Sophomore, Part 2

Dude had been working on the same crossword puzzle for weeks.  It didn't bother him though, there was nothing else to do.  He sat in the corner, his Cubs hat high on his forehead.  He scratched his temple, the number 2 pencil between his teeth, thinking.  

"Golf club UK, six letters." He read.  The teacher paused for a brief moment.  She heard talking but didn't know who it was.  Dude had not noticed her stop, but he had nothing else to say, he continued chewing on the pencil and thinking.  The teacher began again, looking sidelong in Dude's direction while she spoke.  Chill, without moving his head, whispered out of the side of his mouth, "M-A-S-H-I-E, mashie."  Dude groaned.  "That means twelve down isn't Bueller."  "Bueller is U-E, not E-U."  Whispered Chill.

"Class."  called out the teacher, who looked around for a second and sat down.  Then she nodded at Birdie, who stood up.

"If there is to be progress made in the education system of the United States..."  No one caught a word she said beyond that.  Chic was doodling on a scrap of paper, pretending to be taking notes as often as the teacher looked his way.

Birdie sat down and the entire class clapped unenthusiastically, except for Dude who hadn't noticed her stand up, speak, or sit down.  He would have kept working on the puzzle had not Chill tapped him on the knee.

"Class is over, Dude.  Let's go."