us first. Nigel? Did you learn anything important over the summer?”

Oh, dang it, for a brief moment school was the coolest thing in the universe and now you're bringing up that! The other littles were going to roast him if they knew he wasn't a (loser) like they were. Quickly! Think of something else!

“I learned how to make a new best friend”

That was not where Mrs. Buttzinsky had intended to go with the question, but the answer seemed better. She had hoped he would share with the class his accomplishment so everyone who wasn't there yet would know it could still be done. But making friends was also hard. Like landing on the moon hard.

“OK, we'll work with that, and when you grow up what are you hoping to be?”

He was not sure. Lawyer again? He had already done that. That was a lifetime ago. Maybe something else the second go around. “I want to fly. Planes. Maybe military jets or the big planes at the airport.”

This was not in the script. He was supposed to say, “I learned to go potty” and “I want to be a lawyer” and she could bridge the two as you need to learn to hold it for long court cases, and then the lesson would go from there. She just could not improvise anything with what Nigel had just given her. How do you go from best friends to planes? She was just an unimaginative Amazon, she needed to plan these exchanges out in advance like a game of chess. Children though? They were pretty good at imagining things.

“How did learning to make friends help you with your goal of becoming a pilot?”

“You always need a wingman.” And he even had that perfect smile. He was her best helper. This was going to be a good year.

“Thank you. I want each of you to think about something you learned over the summer, and how it helps you with your goal of what you want to be when you grow up. Then I want you to write some things you don't know yet but think you might need to know. We're going to put these down as notes, and we're going to work with this project for the next week learning how to turn this into an essay on comparing and contrasting.”

“You're going to compare what you learned and contrast it with what you don't know yet. Now I know we're all excited to get the finished product, but no writing sentences yet. This is just note time, so I want you to take out a paper and start jotting ideas down. Once we are done with the notes, I'll show you how to turn that structure into paragraphs, and later this week we'll go to the computer lab and turn this into real essays.”

“Won't that be fun? Going to the computer lab? How many of you have a family computer you get to type at, or even your personal laptop?”

No one raised their hands. Parents are starting to see the wisdom in limiting screen time these days. Computers are production devices first and foremost, not for watching TV or playing games, so it was important that children learn to use them for work and not just fun.

“Now, did everyone think of what they want to be? Sally? What do you want to be?” She should really spread out the questions, but the girl needed to be brought back down to Earth after the scare she gave her.

“An astronaut?”

“Ooh, clever word combination there. A star sailor. Does your family practice Greek at home? I think you'd make a great star sailor. It's a bit of an imaginary job, but we can still write about it. What are some skills you want to learn to master star sailing that you intend to learn this year? How about calculus? Did you remember to practice your algebra over the summer?”

Nigel put it together, Sally did not know Greek. She had heard the word because she was from somewhere littles went to space. Like going to space was just a job you could have like postman or fireman.

Was Sally a portal little? No wonder she behaved so weird. That's why she always liked boy stuff and hanging out with boys. She probably just grew up on a planet where girls dressed like boys and boys dressed like girls.

Well, that was fine, he had a dolly his nana got him a couple years back when she was going through her sillies. He would still play with it sometimes. He always needed a princess to rescue, and go on dates with his soldier toys, and then the toys would play house for a while.

Nigel did not see any reason to leave Sally out of the boy's club anymore, she was probably just further up the boy ladder than he was.

And around the room Mrs. B went, engaging each student. Nigel was so taken in by the enormity of the day he almost forgot, but his watch made a beep and that helped. The small hand was at three it was time to try to and use the toilet. Three, Five, Seven, One, these are the times we need to get up to get it done.

He was so quiet at it, no one noticed he had left until after he had come back. By this point Mrs. B had begun personal instruction with Billy. He was all wiggly, but she pushed the pencil in his hand and then forced it to be held 'correctly'. Her big hand cupped his small one and helped him put his name at the top of the page.

“B”

Yes, that's a B. Billy was surprised. How many times had he learned what a B was? And yet, here it was again. New to him! It felt good to learn. It was like his mind was a library and here he was in the section on cursive, ready to fill it all up again. He picked up a blank book and wrote “B” in there and put it back. Oh no. He just lost it. How would he ever find “B” again?

“I”

A repeat of the same experience. A curve and another curve. A dot, but not yet, gotta finish the word. But he wanted to try. Just a quick test, how do you make an 'I'? This had to be the right book? He had just put it back on the shelf. Nope. Just another blank book.

“L” A loop. A quick little loop. Then he put back the book, why even bother trying to learn at his point. When he next looked for his ‘L’ it would be blank.

“L” A... wait this one again! The book is right here! He knew where the book was! “L” A quick loop. He had just written that into his memory!

Boom. Like down below boom. His eyes even got tired as the blood vessel strained and his face stretched. He had to remember to start breathing again.

