It’s the first day of sixth-grade math, and unlike his peers, Alexander can’t wait to get started Alexander looked up at the clock. It was 8:35 a.m., and the teacher was still not present. He sighed, wondering if his sixth-grade teacher would ever come. Alexander Gerald Louis was tall and thin and had curly black hair and blue eyes. Despite being tall for his age, Alexander was never considered a jock, due to his lack of burliness. Instead, he was constantly called a “nerd” at school. Alexander took an interest in science, and dreamed of building high-technology airplanes, which was why his room was full of posters of the Wright brothers. In his spare time, he drew airplane models, or played soldier with his buddies. He got straight A’s during his elementary school years because his mother drilled him with algebra, properties, and even trigonometry—yes, even at the age of eleven. Every single grade he was in, the teachers praised him for his intelligence, mainly in mathematics and science. You could tell that he was desperate to learn, because he looked up at the clock and checked his watch every few seconds. A few other students were thinking the same, but most of them were glad that they had a few minutes of freedom. One of them suggested an airplane fight, to which everyone but Alexander agreed. “No! I don’t think it’s appropriate to—” But it was too late. Everyone grabbed printed paper from their desks and started folding the way they were taught to in kindergarten, which was part of the reason why Alexander believed that there should not have been a thing called “kindergarten.” He was obedient and righteous, and he didn’t want to cause any trouble in the class. Unfortunately, that’s not what most of the kids in Room 105 thought. Middle School “AIRPLANE FIGHT!” one screamed. Everyone started throwing their paper airplanes up, down, left, and right. A lot of them hit students, but a few flew off. “VROOOOOMM!” Another kid who sat near Alexander made what he thought of as airplane sounds. As much as Alexander loved to make airplanes, he absolutely despised aiming those airplanes at kids and landing them on who-knows-whose head, and just at that moment, someone’s paper airplane made a  perfect landing on Alexander’s head. Alexander was furious, so annoyed that he started to make an airplane himself. That’s what happens when an airplane hits someone as sensitive as Alexander. Just when he flew his airplane across the classroom, a voice came in. “Pardon me for being late, but I was just showing Lena around.” It was the teacher. “She’s new to California, you see.” The teacher, Mr. Joseph Navin, was a middle-aged man with black hair, a couple of hairs turning gray, and warm hazel eyes. He had a neat mustache, and his navy suit was just as organized. Alexander wanted to be like Mr. Navin, just by his appearance. In fact, Alexander observed that his own bedroom was tidy, like Mr. Navin’s outfit. Alexander’s paper airplane missed the teacher by inches, and instead, it hit the new girl, Lena, who stumbled back. Once his airplane landed on the ground, Mr. Navin picked it up, looked at it, then, much to Alexander’s surprise, laughed out loud. He showed Lena her seat, which was at the back. “Hello, sixth graders!” Mr. Navin walked up to the front of the classroom. “Welcome to Rosewood Middle School. I am Mr. Navin, and I will be your teacher for math and science. I have been teaching at Rosewood as a sixth-grade math and science teacher for eight years. I have been at Rosewood as a teacher for fourteen years, and I have been at Rosewood for seventeen years. I have to point that out because I myself attended Rosewood.” Mr. Navin chuckled at his own joke. Only Alexander, Lena, and a boy named Sandeep Agarwal chortled along. Mr. Navin went over the homework assignment, which was just a form for the parents to fill out, but then added, “But, if you want extra credit, then I have a stack of multiplication problems for you to calculate, which is easy enough.” Then he went on to discuss what topics to expect in math: distribution rules, probability, and negative numbers, just to name a few. Alexander heard a few groans and whispers in the class. A redhead girl who sat behind Alexander grumbled, “School sucks.” But Alexander thought that it wasn’t too bad. In fact, Alexander loved homework. It was like “knowledge pouring down and you must catch it before it crashes on the ground and never comes back,” as his mother always told him and his sister when they were younger. There was an awkward silence after the commotion. Mr. Navin laughed heartily, and the ice was broken. “Come on, students. It isn’t too bad!” Mr. Navin said while still laughing. “Back in my day, we had a quiz almost every single day, not to mention a test at the end of the week! Compared to that, I’m being nice to you!” The students still looked skeptical about it, so Mr. Navin changed the topic. “Well, since my original plan turned into paper airplanes”—Mr. Navin looked down at all the airplanes strewn across the floor—“we will just have to think of a plan B.” The students looked up from the ground, because it meant that they didn’t have  to do the classic get-to-know-you game. “How about this: we’re going to play twenty questions, but with math.” The ruckus came back, as almost half of the students in Room 105 moaned. “Do we have to?” one of the boys who sat near Alexander whined. Mr. Navin, who still kept his friendly smile on, winked at the student. “Will this count for our grades?” a girl who wore her hair in pigtails asked. “Ah, good question. No it won’t,” said Mr. Navin. “I just want to see where you guys are in math. This is me