"What's wrong, Kermy the Froggy?" the girl with the moppy head of curls said, jutting out her lower lip for emphasis. "Piggy get her feelings hurt?"
He didn't respond. Instead he cast his gaze on Cassandra noting her internal conflict.
She was holding her breath, scribbling arrows every which way on the pad Mr. Haggerman left with her.
He reached toward her and yanked the paper away from her.
Cassandra shot him a what-are-you-doing-look at him.
Across the top half, he scrawled down names he knew. Wadsworth and Gruber. And described the others. The whole far right row. The kid with the Jimmy Swaggert hair. He wasn't afraid of these creeps. They could all go suck eggs for all he cared.
His BFF frowned.
"Hey! Look!" Grueber blurted out. "Miss Piggy's boyfriend is Hangman's henchman. He's writing down our names!"
Ronald studied Cassandra's reaction.
She actually breathed only to suck in a gob of air and held it again, squeezing her eyes shut.
"Are you going to write my name down?" some boy shouted from his right. "My name is Alton with an 'A'!" The kid sounded proud.
"How about my name?" A girl with Coke-bottle glasses pounded on her desk to his BFF's left.
The whole classroom broke out into hysterical laughter minus Cassandra. Wadded up balls of paper pummeled against Ronald and Cassandra. Not long after, tiny wet pellets splatted against their cheeks, necks, and heads.
Ronald swiped at the one clinging to his neck. A spit ball. How mature. He'd show these maniacs who not to mess with. These kids needed a visit to the principal's office. That was for sure. Wonder what kind of paddle they use here? At the Lutheran school, they used a ping-pong one. He got it once in the sixth grade for shoving a girl into a thorn bush on the playground. It only took once to fix his wagon.
Cassandra blew out the air she held, gave Ronald a half-smile, and reached for the notepad he had taken from her. After, she wrote: THE ENTIRE CLASS MIS-BEHAVED WHILE YOU WERE OUT!
He gave her a supportive nod. He would back up his BFF in this.
More spit balls flew through the air. This time three plastered themselves onto Ronald's right cheek.
War had now been declared by these hoodlums and he wasn't going to let Cassandra take the heat for it. He would be there to defend her through thick and thin.
He bent toward his right, stuck his hand in his book bag, and fumbled for one of his spiral notebooks. Pulling a blue one out, he plopped it onto his desk and flipped it open. He thumb through three blank pages and ripped them out. A plan for retaliation formed in his mind.
Cassandra mouthed, "What are you going to do?"
He gave her an evil grin, knowing that his plan might get him a visit with the principal and his paddle. But whatever he planned had to be stealth-like. Something menacing. Something these Baptist freaks would never forget.
His BFF raised her brows. She wanted an answer.
He knew the look and stood.
"Where are you going?" she whispered loud enough for only him to hear.
"To the bathroom." He strutted past her with the three sheets of paper and his bagged lunch.
Cassandra knew this wasn't going to end well. She couldn't figure why her BFF would risk his first impression for these idiots. They're not worth it. Her way would be to ignore them.
She glanced at his back while he hooked a left into the hallway.
"Where's Kermit going, Piggy?" Grueber tapped her right shoulder. "Is going to eat some flies?"
Cassandra sneered at him over her shoulder. Even that was too much to offer the greasy boy sitting behind her. Wonder if he knows if the giant zit on his nose is about to explode? It was the one thing that stood out on him besides his shiny hair follicles.
Miss Wadsworth let out a snort and pressed her finger against her nose. It made her nostrils flare making her look like a piggish-look. She followed with more grunts and then began to squeal like the farm animal.
The rest of the class followed suit.
The class monitor swung her head around and faced the blackboard. What was taking Mr. Haggerman so long? And why did Ronnie have to leave her alone in a room full of spoiled brats?
Shelly Arkon © 2015