King Dork Read Free Page A

this sort of class alto-
    gether by getting into Advanced Placement classes.
    (Technically, “Advanced Placement” refers to classes for
    which it is claimed you can receive “college credit”—which is beyond hilarious—but in practice all the nonbonehead classes 11
    end up getting called AP.) AP is like a different world. You don’t have to do anything at all, not a single blessed thing but show up, and you always get an A no matter what. Well, you end up making a lot of collages, and dressing in costumes and putting on irritating little skits, but that’s about it. Plus, they invented a whole new imaginary grade, which they still call an A, but which counts as more than an A from a regular
    class. What a racket.
    This is the one place in the high school multi-verse
    where eccentricity can be an asset. The AP teachers survey the class through their Catcher in the Rye glasses and . . .
    Oh, wait: I should mention that The Catcher in the Rye is this book from the fifties. It is every teacher’s favorite book.
    The main guy is a kind of misfit kid superhero named Holden Caulfield. For teachers, he is the ultimate guy, a real dream-boat. They love him to pieces. They all want to have sex with him, and with the book’s author, too, and they’d probably
    even try to do it with the book itself if they could figure out a way to go about it. It changed their lives when they were young. As kids, they carried it with them everywhere they
    went. They solemnly resolved that, when they grew up, they would dedicate their lives to spreading The Word.
    It’s kind of like a cult.
    They live for making you read it. When you do read it
    you can feel them all standing behind you in a semicircle
    wearing black robes with hoods, holding candles. They’re
    chanting “Holden, Holden, Holden . . .” And they’re looking over your shoulder with these expectant smiles, wishing they were the ones discovering the earth-shattering joys of The Catcher in the Rye for the very first time.
    Too late, man. I mean, I’ve been around the Catcher in the Rye block. I’ve been forced to read it like three hundred times, and don’t tell anyone but I think it sucks.
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    Good luck avoiding it, though. If you can make it to pu-
    berty without already having become a Catcher in the Rye ca-sualty you’re a better man than I, and I’d love to know your secret. It’s too late for me, but the Future Children of America will thank you.
    So the AP teachers examine the class through their
    Catcher glasses. The most Holden-y kid wins. Dispute the premise of every assignment and try to look troubled and intense, yet with a certain quiet dignity. You’ll be a shoo-in.
    Everybody wins, though, really, in AP Land.
    But watch out. When all the little Holdens leave the
    building, it’s open season again. Those who can’t shed or disguise their Catcher- approved eccentricities will be noticed by all the psychopathic normal people and hunted down like
    dogs. The Catcher Cult sets ’em up, and the psychotic normal people knock ’em right back down. What a world.
    “Did you get in any APs?” Sam Hellerman had asked on
    the way to school that first day. He hadn’t gotten in any APs.
    Whether or not you end up in AP is mostly a matter of
    luck, though the right kind of sucking up can increase your odds a bit. So considering that I put zero effort into it, I didn’t do too badly in the AP lottery. I got into AP social studies and French; that left me with regular English and math; and I also had PE and band. “Advanced” French is mainly notable for the fact that no one in the class has the barest prayer of reading, speaking, or understanding the French language, despite having studied it for several years. AP social studies is just like normal social studies, except the assignments are easier and you get to watch movies. Plus they like to call AP social studies “Humanities.” Ahem. . . . Pardon me while I spit out this water and laugh uncontrollably for