Creative Writing: Aces

Aces

He sports a black leather jacket, wrist bands, and boots sparkling with silvery studs. A long key chain loops into a pocket on black jeans. Plenty of piercings and unruly black hair and eyebrows sprout out of chalk-white skin. Gavin’s occasional contributions are barely audible. Round eyes looking up at his grade-ten history teacher, despite his lowered chin, make her think he’s grateful when she repeats her words so all can hear: “The book says lots of jobs. Not like today.”
George adds, “It says ‘factories’. My parents used to have factory jobs but both plants closed. Now, they work for small companies.”
“For more money?” asks Giancarlo.
“Less. The owners and everyone hope maybe some day.”
“We used to have more factories,” their teacher

Nobody at the class list’s telephone number knew much English or anyone named George. George’s English is fluent. The next day, asked if the number was a misprint, George told her she’d spoken with his mom and dad. He’s been present every day since.
The semester started two weeks ago. Gavin has already missed four lessons. He confirmed the class list’s telephone number, but whenever his teacher tries it there’s no answer, no way to leave a message. He does makeup work he’s given every time he reappears. His writing is in soft pencil, with letters smeared, cramped. Bemoaning her bifocals gets him to make it large enough for her to read. Emboldened, she shows him the memo, noting he’d been designated learning-disabled, and asks what she can do for

One side of his mouth lifts in a slow smile. The other side follows, a little. His eyes seem not to know how to manage what’s happening to the lower part of his face. Longing to show his progress pleases her cramps her throat. She manages to croak, “Nice work.”
A few days later, the class, studying World War I, watches Aces: A Story of the First Air War (1993). Its vintage black-and-white footage is blurry, a lot of it flickers and jerks. The narrator’s voice sounds quaint, but every class that’s seen it is riveted. They love those forward-firing Fokkers! A handout has study questions. Each student may—but need not—team with another.
George works alone.
Giancarlo tries out his usual confident voice and gentle smile on Gavin: “Can we work together?” Gavin nods and Giancarlo tugs his chair-desk alongside. They’re almost a matched pair. Giancarlo’s hair is also black, and they’re both wearing all black, but any studs on Giancarlo are hidden. All four high boots gleam. The spicy shoe-polish aroma convinces her they’ll revel in reading about the conflict. She would like to ask, doesn’t dare break their concentration. Seeing Gavin find the double-page spread in the text about wartime aircraft as the other boy talks and watching both fellows writing, their teacher allows herself a minute