|
|
I am an outcast my first day back at regular school. The other children, aware of the special tutoring I've received over the past year and a half, find comfort in mocking me. Even Tammy Reeves finds the courage to walk up to me during recess.
You're not such a smarty pants after all," she says. "You had to come back to regular school with all us babies."
"You'll never grow up," I counter. "Why should I waste my time on you?"
"My sister says you're nothing but a goody two-shoes," another girl I don't know says. "You think you're so much better than us, but now you're stuck back in school."
I sense there is no persuading either of them that I am as normal as they are. Turning my back on them, I scan the room. I feel as though my parents have sent me to prison. Mother wants me to make friends my own age, but I can only make enemies of them. Tammy and her companion are right. I am too different from them.
Returning to my desk, I spend the last few minutes of recess writing a report about my experience with the Akodians. Neither Data nor Mrs. Dewberry instructed me to write this account, yet I feel compelled to keep a written record of it. What purpose it will serve only time will tell.
The bell sounds for everyone to return to their desks and the children toss toys back into the storage chest and scramble to their seats. Once the room has settled down, Mrs. Dewberry begins our afternoon lessons. They contain more trivial facts which will not help relieve me of my boredom.
A short while before the end of class, I receive a message from Mother asking me to pick up Eric from daycare. She trusts me enough to see my brother safely back to our quarters, but believes I am better off backsliding my schooling.
As I reach the daycare, I find my brother running around with a couple other boys, pretending plastic sticks are phasers. He has no trouble fitting in or making friends. The other children aren't treating him as though he's an outcast. Since Eric has yet to demonstrate any sign of telepathy, the other children don't feel inferior to him. Even before my high IQ was realized, I always felt hated for my Klingon blood. Obviously, Eric doesn't contend with the same prejudice reactions. Maybe being born a boy makes a difference.
"Hey Shannara!" he says and points his phaser at me, pulling its imaginary trigger. "You've been vaporized!" His playmates laugh along with him.
I roll my eyes, but silently, I wish I could be more like the other children. I am too mature to feel comfortable in their play and I am too young for most adults to take me seriously. I fit in nowhere.
"Mother asked me to pick you up from daycare and escort you back to our quarters. She's going to be a few minutes late."
"Can't I stay a little longer and play with Brett and Danny?"
"No," I say unyieldingly.
"Well, can Brett come to our quarters with us?"
"He doesn't have his parents' permission and they will be coming to pick him up shortly." Although I hardly know the boys, I despise Brett LaForge and Danny Hamilton for liking Eric.
Brett steps up beside my brother and points his toy weapon at me. "Let's take her by force, Master Eric," he says. "Make her let me go."
"We could ask your dad," Eric suggests. "He always lets you do stuff. Then she'd have to listen to what we say."
I grab my brother forcefully by the wrist. "You're coming with me. Mother didn't say you could have guests over while she's gone."
"Ow ow!" he exclaims as I walk him out the door. "I'm telling Mommy on you!"
"I'm only doing as she asked." Even as I proclaim this, I know I will be the one getting into trouble. Mother will say that I didn't need to get so rough.
After twenty minutes of my contending with Eric's whining about wanting his friend to come over, Mother arrives and Eric immediately calms down. I am dismayed by the show he puts on for her and even more so that Mother is buying it.
"Shannara dragged me out of the classroom and hurt my wrist," he says, holding his arm out for Mother to look at. "See?"
I peer at his wrist and see no bruise forming. Even my fingermarks have faded. Why does Eric have to be such a baby? I wish I didn’t have a little brother.
"Shannara, what is the meaning of this? You know you're much bigger than he is."
"Yeah, but you left me in charge and he wasn't listening to me. I had to hold his hand all the way back to our quarters. I didn't hurt him."
Mother sighs heavily and I sense that she is growing more perturbed with me. "If you have a problem with your brother, you should have asked one of the daycare assistance to help you. I believe I misjudged you. You are not ready for this type of responsibility. You will spend one hour in your room. Use the time to think about your actions."
I could argue further, even offer an ultimatum, but that would only alienate me from Mother. "Yes, Ma'am," I say, unable to remove the indignity from my voice. I twirl on my toes and escape to my bedroom. At least from there, I will not have to put up with the antics of my little brother.
Just before the door closes behind me, I hear Eric ask, "Can Brett come over to play?"
