The Wave

"Aw, this is dumb," Brad mumbled.

"Just because you couldn't do it right," someone said.

"Brad," Mr Ross said, "who was the Prime Minister before Churchill?"

This time Brad rose and stood beside his desk. "Mr Ross, it was, uh, Prime Minister, uh."

"You're still too slow, Brad," Mr Ross said. "From now on, everyone make your answers as short as possible, and spit them out when asked. Now, Brad, try again."

This time Brad snapped up beside his seat. "Mr Ross, Chamberlain."

Ben nodded approvingly. "Now that's the way to answer a question. Punctual, precise, with punch. Andrea, what country did Hitler invade in September of 1939?"

Andrea, the ballet dancer, stood stiffly by her desk. "Mr Ross, I don't know."

Mr Ross smiled. "Still, a good response because you used proper form. Amy, do you know the answer?"

Amy hopped up beside her desk. "Mr Ross, Poland."

"Excellent," Mr Ross said. "Brian, what was the name of Hitler's political party?"

Brian quickly got out of his chair. "Mr Ross, the Nazis."

Mr Ross nodded. "That's good, Brian. Very quick. Now, does anyone know the official name of the party? Laurie?"

Laurie Saunders stood up beside her desk. "The National Socialist —

"No!" There was a sharp bang as Mr Ross struck his desktop with a ruler. "Now do it again correctly."

Laurie sat down, a confused look on her face. What had she done wrong? David leaned over and whispered in her ear. Oh, right. She stood up again. "Mr Ross, the National Socialist German Workers Party."

"Correct," Mr Ross replied.

Mr Ross kept asking questions, and around the room students jumped to attention, eager to show that they knew both the answer and the correct form with which to give it. It was a far cry from the formally casual atmosphere of the classroom, but neither Ben nor his students reflected on that fact. They were too caught up in this new game. The speed and precision of each ques­tion and answer were exhilarating. Soon Ben was perspiring as he shouted each question out and another student rose sharply beside his or her desk to shout back a terse reply.

"Peter, who proposed the Lend-Lease Act?"

"Mr Ross, Roosevelt."

"Right. Eric, who died in the death camps?"

"Mr Ross, the Jews."

"Anyone else, Brad?"

"Mr Ross, gypsies, homosexuals, and the feeble­minded."

"Good. Amy, why were they murdered?"

"Mr Ross, because they weren't part of the superior race."

"Correct. David, who ran the death camps?"

Mr Ross, the S.S."

"Excellent!"

Out in the hall, the bells were ringing, but no one in the classroom moved from their seat. Still carried by the momentum of the class's progress that period, Ben stood at the front of the room and issued the final order of the day. "Tonight, finish reading chapter seven and read the first half of chapter eight. That's all, class dismissed." Before him the class rose in what seemed like a single movement and rushed out into the hall.

"Wow, that was weird, man, it was like a rush," Brian gasped in uncharacteristic enthusiasm. He and some of the students from Mr Ross's class were standing in a tight pack in the corridor, still riding on the energy they'd felt in the classroom.

"I've never felt anything like that before," said Eric beside him.

"Well, it sure beats taking notes," Amy cracked.

Yeah," Brian said. He and a couple of other students laughed.

"Hey, but don't knock it," David said. "That was really different. It was like, when we all acted together, we were more than just a class. We were a unit. Remember what Mr Ross said about power? I think he was right. Didn't you feel it?"

"Aw, you're taking it too seriously," said Brad behind him.

"Yeah?" David said. "Well then, how do you explain it?"

Brad shrugged. "What's to explain? Ross asked ques­tions, we answered them. It was like any other class except we had to sit up straight and stand next to our desks. I think you're making a big deal out of nothing."

I don't know, Brad," David said as he turned and left the pack of students.

"Where're you going?" Brian asked.

"The john," David answered. "Catch up with you in the cafeteria."

"Okay," Brian said.

"Hey, remember to sit up straight," Brad said, and the others laughed.

David pushed through the door to the men's room. He really wasn't sure if Brad was right or not. Maybe he was making a big deal out of nothing, but on the other hand, there had been the feeling, that group unity. Maybe it didn't make that much difference in the classroom. After all, you were just answering questions. But suppose you took that group feeling, that high energy feeling, and got the football team into it. There were some good athletes on the team, it made David mad that they had such a bad record. They really weren't that bad — they were just undermotivated and disorganized. David knew that if he could ever get the team even half as charged up as Mr Ross's history class had been that day, they could tear apart most of the teams in their league.