Ritchie was at the top of his classes, he didn’t know why in the world his math teacher had wanted to speak to him. He got his best grades in math and always did his homework. He participated enough for the whole class. In fact, his was the only hand that ever rose. Still, Mr. Harmon had asked him to stay after class in a tone that sounded like trouble.
“You’re doing very well here, RItchie…” he said.
“I suppose.”
“Why do you raise your hand so often?”
“Because i know the answer…”
“Well, yes, obviously, but why not just sit and wait for me to call on you?”
“Uhh, i don’t know, most teachers use the raised hand as a sign that the student knows what they’re doing…” RItchie was so confused. All this because of a raised hand? What the hell was so wrong with that? Isn’t that what teachers want? SHouldn’t Mr. Harmon be pleased with Ritchie’s success?
“You think a lot don’t you?” Harmon asked.
“Yes?”
“You should stop,” he said, “now.” Harmon turned and hit Ritchie with on his temple. The lights began to fade.