"Dammit," I say under my breath. Why don't I have any friends?
*****
I miss Data more each day as I struggle to fit in with the other children. He hasn't stopped by our quarters or paged me to find out how I'm doing. I suspect that my parents have asked him not to contact me. I fail to understand what harm my friendship with Data would cause.
Every afternoon Brett LaForge comes to play with Eric with mother's blessing. It's impossible for me to concentrate on anything with two boisterous boys underfoot. Eric zooms passed me on a pretend attack ship. “Ah! Shields are down. Life support failure in ten seconds...nine....eight...seven...”
Brett comes up from behind him and fires a torpedo. My brother comes crashing down beside me.
"Why don't you ever go to Brett's quarters and give me an afternoon of peace?"
My brother grins mischievously at me. "It's more fun to torture you, sister dear," he says.
I glance around the room to make sure Mother has not come out of her room, then charge at my brother, knocking him to the ground. In the next moment, Brett jumps on my back and pounds his fists into my ribs. Our screams, filled with pain and anger, alert Mother to our altercation.
"Stop it! What is the meaning of this?" she asks as she untangles us.
"Shannara started it!" my brother accuses.
Mother rolls her eyes and I sense her growing exasperation. I strongly consider Q-flashing out of here and not returning for a couple of weeks. I would certainly learn more through my travels than I would mingling with a group of bratty kids. But then Mother surprises me with her resolution of our dispute. "Brett, I believe it's time for you to go home," she says, her tone inviting no argument.
I try to refrain from smiling and block my emotions for fear Mother will realize my motive and change her mind. Luckily, Brett doesn't argue and leaves our quarters without a word.
"Is he not allowed to visit us anymore?" I ask, hopeful.
"Sit on the sofa!" Mother snaps, pointing at the furniture. My feeling of triumph waning, I plop onto the sofa and await my sentencing. Mother turns to Eric. “And you sit on the chair. “After he does so, mother continues. “I want both of you to sit here until I say otherwise. I don’t want to hear any yelling or screaming. Understood?” After we both nod, mother returns to her bedroom.
For a long moment, I look at everything in the room except my brother. I want nothing to do with him. If he didn’t exist, I wouldn’t be getting into so much trouble.
Eric begins kicking the chair with his heals, I’m sure in an attempt to annoy me. I look his way, wanting to send him tot he same place I once hurdled Tammy Reeve. Only thing that stops me is knowing how it would devastate our parents. I remember the expression on the Reeves’ faces when they thought they’d lost their little girl forever and I don’t want to put my parents through that.
“I don’t mind sitting here,” I tell Eric. “The quiet is far better than listening to your noise.”
“Brett probably can’t come over any more thanks to you,” Eric replies, pausing in his beating of the chair.
“I hope so. Having one boy around all the time is bad enough.”
“It’s no fun having a big sister either. I’m tired of hearing about everything you can do better, that you’re so smart you had to have special training from an android. I’m glad Mommy and Daddy put you back in school.”
“Hmph! How do you think I feel about you having your friend over all the time? Data’s my only friend and I’m not even allowed to talk to him anymore.”
My brother resumes his pounding of the chair, though slower than before. I sense he’s growing uneasy by this conversation.
“I wish I made friends as easily as you do,” I add.
“You could....if you were friendlier.”
I almost blurt out a snappy reply, but I realize how right my little brother is. I have chosen to isolate myself by preferring Data’s tutoring over conventional schooling and to avoid activities which involve other children. If I choose to be alone so much, how can I justify complaining about having no friends? “Maybe you’re right. I’m sorry your friend had to go home early.”
“And I’m sorry we disturbed you,” Eric responds.
I realize Mother is standing in the doorway to her bedroom as I sense her approval. Turning toward her, I offer a wane smile. I am feeling less annoyed. Maybe Mother knew what she was doing when she forced us to sit quietly together. Not only do I no longer feel any hatred toward my little brother, but it has been replaced by a sense of loyalty.
“You may both get up now,” Mother says, “if you promise to refrain from any fighting matches.”
“Yes ma’am,” we utter as we slide off the furniture.
I retreat to my room and as I walk over to my desk, I again think about my choice to spend my time alone. Can I blame anyone other than myself for my lack of friends?
