Two or Three Things I Forgot to Tell You by Joyce Carol Oates Read Free Book Online Page A

often lately? Since Merissa’s fantastic week, since so much Good News had happened at almost the same time, she was aware of things not going so well: going down .)
    (Her first rehearsal of Pride and Prejudice , for instance. Though Merissa had stayed up late several nights in a row to memorize the role of Elizabeth Bennet, she’d stumbled reading her dialogue, and at one point, after an embarrassed pause, Mr. Trocchi said, “Merissa! Elizabeth Bennet is one of the great witty females of English literature—she wouldn’t put us to sleep, you know.”)
    Mr. Kessler repeated the question, which was related to the homework assignment of the previous night— What is the distinction between planets and dwarf planets? Give examples . The question wasn’t difficult, really, and Merissa gave a reasonable answer.
    â€œThank you, Merissa! That’s exactly—almost exactly—perfect.”
    Perfect! Merissa was troubled to think that her teacher might be mocking her.
    (But how would Mr. Kessler have known? “The Perfect One” was just a joke of Tink’s—no one called Merissa that any longer; at least, not to her face.)
    With adults, you never knew if they were speaking sincerely or sardonically. Adult men, especially.
    But Mr. Kessler was speaking sincerely, it seemed. Merissa tried to concentrate.
    â€œUntil just recently, Pluto was a planet—the ninth planet—but in 2006 more powerful telescopes revealed that Pluto is just an object, nothing more than rock and ice, and very small—no more than one-fifth the size of our Earth’s moon—like the state of Rhode Island, comparatively. So ‘dwarf planet’ is the new classification.” Mr. Kessler paused. A sly look came into his face, you could see him preparing to be funny . “Like being dropped from varsity to JV status. Like being a dork when you thought you’d been a jock .”
    The class laughed. Heartless, heedless.
    As if, Merissa thought, most of them weren’t dwarf planets .
    Mr. Kessler persisted: “A loser , when you’d thought you were a winner . And you’d gotten away with it so long, you almost believed it yourself.”
    More laughter. Even Merissa smiled.
    Why is it so funny, being a loser ? Is it a law of nature?
    Is it—fate?
    Like a death sentence?
    Adrian Kessler was one of the younger teachers at Quaker Heights Day School. It was known that he had all but a PhD degree from Columbia University in ecological studies—plus a master’s degree in education. You had to wonder if he thought of himself as a winner , in fact. Or was he a loser hoping to be mistaken for a winner ?
    He wasn’t conventionally attractive—his face was narrow, his eyes set too close together. He was lanky and long-limbed and often restless, moving about the classroom as he taught. He liked to toss chalk into the air and catch it; he liked to scrawl on the blackboard in sudden swoops of inspiration. Like all male teachers at the school, he wore a dress shirt and tie, but with these Mr. Kessler was likely to wear a corduroy jacket, khakis, and running shoes. He oversaw his students’ lab work closely and was usually patient—or patient-seeming. He had a way of turning criticism into a joke—usually. His hair was often disheveled from his habit of drawing his fingers through it in a gesture of comical exasperation.
    Once, Mr. Kessler had surprised Merissa’s class by saying, as he’d handed back a test in which many had performed poorly, “Because you’re at Quaker Heights, you believe you are ‘entitled.’ But don’t be deceived.”
    So Kessler could be hard-edged—when he chose.
    Mr. Nice Guy, packing heat.
    And he wasn’t an easy grader, though he wanted you to like him.
    Many of Merissa’s classmates resented such remarks of Mr. Kessler’s—which they didn’t quite understand but knew to be