"What you say is true enough, James. What grade do you suppose you should've gotten?" "Why, an A! An A-plus! Perfect!" I said, glaring again at him, daring him to say otherwise. "Is that what an A-plus is for, James? Perfection?" "Sure," I said, opening my mouth without thinking. Mama shifted her stare to me. She was looking even more thoughtful. "Why do you suppose you go to school?" "'Cause Mama says I have to," I said, sullenly. "James!" Mama said. "Oh, I suppose it's to learn things," I said. Mr Adelson smiled and nodded, the way he did when one of the students got the right answer in class. "Well?" "Well, what?" I said. "What did you learn this semester?" "Why, everything you taught! Geometry! Algebra! Latin! Geography! Biology! Physics! Grammar!" "I see," he said. "James, what's the formula for determining the constant in the second derivative of an equation?" I knew that one: it was one of Newton's dirty calculus proofs. "It's a trick question. There's no way to get the constant of second derivative." "Exactly right," he said. "Yes," I said, and folded my arms across my chest. "Where did you learn that?" "In --" I started to say 1975, but caught myself. "In France." "Yes." "Yes," I said. The fingers of dawn crept across my comprehension. "Oh." Mama smiled at me. "But it's not fair! So what if I already knew everything before I started? I still did all the work." "Why are you in school, James?" Mr Nicholson asked me again. "To learn." "Well, then I think you'd better start learning something, don't you? You're the brightest student in the class. You're certainly smarter than I am -- I'm just an old sailor struggling along with the rest of the class. But you, you've _got it_. You've been marking time in class all semester, and I daresay you haven't learned a single thing since you started. That's why you got F's." "Mr Adelson," Mama said. "Am I to understand that James performed all his assignments satisfactorily?" It was Mr Adelson's turn to squirm. "Yes, but madam, you have to understand --" Mama waved aside his objections. "If James satisfactorily completed all the work assigned to him, then I think he should have a grade that reflects that, don't you?" She took a sip of her coffee. "Yes, well --" "However, you do have a point. I didn't send my son to your school so that he could mark time, as you put it. I sent him there to learn. To be _taught_. Have you taught him anything, Mr Adelson?" Mr Adelson looked so all-fired sad, I forgave him the report card and spoke up. "Yes, Mama." Mama swiveled her head to me. "Really?" "Yes. He taught me what I was at school for. Just now." "I see," Mama said. "This is very good coffee, Mr Adelson." "Thank you," he said, and sipped at his. "James," Mr Adelson said. "You've learned your first lesson. What do you propose your second should be?" "I dunno," I said, and went back to kicking the rungs of the chair.