*****
I spend the next two months in regular school, trying to fit in with other kids and working on average assignments. I am bored. My classmates hate me. If only Father would admit that this is more of a punishment than a resolution. These kids don't want me for a friend, and especially not for a role model. They hate me.
After several weeks, I complain to Father, begging him to let me return to Data’s tutelage. He responds, “You are not being punished. You need to interact with the other children or you will never develop social skills.”
*Like you had any when we first met” Mother thinks. She did not intend for me to pick up on them though, but her feelings are so strong, I sense them as clearly as if she’d spoken them aloud. She looks at me, a bit embarrassed and with her eyes, begs me not to say anything of this to Father.
“I can’t make friends if none of the other kids like me. They’re intimidated by me. They don’t want me around and make fun of me because I’m Klingon.”
“Then I will speak with your teacher and see that they are appropriately punished.
“Worf,” Mother says, gently squeezing his shoulder, “that may make matters worse. Children can be so cruel and they especially hate tattle tales.”
“If you let me go back to learning under Data, then we won’t have to worry about it.” I believe my reasoning is sound. Father is pained by my undue treatment.
“The solution is not that simple,” Father says gruffly. “If you were to return to Data’s teachings, you would still not have learned anything of how to interact with people. Your success later in life will be honed from both your intellect and your social skills. Until you have...friends...you will not understand their importance in your infrastructure.”
“Wisdom gathered from years of experience,” I say icily. “And now I must live up to your example.”
“Go to your room!”
“Gladly.” I step into my room, where I stay until the following morning when it is time to prepare for another mundane day of school.
And that one is followed by another.
Mrs. Dewberry assigns more challenging work for me as well as some extra curricular activities. While I appreciate her efforts, she is powerless to stop the continual pranks from the other students. I say no more about return to Data’s teachings. In fact, I say very little at all to my parents or to anyone. I finish my assignments before they are due and spend my free time drawing or writing down my thoughts. I think constantly about leaving the Enterprise, never to return. If Q were to pop in now and offer to show me the wonders of the multiverse, I would accept his offer. Yet he does not come to me. It seems even he does not wish to present me with any challenges.
One night, Mrs. Dewberry joins my parents for dinner. I sense frustration within her and am curious as to what she wants to discuss with them. Eric and I are fed early and sent to our rooms. Although I know I shouldn't, I stand beside the door and listen in on the conversation. I mentally fine-tune my telepathic abilities and carefully probe each of them. If Mother senses me, I will be in big trouble!
"You're not only punishing her, you're retarding her potential for greatness," Mrs. Dewberry argues. "She could be the next Einstein, Cochrane, or Daystrom. I cannot offer her the personal attention nor the same level of intuitive instruction Commander Data can."
I cannot make out my Mother's reply and I don't dare probe any deeper. Father, however, is neither hushed nor relenting in his reply. "She is only eight-years old! Eight-year olds should be playing with other eight-year olds. There will be plenty of time for advanced studies later when she enters her teen years. She can enroll at Starfleet Academy or some other prestigious educational facility where there will be many qualified instructors."
"Normally, I would agree with that course of action for my average student, but Shannara, quite frankly, is bored. She finishes her assignments well ahead of the other children. When they break for recess, they exclude your daughter from their play. Shannara is not making friends. Simply put: She is miserable."
"I have been sensing confusion, even depression from her," Mother says. "She was happy when Data tutored her. Worf, you must accept a compromise."
I hold my breath waiting for his reply. "I will give you my decision in the morning."
Morning comes and I expect something to be said over breakfast, but Father leaves without the subject of school ever coming up. I'm afraid to say anything to Mother. What if she tells me, despite Mrs. Dewberry’s confirmation of school’s negative impact on me, that Father has decided to make no changes in my education? So quietly, I prepare myself for another day inside Mrs. Dewberry's classroom.
After we drop Eric off at the preschool, however, Mother informs me, "Shannara, you're not going to school today."
"I'm not! Did Father say Data could tutor me again?"
I did not anticipate her hesitation, nor the dread rising in my gut. "I am making this decision," she finally says. "We are meeting Commander Data in Stellar Cartography where he will explain your new project to you."
I have never known Mother to go against Father's wishes! How will he react when he learns Mother is withdrawing me from school? Despite my increasing fear, I want nothing more than to return to Data's tutelage.
