Monday morning, my dad dropped me off at school on his way to work as he usually did. Not a word was exchanged, but we usually didn't talk in the morning. He hated being up at that hour. I was a little early at school, but there was a steady flow of students coming in and people hung around the hallways well before classes started.

Earlier in the morning, I had prepped myself mentally. I felt like I was going to be the talk of the school. It was possible I'd be showered with praise or kind remarks for stepping in as the quarterback and leading our team to an almost victory.

But no one said a word to me. No one looked at me except for the usual onlookers who stared at my mohawk. I caught some of them gazing at my black eye but they didn't say anything.

Going to math class, I sat in the back of the room at a desk, pulled out my binder, and set it on top. The bell rang, and a few more stragglers scurried through the door and joined me in the back. Ms. Moore cleared her throat, standing at the front next to the whiteboard. "Okay, everyone, take out your homework from the weekend. I'm going to walk around and check that it was completed."

My classmates broke out in hushed chatter as Ms. Moore stopped off at each desk and analyzed each student's papers. I scrambled to take out the assignment, started plugging in random numbers and equations that looked like the book and fudged it all in. She seemed to be checking each paper only briefly.

There's no way she's looking too hard at them, right?

She was a few people away from me when I stopped working on it. It looked good enough. If I was Ms. Moore and wasn't paying close attention, I would have said the assignment was completed.

Ms. Moore stopped at my desk. "Mr. Magpie, I hope your weekend was good. Looks like you really worked on this assignment, nice job."

"Thank you," I said, eager to cover up the paper, but she lingered beside me and narrowed her eyes. Her pupils inspected each line.

"I'm sorry, Rollie, but as I'm looking at this, these numbers don't really make a lot of sense," she said.

"Well, my handwriting is pretty sloppy, but I don't know. It looks good to me."

She pointed at the first problem with her pen. ”I'm sorry, Rollie, but could you explain what you did here? Step me through how you got some of these results."

I heard a few kids snicker to themselves a few seats away. Shooting a quick glance in their direction, they were staring at me.

"Uh, sure. I can try and explain, but I, uh, really have to go to the bathroom, actually."

Ms. Moore exhaled. "Why don't we chat after class? I will have to mark this as incomplete because it doesn't look like it was finished."

I took a deep breath. "What do you mean? All of the writing is right there." I raised my voice a little louder than I should have.

"Mr. Magpie, I'm not going to argue with you. Please don't raise your voice at me. I don't want to send you to the principal's office either. Now, you may go to the bathroom, but just see me after class, okay?"

"Sure, fine, whatever." I stormed out of the room, leaving my binder on the desk. Staying true to my word, I went to the bathroom and slammed the stall door shut, echoing in the small chamber of dirty tile and old walls. I was all alone. I wondered what I should say or do next.

What if I just skipped the meeting with Ms. Moore? I really don't have to deal with more of her nitpicking me. But if I don't go, I will probably fail the assignment for sure, and I need to get my grades back up.

I came out of the bathroom and returned to class, but I had the hardest time focusing during the lecture. I tried taking notes in the notebook, but I couldn't shake the thought of those two scrawny kids laughing at me when Ms. Moore checked my assignment.

If they laugh at me again, they're going to regret it.

The class bell rang out, and we were assigned an assignment of 10 questions from the textbook. Hanging around in the back of the class, I waited until everyone had left before approaching Ms. Moore's desk.

"Hey, so you wanted to see me?" I said.

She turned around in her chair and half-smiled at me, but it seemed forced.

"Yes, Rollie, thanks for seeing me after class. I just wanted to give you a chance to talk about what happened with your homework over the weekend."

I scratched the back of my head. "Look, I'll be honest, I didn't really understand what I was doing, and I just wrote down random stuff to make it look like I actually did the work, hoping you wouldn't notice."

She nodded. "I thought that was the case. Rollie, it's okay that you couldn't do the homework. You don't have to try and deceive me. Is there a reason you couldn't get it done at home?" Ms. Moore observed my black eye.

I shook my head. "Honestly, on Sunday, I tried giving it a chance, but it wasn't really making sense to me, and I was struggling, so I just gave up." I shrugged.

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"Rollie, This isn't the first time you haven't completed an assignment over the weekend. I thought it could have been a slip-up at first, so we talked, and then you said you would be better, but this has happened two more times.” Ms. Moore shrugged. “It's becoming a habit."

"Maybe you could help that habit by not assigning homework over the weekend." I softly chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, but Ms. Moore wasn't amused.

"I'm serious, Rollie."

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"I'm worried you're going to fall behind in class, and once you are too behind, it's going to be nearly impossible to recover."

"It's getting that bad already, huh?"

"I think you should go see a tutor in math. I know there are services we offer here after school, but I think it would be wise to take advantage of those sessions."

"But I have to be at football practice after school. I mean, did you see the game last Friday?"

Ms. Moore slightly frowned. "No, I wasn't at the game. I think something could be organized with Coach Carlson. He's a good guy who cares about his team getting a quality education. When you see him today at practice, can you talk with him about getting a tutor? I can send him an email, so he knows to expect you."

"You don't have to do that," I blurted. "I can talk to him about it, I promise. I don't want to freak him out too much if it's something I can take care of before he notices."

