I slam my locker shut just before the first bell rings throughout the halls. I swear under my breath. I couldn’t get another tardy. Well, I couldn’t give Mrs. Fisher the satisfaction of giving me another detention.
Since I was going to be late to class anyway, I decide to take the long way. Hopefully the women in the attendance office aren’t prowling around looking for harmless students to yell at.
I walk down the foreign language hallway and notice that I appear to be the only one that is late to class this morning.
I watch my shoes as I walk. I was running late this morning, so I decided to just throw on a pair of my old Crocs. They were comfortable and socially acceptable.
I stop at the water fountain right outside my first hour class and take a quick drink. I gulp down a mouthful of the nasty school water when I hear voices start to echo through the hallway.
“Your first hour class is just over here, gentlemen.” I hear the voice of a lady say.
Fearing for my life, I run into Mrs. Fisher’s first hour English 10 class.
As soon as I close the door, I feel her hawk eyes grazing upon me.
She punches her hand through the wall. “Late again, Miss. Cinnamon? That’s the third time this week.” she says with that certain tone in her voice.
I stare at her and she stares back. I had to think of a good excuse.
“I was busy.” I say. It was the first thing that came out of my mouth.
Her eyes narrow, “Sit. Down.” She says, as if those words were two different sentences.
For a five foot two inches tall woman, she is pretty scary.
I sit down next to my friend, Ginger, in the back. She has short red hair and hates the world and everyone in it. Except me, I think.
“Hey. Did you read the assignment?” she asks.
I snort so loudly that Mrs. Fisher turns around and growls at me. Her eyes flaming with flames. I shrug.
Suddenly, someone knocks silently on the door. A guidance counselor peeks her head in. “Mrs. Fisher?” she says in her fake, but yet pleasant voice.
“WHAT?” Mrs. Fisher says, annoyed by so many interruptions.
“We have some new students in your first hour class- what happened to the wall?” the guidance counselor turns to the wall.
Mrs. Fisher glares at her.
The guidance counselor averts her eyes, “I’ll get someone for that.” Her voice trails off.
She opens the door wider and five boys steps in.
Gasps echo across the room.
“Class, these are the members of the boy band, One Direction.”
I look at these five boys up and down. They all look to be in their mid-twenties.
“What the hell?” I scream at Ginger to break the silence. She was already asleep. That’s not a metaphor for anything. She is actually sleeping. She has a sleeping mask on. And is silently snoring.
By the time I give my attention back to the boys, the guidance counselor has left and the girls in the class are going crazy. One is just screaming bloody murder. Another threw up. The screaming one just passed out from oxygen deprivation.
Helga Ingebretsen kept screaming, “Harry! Harry! Give me some of your gravy! I desire your children!” She also, at that moment, passed out.
The boys keep staring straight ahead, pursing their lips. They are as still as a picture. Completely oblivious to everything that is happening.
Mrs. Fisher screams at the students to calm down. “Calm down!” she screams.
Suddenly fed up with everything, Mrs. Fisher takes out a hockey stick and proceeds to
beat the students sitting in the front row with it. Even the ones that aren’t freaking out.
After about ten minutes, half of the girls had either calmed down or were on the
ground, unconscious, mostly from the beating, not passing out.
“Introduce yourselves.” Mrs. Fisher says, glaring again. I have drawn the conclusion that she was never glaring intentionally. That was just her permanent face.
They each introduced themselves one by one. Niall Horan. Zayn Malik. Liam Payne. Louis Tomlinson. And Harry Styles.
“Go sit down in the back.” Mrs. Fisher says, almost as a threat. She seems to already have a massive hate for them.
I then realize that the entire back row is empty, and that one of them will end up sitting behind me.
I look over at Ginger. Now she is drooling over a pillow that magically appeared.
As they are walking, I realize that none of this is making any sense. They must have graduated from school already. And why would they come to the crappiest school in the middle of nowhere. I had to investigate.
The classroom was silent, and I realized that this would be my only chance in a while.
“So,” I said aloud, “does anyone else think that it is weird that 25 year olds are going to this crap-hole school in the middle of nowhere? I mean, no one thinks this seems a little abnormal?”
“You’re just jealous!” Helga Ingebretsen says, wiping the vomit off her shoes.
“Jealous? I’m jealous? Of what, Helga? Is that the only logical thing you could come up with? I’m jealous? The ability to walk into a room and have people beg for my semen?”
“Just shut up!” Mrs. Fisher snarls at me. “Okay. Now everyone take out your assignment. Miss. BipBip! Please wake up!”
Ginger startled awake. She gives Mrs. Fisher a dirty look. Mrs. Fisher returns one.
Suddenly, Ginger gets up and declares to the class, “I need to piss.”
“But we are about to start.” Mrs. Fisher starts, but Ginger has already left. Knowing her, she probably won’t be coming back anytime soon.
“Can anyone come up to the board and write down three things that you learned in last night’s reading?” Mrs. Fisher says, starting her lesson.
I know that one of them is sitting behind me. But which one? Curiosity got the best of me, so I “accidently” drop my pencil. I turn around and make eye contact with the boy that sat behind me. He is the blond one. He grins at me.
Scared, I pick up my pencil and turn around.
That’s when I realize; I have to fart. This isn’t going to be a silent one-and-done toot either. Then I realize the kicker. That poor boy is sitting about two feet behind me. He will definitely catch a sniff of it. He is in direct cross-fire.
I try to hold it in, but my intestines start to turn. It is going to be loud, too. Usually, I wouldn’t care. I would just let it rip. But that is why I always have to sit in the back.
Damn. I shouldn’t of ate that bean burrito this morning. And I definitely shouldn’t have gone back for seconds. Diego was selling some out of his truck. Two for a buck. They looked kind of sketchy, but I was hungry. Now, I feel them peeking out.
I have to get out of here.
I raise my hand. “What?” Fisher asks.
“Can I go to bathroom?”
“When your friend gets back!” she declares.
I hold my stomach. It feels like it is going to explode.
I don’t know why, but Mrs. Fisher probably senses my pain. That evil broad then calls me up to the board, saying that she wants me to write something.
I slowly get up from my seat. I limp up the front. The pressure building with each step I take. I feel something move inside of me as Mrs. Fisher hands me the dry erase marker.
I turn my back to her and begin to write on the board.
I then realize that I can’t take it anymore. I let it rip. The sound echoes through the entire classroom. Suddenly, I couldn’t control it anymore. A sticky substance begins to fill my pants. The relief was ecstasy.
I turn towards the class, sweat rolling down my face. My heart beating in my ears. That was the most exercise I got in four years.
Mrs. Fisher looks like she is about to vomit.
“Did you just fart?” she whispers gravely.
“Yah. I just full on shit my pants, too.” I say. I put down the marker and walk back to my seat.
“Are you okay?” the blond one that was sitting behind me asks.
“Nah, I’m a little messed up.” I sit down in my seat and put my head down.
I hate having my days go like this.
About halfway through class, Ginger comes back and Mrs. Fisher allows me to go to the bathroom. I had to go to my locker for a change of clothes before I got back to class. Class went as normal, albeit with a few more holes in the wall, thanks to Mrs. Fisher’s frustration and a few repairmen the school had on hand coming in to fix the damage. The bell rang, dismissing us. I run out of the class to go get my stuff for my next class from my locker.