He had an index. Cursive! A hundred million neurons lying dormant for decades had just been connected to his conscious mind. It was now the most important thing he would ever learn, the core he would build everything off of for the rest of his life.

There had to be a hundred books here in his library on calligraphy and pen holding! He had read them all because he had written them all. Some were very old, and some were new, even a few from today. And with the new index, he just knew where they all were now. It would come to him as easily and as naturally as picking his nose or sucking his thumb.

Plus, now he could write anything! He could even do his whole name now! If he could just remember the next part after Billy. He looked at the name tag hanging from his desk and reached for it with his other hand.

ɹɐzᴉlɐs yllᴉq? Here it was, right in front of him! How had he missed this? And the part after Billy, that has to be his last name! He was so eager to get to it, he didn't even want to make a “Y”.

He looked at Mrs. Buttzinsky and asked, “Can I go by Bill? It sounds more grown up.” The first ten words he spoke in years other than mama or mommy or bottle.

He did not wait for a response, he just continued to write the rest of his name. It was familiar, like with checks. Back when checks were a thing. Did people still use checks?

Except, maybe it was not Bill last time, but Will, and this other name …

Oh no. Salizar had been his secretary's last name.

Bill knew he probably should be bummed about that, but that felt like it happened twenty million years ago. Now he only cared that he remembered how to make a big 'S'. Then an 'a', well the small 'a is a', and 'l' and 'i' he already knew, and oh, z was the weird one, but he just winged it and finished with style.

This was the first time he had actually signed something under his new name. This was his signature.

“That's fine Bill, but it'll be a while before I make you a new name tag, OK? I expect you to tell each of your classmates on your own, so they get it right, it's important you tell them this and not have to have me do it. Now what's is it you want to be when you're done with school?”

His library was huge. Why was it so much bigger now than twenty years ago? Compared to this, his old brain had felt like a bookshelf. Last time he had focused on only the things he needed to know. How to get an apartment, drive a car, order a pizza by phone, send a fax, some boring stuff about stock trading and coding algorithms. He had been some sort of day trader or maybe even a quant, it wasn't important.

The old books were still there, he probably could hold a conversation on it now if someone pressed him, but it was like talking about middle school or summer camp. Yes, that was him and yes, it was fun, he wouldn't take it away. He could still draw out the details if he tried, but it was not like he needed to go back to it. Now he would achieve excellence in a new way.

Cursive connected to a new path. One with not hundreds of millions but tens of billions of neurons. In his library he was greeted by his best friends Naomi and Oliver. Now they were helping to guide him around. They were showing him all the things he had worked on when he was watching their show but had already seen the episode before. He could hardly remember making any of this. There were poems he had written while staring at his mobile before he went to bed, and next to that a humorous piece on the pros and cons of different transportation methods he had thought of while being fed at the dinner table.

There was a short story he made a few months back involving an architect who had to watch his building collapse due to an error he made in using the wrong measurement scale. He had been inspired by blocks of all things. Some Pegos had gotten mixed in with his Duplos and he tried to make them go together and the whole thing fell over. The tiny blocks didn't work with the big ones.

Had he really written novels in his brain these past few years? Decades? He had been trapped in his head, and he had nothing to do but think about characters and plots and dialogues and structure and when to best use irony.

“I want to write. I have a hundred stories in me just waiting to bust out, and I never could get them onto the paper.”

“And what's something you need to learn to become a writer? Something you intend to learn to do this year?”

His hand was starting to cramp. “I think I'm going to need to learn to type”

She had not said that they were going to the computer lab to practice typing, but that was her ultimate goal. The school even bought tiny keyboards for the children. So many children these days only play with tablets and phones and never practice how to type.

“And what's something you've learned that will help you be a writer?”

“Irony?”

Goodness! A class with two perfect students? There was going to be a competition this year.

“I think you're in a good spot Bill; you might even be ahead of some of the other students. Why don't you continue to think of ideas for your essay and compare it with some other things you learned recently.”

She made her way to the last student. He had not written anything on his paper. He had been staring out into the hall ever since Nigel had come back and left the door partly open. His tiny seat leaned back slightly, and at this angle, he could see all the way to the kindergarten classroom he had attended just a few months ago. They were about to start a story on Mr. Toad, but down the hall might as well have been another dimension away. She moved to him and gently pushed his chair, so it sat correctly. It was not appropriate for a small child to lean a chair like that. The act jostled him to attention.

“Clark, you haven't written anything down yet. Is there a problem?”

“Oh, just having some nostalgia.” It was best to get on her good side, she said she knew Greek right? “The pain of returning home. Like an old wound.”

He figured she probably had not seen that TV show. It had never aired in this dimension. “Mrs. Buttzinsky, what if I don't want to grow up? What if I just want to be little forever?”

There was always one.

“We all grow up eventually. You can't stay a little boy forever.”