Ms. Moore nodded. "Well, just remember I'm going to ask you tomorrow if a tutoring plan was made. I would have to have a word with him if it wasn't. Understand?"

"Yes, Ms. Moore. I'll see you later." I turned around to leave.

"Wait, Rollie, one other thing."

"Yeah?"

"I think you're a good kid. I don't want you to be in trouble or feel like you're being disciplined here. I'm just trying to help you along."

"Thanks, Ms. Moore."

"And if you ever need to talk to me about anything, you can. My door is open." She stared at my black eye again.

"Will do. I appreciate it a lot." I left her classroom and joined the crowd of students still making their way to their next class. I walked past a locker where the two scrawny kids who laughed at me earlier looked at me again and whispered something. The two of them cracked up but tried to hush their laughter.

I stopped in the middle of the hall and glared at them. They kept giggling to themselves.

I marched to their locker until I was a foot away, towering over them. Panic was all over their face.

"I'm dying to know. How come when I look at you two, you're laughing like hyenas?"

"It's nothing, dude," the one kid blurted.

I gripped one kid's shoulder and shoved him against the metal locker. The bang blended in with the rest of the lockers closing shut. No one had seemed to notice.

"I'm happy to give you guys something to laugh about," I said. "I can make you look like me. That way, we can all laugh together. But I'm willing to talk it through. I just want to know, what's so funny about me?"

"We're taking bets on how soon you'll flunk out of the class," the other kid said and started snickering.

My blood temperature rose every millisecond until I was boiling. I clenched my fist.

"You said you wouldn't hurt us if we told you! We told you! Let us go to class, dude!"

He's right, you wanted to know, and now you know. Leave them alone, but I could give them something to laugh about.

"Dude! What's going on with your hand?" the kid yelled.

I looked down at my arm.

My fist was on fire.

I yelled as if I was in pain but didn't feel anything. Rushing down the hall, I tucked my hand under my armpit and dove into the bathroom. Cranking the sink on full blast, I submerged my hand in the water. But as I released my hand, it wasn't on fire anymore. It was perfectly normal.

What's happening to me?

I didn't even smell anything burning, nor did I see any smoke. Not even a fire alarm was set off. The bell rang through the hallways, and the next class had already begun. I had my computer class to go to.

Focusing on the class work was the last thing on my mind. I pulled up my web browser and searched relentlessly if anyone's hands ever sparked ablaze.

The only information I could find focused on spontaneous combustion. But as I read about it, I knew that couldn't be my diagnosis. Usually, spontaneous combustion engulfs an entire body with flames. This was just centralized in my hands.

Near the end of class, everyone turned in their daily assignment.

"Rollie," my teacher, Mr. Rockwell, said 10 minutes before the hour was over. The class chatted amongst themselves, but I was still trying to research what was happening with my hand.

"Yeah?" I replied, unable to take my eyes off my monitor.

"I haven't received an assignment from you," he said.

"Yeah, sorry about that, but I don't think I'll get it done today."

Mr. Rockwell sighed. "Rollie, you're not doing so well this semester. Today's assignment was pretty easy. I thought for sure you'd get it done. I'd hate for this trend to continue."

"Yeah, I'd hate for it to continue too." My eyes were still glued to the screen.

"Is everything all right, Rollie?"

"I don't know. I feel like if I tell you, you won't believe me. Who would?"

"Give me a try. If it's affecting your performance in the class, maybe we can work something out."

I still couldn't look at him. My eyes were fixed on the screen. "I don't know. It sounds insane, but it's happened three times, and I'm freaked out. My hands caught fire out of nowhere. Have you ever heard of that happening?" I finally turned to look Mr. Rockwell in the eye.

Mr. Rockwell stared back at me, lost. "What do you mean by that?"

I lowered my voice. "My hand was on fire a moment ago before coming into class. I could even bring in the two kids who saw it happen."

Mr. Rockwell rubbed his chin. “Your hand looks all right to me."

"But you have to believe me, it was bizarre. It didn't hurt or anything. I remember I got really ticked off, and then I looked down at my hand, and it was just on fire. I've never heard of something like that. I know it sounds insane, but it's true, I swear!"

Mr. Rockwell paused. "Rollie, you might want to go to the main office and talk with the school nurse. This is sounding a little too far out for me."

"You believe me, though, right?" I stared him in the eye, trying to find any hint of dishonesty.

"Like you said, it sounds crazy. I'm sure if I asked those other students that saw it, they'd say the same thing. I'm not ruling anything out, but perhaps the three of you saw something that wasn't there? Maybe there was a light glaring in a particular way. I'm not sure. But if your hand isn't burned and not in pain, then I don't know if it was on fire. You understand?"

"Yeah, whatever. I guess I'll go talk to the school nurse."

"And, Rollie, I'm willing to let today slide on the assignment because you seem pretty perturbed. But promise me, the next time you're better, you'll complete the daily task? Please, no slip-ups for a while, got it?"

"Yeah. Fine, I promise."

The bell rang, and everyone left the class. They were already signed out of their computer.

"I'll talk to you later, Mr. Rockwell. I'm gonna see the school nurse."

I lagged behind the rest of my classmates but jogged down to the main office.