His face twists in a brief, unbidden, stab of jealousy.
'I know you're ahead, you keep saying it.'
He feels like he has a rope around his neck, and he keeps pulling against it but everyone - teachers, school, parents, other kids - just laugh and yank it back. It's hard to breathe.
'We've only got one for the whole school. I'm not allowed extra time.'
And it's only a BBC, built for schools; it's only 1986, when few yet know what'll happen with technology. But he can see the shape of something when he looks into the screen, and knows there's a whole new language out there to learn, and he wants to get his hands on it.
no subject
'I know you're ahead, you keep saying it.'
He feels like he has a rope around his neck, and he keeps pulling against it but everyone - teachers, school, parents, other kids - just laugh and yank it back. It's hard to breathe.
'We've only got one for the whole school. I'm not allowed extra time.'
And it's only a BBC, built for schools; it's only 1986, when few yet know what'll happen with technology. But he can see the shape of something when he looks into the screen, and knows there's a whole new language out there to learn, and he wants to get his hands on it.