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he’s bursting. Bursting like we’re an honors class and we’re all fighting each other to talk about Gene and Finny and Leper and Quackenbush.
    I throw my hand up. I usually hang back, but if I answer his question now, I can spend the rest of the class taking notes uncalled on. Minimum effort goes a long way, which is where I went wrong with Mr. Jiang last semester. I didn’t go up to the board or raise my hand at least once a day to give that one answer I knew. Had I done that, Jiang would have scraped up thirteen points for me. But it’s all right. I have my hand up now because I plan to sleep late next semester.
    Just hold it together, Mr. Walsh. Don’t be like Mr. Yerkewicz, having a heart attack in the middle of class. Don’t let the sight of my hand waving in the air hit you, because that would make two shocks in a row. A legitimate bathroom pass and an answer from Leticia, not five minutes apart.
    â€œYes, Leticia. Maginot Lines.”
    So what if he says Magin o and I read Magi not with the full not . I swear, the French language is there to trip you up. Silent t ’s and x ’s and l ’s. Every class I go, there is French, making trouble. I focus on “Maginot Lines” and minimum effort. I’ll deal with French later.
    I say, “‘Maginot Lines’ either means imaginary lines or not imaginary lines. It depends how you look at it.” I could have Googled it on the internet like the syllabus suggested but Maginot is one of those words you don’t have to look up because it sounds like its meaning even if it’s spelled inside out. Dang French. I’m positive “imaginary” is the English translation of Maginot . It sounds right. Besides, at Bridgette and Bernie’s the computer room is way down in the cold basement, too long a trek from my warm and toasty room just to Google “Maginot Lines.”
    Mr. Walsh rocks back and forth in his brown teacher’s snow shoes. “Hmm. Imaginary lines,” he sings, ponders, nods, and says, “Or not imaginary lines. Okay. Let’s go with imaginary lines. That’s a good place to start.”
    I nod also. It wasn’t on the money but it wasn’t wrong. He didn’t say, “Shut the hell up, Miss Moore, sashaying into my class with your ‘imaginary lines or not.’” He didn’t cap the scene in our TV show while the audience laughed in the background.
    I can relax. I’ve done my job for the day. I got thediscussion rolling and Mr. Walsh even uses “imaginary lines” in his next question. Turns out Lorna and half the class Googled “Maginot Lines.” She starts out, “Like Leticia was saying”—already I like Lorna, Jamaican girl with her “tick” accent, talking about how the French set up imaginary lines of defense to protect themselves from the Germans. That’s right, Lorna. Show some unity. Show some solidarity. Don’t make my answer wrong.
    Herman couldn’t wait to announce that it was in our global history book. He actually lugged that seven-pound (I weighed it) textbook into class just to show the cartoon of greedy Germany camped out on the borders of France, salivating. I’m copying notes, so I can’t plaster a proper L for “big loser” against my forehead for Herman’s benefit.
    I almost ask Mr. Walsh what does Germany ganging up on poor little France have to do with Gene and Finny and Leper and Quackenbush, but I’ve already done my part. I got the ball rolling. Besides. Look at Mr. Walsh’s pale white face. He can’t wait to tell us.

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Polypeptide Jam
TRINA
    â€œH ONEST , M ISS W OMACK . I don’t mean to be late. I’m handing in my gorgeous artwork to Mr. Sebastian for Black History Month—check it out. C Corridor. And while I’m rushing to get here, AP Shelton stops me in the hall. We had a discussion. You know AP Shelton. He loves chatting