As the hour wore on, another thing became abundantly clear about Marshall Cunnings: He did NOT belong in this class.  He answered every question Mr. Walker posed without seeming to think about it; often, he answered for other students when they got the answer wrong.  Several times he corrected mistakes the teacher had made.  In between questions, he scribbled on his notebook - it took Esther some time to realize that the "random doodles" were actually math problems.  Was that calculus he was doing?<br/><br/>None of this improved his standing with the other students, of course.  They took every opportunity to make fun of him, and he was certainly providing lots of them.  At one point Mr. Walker had to ask him to repeat himself after he answered a question in what sounded like fluent, unaccented French.  Shortly after, Esther noticed Jeffery Trevino quietly passing around a caricature of Marshall with a twirly mustache, entitled "Monsieur Cunny".<br/><br/>The strangest part was that as the class wore on, he seemed to notice the heckling of the class less and less.  Despite the fact that the subject matter was obviously child's play for him, he seemed completely engaged in Mr. Walker's lectures, to a degree the teacher himself seemed to find somewhat unsettling.<br/><br/>All in all, it was certainly one of the more unusual classes Esther had sat through.  When the bell finally rang, the students seemed to explode out of their seats, already abuzz with gossip about the weirdo new kid.  Marshall, for his part, calmly and almost methodically packed everything away into his backpack; he seemed vastly more composed than he had at the start of the class.  As he stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder, he met Esther's eyes - only briefly - with a warm smile.  "Thanks."  Then reality seemed to catch up with him all at once.  His gaze snapped back to his feet; he shifted uncertainly and fidgeted with his glasses.  Without a backwards glance, he turned and near-fled the classroom.