Del Rio,” I began. “Everyone pretty much knows each other there, and all the main sources of entertainment are on one really long street.”
“Ah, yes. So I assume moving from such a small town to a very big city must be quite a shocking experience for you,” he tapped on the top of my binder, motioning for me to lower it, then set the paper on it.
“It’ll take a while, but I’m sure I’ll adjust just fine.”
From his pant pocket, he drew a pen and initialed next to the class. “Come on in. Take any seat that’s free.” He said, then introduced himself. “I’m Mr. Luna, your permanent substitute teacher,” he motioned me in and closed the door behind him.
I stood in the front of the class for a few seconds trying to peer over students heads to find an open desk. Mostly all of them stared at me as if I was foreign to them. Which I was. I didn’t know any of these people in the mad circus of paper balls flying around and loud chit-chatter.
“Hey!” a slightly familiar voice called from within the shroud of various conversations. It was muffled by a burst of laughter, and I lost the source. “Over here!” the voice called again, louder than before. I saw a girl in a purple sweater and thick black framed glasses toward the back of the room wave her hand in the air. She arched her arm over her head and pointed to an empty desk next to her. I had to squint to recognize the waitress from the café. What’s her name again? I thought to myself as I made my way over.
“Recognize me?” she said as I stood beside her—placing my stuff on the empty desk to claim it. “Here. Maybe this will help,” She grabbed her long hair and pulled it up in a pony tail. “Sweet or un-sweet?” she mimicked her waitress voice. She laughed and let her razor-cut hair fall gracefully back to her shoulders.
“Sarah, right? I’m Sarina, but you can call me Rini.”
She nodded and shook my hand. “I’m Sarah, but you can call me Sarah.” She leaned in and put her hand by her mouth and whispered, “But don’t tell anyone, it’s an exclusive nickname. Only the cool kids can call me that.” She winked. Sarah reached into her tattered checkered purse and pulled out a pack of gummy candy in the shape of fruit. “Want some?” she offered, already holding the packet out to pour.
“Uh, sure.”
When the teacher finally shushed the class and began, we both opened our notebooks and began writing the information the substitute scribbled on the novel the class had finished reading the week before. The familiar title was written in large lettering on the dry erase board up front:
Frankenstein
“Now,” Mr. Luna turned and capped the marker he was using. “Who can tell me about this classic tale by the imaginative, Mary Shelley?”
“He was a green-skinned freak!” a voice from the center of the crowd called. I veered my eyes toward the speaker. It was the guy in the blue shirt—his crazy untamed hair, tucked under a mossy green beanie.
“That is where you are wrong, Davis. And please remove that hat, it goes against the student dress code.” Mr. Luna sat on the edge of the desk and clasped his hands together. “Frankenstein was not the name of the creature. It was the name of Victor Frankenstein—the creator. Now,” the substitute went on, “why did Frankenstein’s creation go searching for Victor after he had cowardly fled?”
No one seemed to know the answer. Not even Sarah, who was too busy drawing some doodles on a blank sheet of paper to notice anything around her. As much as I hated to further prove the whole new-girl-is-a-shy-nerd-who-knows-the-answer-all-of-a-sudden stereotype, I couldn’t leave a question of classic literature unanswered. I heard Mr. Luna call my name faster than I could get my hand all the way up. As if he’d been waiting for me to do so.
“He was seeking vengeance against Victor, and told him of all the misery he had imposed onto him by being lonely and deemed ugly by all
“Ah, yes. So I assume moving from such a small town to a very big city must be quite a shocking experience for you,” he tapped on the top of my binder, motioning for me to lower it, then set the paper on it.
“It’ll take a while, but I’m sure I’ll adjust just fine.”
From his pant pocket, he drew a pen and initialed next to the class. “Come on in. Take any seat that’s free.” He said, then introduced himself. “I’m Mr. Luna, your permanent substitute teacher,” he motioned me in and closed the door behind him.
I stood in the front of the class for a few seconds trying to peer over students heads to find an open desk. Mostly all of them stared at me as if I was foreign to them. Which I was. I didn’t know any of these people in the mad circus of paper balls flying around and loud chit-chatter.
“Hey!” a slightly familiar voice called from within the shroud of various conversations. It was muffled by a burst of laughter, and I lost the source. “Over here!” the voice called again, louder than before. I saw a girl in a purple sweater and thick black framed glasses toward the back of the room wave her hand in the air. She arched her arm over her head and pointed to an empty desk next to her. I had to squint to recognize the waitress from the café. What’s her name again? I thought to myself as I made my way over.
“Recognize me?” she said as I stood beside her—placing my stuff on the empty desk to claim it. “Here. Maybe this will help,” She grabbed her long hair and pulled it up in a pony tail. “Sweet or un-sweet?” she mimicked her waitress voice. She laughed and let her razor-cut hair fall gracefully back to her shoulders.
“Sarah, right? I’m Sarina, but you can call me Rini.”
She nodded and shook my hand. “I’m Sarah, but you can call me Sarah.” She leaned in and put her hand by her mouth and whispered, “But don’t tell anyone, it’s an exclusive nickname. Only the cool kids can call me that.” She winked. Sarah reached into her tattered checkered purse and pulled out a pack of gummy candy in the shape of fruit. “Want some?” she offered, already holding the packet out to pour.
“Uh, sure.”
When the teacher finally shushed the class and began, we both opened our notebooks and began writing the information the substitute scribbled on the novel the class had finished reading the week before. The familiar title was written in large lettering on the dry erase board up front:
Frankenstein
“Now,” Mr. Luna turned and capped the marker he was using. “Who can tell me about this classic tale by the imaginative, Mary Shelley?”
“He was a green-skinned freak!” a voice from the center of the crowd called. I veered my eyes toward the speaker. It was the guy in the blue shirt—his crazy untamed hair, tucked under a mossy green beanie.
“That is where you are wrong, Davis. And please remove that hat, it goes against the student dress code.” Mr. Luna sat on the edge of the desk and clasped his hands together. “Frankenstein was not the name of the creature. It was the name of Victor Frankenstein—the creator. Now,” the substitute went on, “why did Frankenstein’s creation go searching for Victor after he had cowardly fled?”
No one seemed to know the answer. Not even Sarah, who was too busy drawing some doodles on a blank sheet of paper to notice anything around her. As much as I hated to further prove the whole new-girl-is-a-shy-nerd-who-knows-the-answer-all-of-a-sudden stereotype, I couldn’t leave a question of classic literature unanswered. I heard Mr. Luna call my name faster than I could get my hand all the way up. As if he’d been waiting for me to do so.
“He was seeking vengeance against Victor, and told him of all the misery he had imposed onto him by being lonely and deemed ugly by all
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