“What?Why?”
“There’s a book here, and I want you to write it.So, does my agent.She loved these pages.”
I lean back in my chair—this isn’t at all what I expected.“I don’t understand.”
“You spent most of your education with this girl, Buttercup.I love the pseudonym, by the way,” she grins.
“It’s from one of our favorite movies,” I admit.
“I think you’ve only scratched the surface of your experiences with her.A student with a Mensa-level IQ, an academic upbringing, and learning differences?She’s like a perfect storm and a Halley’s Comet at the same time,” she gushes.
My hand rakes through my hair.“That may be, but?—”
“She’s so intriguing, Henry,” she goes on.“Her notebooks.The dirt always under her nails and the leaves trapped in her hair.How she clearly understood far beyond the course material, yet struggled to maintain a passing average.How despite having an IQ in the top 2% of people worldwide, she was unable to fit the mold of a model student.For that matter, whoisa model student?Exploring this further, telling the full story, could be amazingly insightful to educators.To yourself.To those with friends and family members like her.Toherfriends and family.Don’t you want to finish it?”
“Um, I’d love to offer that sort of insight, but I don’t think I can.Writing a fifteen-page paper about her felt like scraping my soul with a melon baller.It’s too?—”
“Difficult?”she asks with a wry smile, using the word I repeated throughout my paper.That’s what everyone called Venus.Difficult.
“That’s not fair.”
“Research is finding more and more that learning differences and giftedness go hand-in-hand.”Dr.Kwon leans back in her desk chair, folding her arms over her silky blouse.“Is she the reason why you wanted to pursue an AIG specialty?”
A lump catches in my throat.Is she?I suddenly feel like a kid—I’m Olly, searching the bedroom for a lost sock only to find it on my foot already.“Um, maybe.I don’t know.”
She smirks as if she can see my distress over the realization.“So, if you had been her teacher, what would you have done differently?”
“I would’ve gotten to know her,” I answer quickly.It’s a question I’ve asked myself a thousand times.“Then, I would’ve found a way to relate to her, probably by connecting history to botany and art to engage her more.I would’ve given her individualized work.I would’ve let her speak when she had something to say, and I wouldn’t have been afraid to say,‘I don’t know,’if she asked a question I couldn’t answer.For starters…”
My voice trails off in a flood of memories.Whenever Venus huffed over my“boring history facts,”I’d regain her interest with something like,“The USS Constitution is made of Southern Live Oak that was so strong, it earned the nickname Old Ironsides for withstanding enemy fire.And the ship still floats after over 200 years!”Or I’d explain how family herb gardens helped the war effort in World War II.I still remember the gentle perk of her brow when I said something that interested her, and the spark of pride it inspired.
A smile plays on my lips with the memory.“She deserved better—a better educationanda better best friend.”
“Henry, writing about your experiences could be just as cathartic for you as it would be helpful for others.I’ve had students like Buttercup.They burn bright and fast, and most of the time, we miss them.Or they fly right over our heads.By telling her story now, perhaps we won’t miss the next one.”
“I don’t want to miss them.I want to help them, but…” I say with a sigh.“I’ve spent the last decade trying to put her out of my mind.”
She taps my paper with a knowing look.“How’s that working out for you?”
“Miserably,” I admit sheepishly.“It’s hard not to think of… Buttercup.”
“Then, perhaps this isn’t as finished as you want it to be,” she reasons, looking partly proud but mildly annoyed.
“I gave Olly that same look this morning when he remembered to wash his hands after using the bathroom, but proceeded to dry them off on his pants,” I quip.
She laughs.“Right.Your work isn’t done here.Besides, writing about her may help you better understand the past.You should appreciate that, as a history teacher.”
“I’ll, um, think about it,” I say, though I’m already crafting the email to let her down gently.I don’t have the time, energy, talent, or mental fortitude to write a book about Venus, let alone reach out to her to ask her permission.
“Take this.Read my notes.See if you’re inspired enough to attempt an outline.Fair enough?”
I stand, slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder.“Okay.Thanks, Dr.Kwon.”
She holds up a finger.“Oh, wait.I have something for you.”She reaches into her desk drawer and pulls out a purple velvet sack.I loosen the strings and reveal a palm-sized shark’s tooth with a boomerang-shaped root at the top, indicative of “Megalodon.What an incredible find.Where’d you get it?”
“Granddad wanted you to have it.Found it hooked to his nets ages ago.He included a map to show you the coordinates and a note about its discovery.”
“I can’t wait to show Olly.His excitement over finds like this has been a great motivator to get the museum reopened,” I tell her.“I’d love to display it.We’re doing an entire section of coastal treasures.Thank you, and please, thank him for me.”
