Ch.1: A Splash of Slushy (1/4)

"Mr. St. John, wake up! Class is over!" A slightly agitated voice whispered into my ear. I heard a loud cracking sound as the person dropped a textbook next to me.
"What," I said stupidly with a tired moan. I looked up and saw my teacher, Mr. Storm. I groaned and shook my head, shaking the sleep off.
"Now Mr. St. John, you know how I detest laziness in my classroom. What is with you? You are ten minutes late for Mrs. Davidson's class!" He snarled into my ear.
Mr. Storm taught U.S. History and, unfortunately, my grades weren't making as good as an impression of me as I had hoped. He was an old man, with little patience, bladder problems, and very sexist, which is another reason why I am on the verge of flunking. A silver goatee sprouted under his chin and reached the top of his chest, tied up with a string with two gold, clanging balls.
I got up quickly, shoving my textbook and folder into my backpack, stood, and slung the bag over my shoulder, regretting it as I felt the edge the textbook jab into my back.
I reached the door, sneered and I turned the doorknob.
"Mr. St. John! One more time in my classroom and it's a detention! And I will be contacting your parents!” he hollered as I took off out the door.
My head was spinning from all that had just happened in the last few seconds. What was with that dream, the book slamming, the pissed off teacher-
"Why aren't you in class Mr. St. John?" a distant voice called out from behind me, stopping my train of thought.
I turned around, caught by surprise, to see my principal in the hallway, giving me a wry smile. I returned the smile and replied in an exhausted, hoarse voice, "Mr. Storm-"
"Say no more, I understand. He should be retiring soon...a man at his age should be lying in a coffin by now." The principal said, as if he said the sentences before, shaking his head.
"Oh man, what a shame." I lied, holding back a grin.
There was that awkward silence; I shrugged and waved bye. The principal repeated the gesture, smiling widely this time.
I kept walking away and now started moving a tad faster now. However, really, a party had started in my head, screaming “Bon voyage!” If I could've danced, I would've started up a little jig and run down the gray, hollow hallway, yelling my head off that the old fart was leaving and repeating "Free at last, free at last, Oh thank God that we are free at last!" Nevertheless, that would just be stupid.
The hallway was empty besides the loose paper the was strewn across the floor and the occasional student coming in and out of a classroom to finish up some late homework or run an errand for their teacher. The lockers were decorated with birthday paper or with some Expo Marker drawings. One locker read, in a very sloppy mess as if someone was trying to rub it away: John Michael & Jessie, September 28th, 2009. The clock in the hallway had the numbers 11:29AM in an enormous, red format. The hallway was now starting to smell like Axe deodorant, but of course, a can lay beside the right side wall, busted open and leaking a water like substance all over the floor.
It was embarrassing to be late to a class. The second you enter a classroom, even a tad or a smidgen late, the whole classroom will echo with students yelling, "Late, late, late!" well, they are that mature. So, guess what happened when I walked in through the oak door one minute later?
That’s right….
"Late, late, late!" The jocks started saying, raising their voices even louder to get Ms. Davidson's attention and get the others to say, "late!"
My face went red as the door slammed behind me and as the yells came flying at me like bullets. Then I took one step and fumbled over a kid's backpack; a burst of laughter erupted from this and I hurried to my desk. The students still pointing at me and laughing at me...the girls looking at the whiteboard, not paying me any attention.
I gazed at Ms. Davidson; she was a tall woman with lengthy blonde hair, dark green eyes, and a dress on with beagle pendant hanging from her neck. She was nodding her head to something that the person on the other end had said. She seemed a bit annoyed. She hung up her phone and stood up from her velvet chair, shaking her head, letting her hair fan out. She walked over to the board and wrote down the assignment of the day: POP WRITING QUIZ". Then she moved her hand over to the Homework: "EXTRA CREDIT OPPRITUNITY: WRITE ANOTHER PAGE (+5)."
The jocks groaned and the girls started whispering excitedly. I smiled to myself, when it came to writing, I knew that the jocks in the classroom had the brain size of a grape; all they knew about in their whole lives were who were the hottest girls and sports. The girls, however, knew what they were going to write about...Twilight related things, or clothes, or the puppy or kitten. I mean, the Twilight movies had become such a big hit and plus, girls love cute, little animals. Well, maybe some of them.
"Quiet! All of you! You too, Chance!" Ms. Davidson yelled at the guys in the corner of the room, silencing them as if she had struck them all in the face. Then she smiled with white teeth that seemed to sparkle. "Good morning class."
"Good morning Ms. Davidson," The class said in an exhausted voice.
"Well class, this may take up all of the class period so, take out a pen or pencil that is not red and start writing. Today is a free style write. Write whatever you want. However, I will not take slang or words that have been shortened. Use your common sense and don't write anything bad. You may start now." She said, glaring down the jocks.
I pulled out a stray piece paper and a mechanical pencil and clicked it, releasing a millimeter of 0.7 lead. I put the pencil to the piece of paper that lay upon my desk, and started writing....
I reread it repeatedly, smiling to myself. I felt a rush of accomplishment flow over me and the sensation of being smart.
Giggling started to erupt from the jocks and I starred up at them to see what they were laughing at or whom they were laughing at. They stopped immediately, when I made eye contact with them and I grit my teeth. I looked back at my paper and decided to go for the extra credit. I already wrote a poem, what about some super, short story? Sure, that sounds good!
'The trees leaves seemed to whistle to each other as I lay there, under the shelter of the tree. I could hear-' something whizzed through the air and an object struck my neck. I hissed, touching the spot. A bead of blood was already coming out of my neck. I looked at the object that had hit me. A hornet bullet, a folded piece of paper with a tiny needle sticking out lay there on the floor. The jocks burst into laughter, banging their hands on the desk as they gasped for air, as they turned red from laughter.
Mrs. Davidson looked up from her desk and gazed over to me and then to the jocks. "Quiet! People are still writing! Bring your papers to me now! They will be graded as they are!" she said in a menacing tone.
Everyone fell silent and the jocks stood up still smiling from what one of them had just done. They handed out blank pieces of paper to Mrs. Davidson and her face became even more livid as they turned in more blank pieces of papers. One of the boys blew a kiss at me and whispered, on his way back to his desk, "Need mommy to kiss your boo-boo?"
I put my head down and my hand on my neck, rubbing the pain away and wiping the blood off. "You too Mr. St. John, turn in what you have. You were involved with this too." I looked, confused and dumbfounded. I stared up at her in disbelief.