“The problem is they don’t shut down schools for not making AYP,” says Dr. Pepper, chopping the air like a delicatessen whacking a sandwich in half. “Schools have to be held accountable. The officials who came up with AYP aren’t dummies. They know what they’re doing: they’re the government.” Dr. Pepper cringes. Something has happened. “Uh,” he scans his watch. “Let’s go ahead and take a break. Five minutes?” The students empty the classroom in a frantic state, as if a classmate erupted into flames. Dr. Pepper is alone now, his Asian assistant rising from her desk, smoothing the wrinkles in her hot pink skirt. “Dr. Pepper? You do well with lecture.” Squinting, Dr. George replies: “Yeah, well, thank you, Ms. Uhhhmmmsum.” He nods his head and bolts out the door. The assistant is in pursuit. “Dr. Pepper, what you want me do?” Dr. Pepper’s upper denture dislodges as he jolts to a stop; he plonks it back in place with his tongue. “Stay in your zone of proximal development.” He uses a fist to punch through the bathroom door and is gone.
