Re: Nations Going Undercover (As Just Plain Humans)
anonymous
November 5 2009, 07:01:41 UTC
America had substituted in this counselling position for the day because he wanted to meet some of his students face to face, and learn of their problems and triumphs. It wasn't said too boldly -- or if it was, never to his face -- but he had heard whispers of others opinions about his education system, and whether they actually held this opinion of the quality of his smarts or not, it made him feel a little self-conscious. (He could just hear England laughing at him from the corner of his mind for his low self-esteem and his denial of said low-self esteem, but he ignored it. Denial wasn't so bad a thing.)
He straightened his pile of random papers in what he hoped was a very official-looking manner, though nobody was in the room at the moment to see him, and flipped through the manilla folders he had removed from the archives in the past few hours. So far, he was feeling better about his education program, as the last few students he had met had seemed quite competent. Granted, he appeared to have crash-landed into one of the more snobby high schools around the area when substituting the first counselling position, but the students he had met were giving him a renewed hope for his country. These are tomorrow's leaders, he thought happily to himself. For students going through College and Career counselling, they sure seemed to know a lot about their desired path through life already, and most had heavy ambitions and the talent to reach them. He felt proud.
Jackie Smith. . . 3.9 GPA. Best subject Calculus. Wants to be a computer engineer.
Anun Chan. . . 4.2 GPA. Best subject Chemistry. Wants to be a brain surgeon.
Timothy Johnson. . . 4.1 GPA. Best subject Biology. Wants to be a graphic designer.
Smirking, America leaned back in his chair a little, musing Timothy's profile. They were smart, hardworking, and not afraid to pursue their dreams. Exactly the sort of citizens he wanted to raise.
A glance at the clock made him readjust his posture to a more acceptable position; he straightened the manilla folders and put them on top of the random papers, and clasped his hands in front of him in a professional way. His next appointment was on the way.
He had reached over to fidget with his nameplate ("Mr. Jones, C&C Counselor") when the door opened, a half-minute early.
"Sorry, very sorry, got a little lost," the student said as he walked shyly through the door.
America accidentally pushed his nameplate off his desk, and the resulting crash nearly drowned out the small "aru" that the boy had tacked to the end of his sentence.
The two stared, bewildered, at each other for a period of time, both doubting themselves of the sight before them and struggling through the logic of the situation.
America gained his bearings first. ". . . . You're Yao Wang?"
The boy blushed a little at the mispronunciation of his name, though he was used to it by now. "You are the counselor Mister Jones?" he countered.
In the second awkward silence that followed the dwarf-sized exchange, Yao silently slid his backpack to the floor of the room and sat in the chair in front of the desk, scooting the chair a bit to avoid looking at America's face. America bent over to pick up his nameplate, fussing over its position while he tried to think of what to say next.
He straightened his pile of random papers in what he hoped was a very official-looking manner, though nobody was in the room at the moment to see him, and flipped through the manilla folders he had removed from the archives in the past few hours. So far, he was feeling better about his education program, as the last few students he had met had seemed quite competent. Granted, he appeared to have crash-landed into one of the more snobby high schools around the area when substituting the first counselling position, but the students he had met were giving him a renewed hope for his country. These are tomorrow's leaders, he thought happily to himself. For students going through College and Career counselling, they sure seemed to know a lot about their desired path through life already, and most had heavy ambitions and the talent to reach them. He felt proud.
Jackie Smith. . . 3.9 GPA. Best subject Calculus. Wants to be a computer engineer.
Anun Chan. . . 4.2 GPA. Best subject Chemistry. Wants to be a brain surgeon.
Timothy Johnson. . . 4.1 GPA. Best subject Biology. Wants to be a graphic designer.
Smirking, America leaned back in his chair a little, musing Timothy's profile. They were smart, hardworking, and not afraid to pursue their dreams. Exactly the sort of citizens he wanted to raise.
A glance at the clock made him readjust his posture to a more acceptable position; he straightened the manilla folders and put them on top of the random papers, and clasped his hands in front of him in a professional way. His next appointment was on the way.
He had reached over to fidget with his nameplate ("Mr. Jones, C&C Counselor") when the door opened, a half-minute early.
"Sorry, very sorry, got a little lost," the student said as he walked shyly through the door.
America accidentally pushed his nameplate off his desk, and the resulting crash nearly drowned out the small "aru" that the boy had tacked to the end of his sentence.
The two stared, bewildered, at each other for a period of time, both doubting themselves of the sight before them and struggling through the logic of the situation.
America gained his bearings first. ". . . . You're Yao Wang?"
The boy blushed a little at the mispronunciation of his name, though he was used to it by now. "You are the counselor Mister Jones?" he countered.
In the second awkward silence that followed the dwarf-sized exchange, Yao silently slid his backpack to the floor of the room and sat in the chair in front of the desk, scooting the chair a bit to avoid looking at America's face. America bent over to pick up his nameplate, fussing over its position while he tried to think of what to say next.
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