Laughter filtered down the hall toward him as he swung the door open. Like he figured, his classroom was out of control. I should make them drop and give me a hundred. He stuck a stubby finger into his stiffly, starched shirt collar and ran his finger around it, tracing at the sweat that had accumulated on his neck. Too bad I don't have twenty tooth brushes and cans of cleanser. The floor could use a good scrub. But caution ruined his ideas. Miss Wadsworth's was in his class for the second time in a row, and her family would make a big stink. It hadn't been the first time. Money talked. He had been warned last year that he would be the one to walk if he used military style discipline on her. If only I could bend her over my knee. That's what she needed. A good, old-fashioned spanking. Someone had to give that girl direction.
Halfway toward his rowdy class, Mr. Fisher swung his small hips and strutted toward him.
Mr. Haggerman slid his dark-rimmed glasses midway down his nose, and peered over them at the teen. Twinkle toes. He knew his kind. Great! In the military, they kicked those kind out. They were a distraction.
The kid stopped in front of him. A guilty-look washed over the clear-skinned, teen's face. He also swallowed an obvious lump.
The teacher stuck pushed his glasses back, shoved both hands into his trouser pockets, and jingled his change. He noted a wrinkled brown bag the boy carried. "Did you step out for lunch, Mr. Fisher?"
Ronald lowered his eyes. "I didn't get to eat breakfast, sir." His voice sounded small and girlish.
"You need a hall pass to be out here." The ex-army man watched the kid skitter cowardly toward his classroom. He is definitely one of them. Military taught him how to spot one. He glanced up at the ceiling. Why me God? Why do I get to be so lucky again this year?
Shelly Arkon © 2015