Tracking

My fifth-grade class did not recess with others. Being smart, we got to skip the standard curriculum.
We sat in Mr. Munger’s stuffy classroom, shades drawn and slide projector humming, and viewed star constellations. Not sharing Munger’s passion for astronomy, I got disruptive. I was sent outside more than once.
“Several of you will be transferring out of this class,” Munger announced one morning, “to the regular fifth grade.” I then heard him say my name. How to face my friends? What to do with the newly acquired smugness? Soon two large boys transported my desk to one of the commoner classrooms. I trailed behind, heading for the gallows, bawling.