voice said, “The Pledge is over, Grandma.”
Students snickered and dropped to their seats. A motley crew. Half of them seemed to be trying to get back into sleeping position. Some girls wore tight sweaters across bulging breasts. One girl’s cleavage hung out like ripe cabbage. I had hoped Kat might be in this class but now felt relieved that she wasn’t.
But that nice girl from the hall was. She sat in front of me. I smiled at her, but this time she didn’t smile back. Most of the males were wearing black or gray T-shirts with various messages. I noticed a sneer. My gaze found the cruel lips that had called me grandma and traveled up to the mean eyes. They belonged to the thug who hadn’t been sorry when he ran into me yesterday. And now he was smirking.
I gave him a bigger smirk. “Be polite, big boy. I’m in charge in here.”
Many of the teens grinned. The voice I now recognized as Hannah Hendrick’s made announcements through the speaker, and I took the opportunity to ferret for material. No textbook. I shuffled through papers, grabbed one and stared at its heading. Construction .
Construction? That was one class I’d missed. What the hell would you teach?
“This concludes the announcements,” the principal said, and I silently cursed her. Why couldn’t she have spoken longer? At least given me a chance to discover something about my subject matter. What could I discuss in a construction class?
Deep voices grumbled while I glanced at the wall posters. Maybe I could speak about how to build things. But I had absolutely no idea how to do that. Deliberate coughs and laughs came from the class, making me realize how ridiculous I must look, panic-stricken, again flipping through everything on the desktop.
“Just how old are you, Grandma?” The thug cocked back, his shoulders draping across the rear of his chair, his arms stretching to the floor. The boys who had accompanied him when he ran into me sat on either side of him. My attacker wore bottle-streaked shaggy hair that dripped to a wide face, its lower half coated with stubble. His heavy jacket showed that he’d lettered in football. He rolled dark eyes at his buddies, who both smirked. The thug’s lips curled up high at the edges.
Most of the students appeared to be holding their breaths, waiting for my response to him.
I placed my hands on the desk and leaned forward. “I’m old enough to have told your parents not to even think about having you.” Laughter erupted. I gave it a minute to quiet and then told my opponent, “But I’m not too old to allow you to run this class, if that’s what you’re planning.”
His lips flattened into a grim line. Color rose to his cheeks, his glare telling me it came from fury. You haven’t won yet , his stare said.
For the moment, I had. And if I’d worn my sluttish outfit, he probably wouldn’t have called me Grandma. With momentary respite, I again fingered the papers. I tried opening drawers, fear building when I found three of them locked.
The sweet girl leaned and whispered, “We’re taking a test today.”
“Where is it?”
“He takes them out of the bottom drawer.”
I yanked on that drawer, relieved when it opened. Stacked papers were labeled Test Eleven. “You’ll be taking this test today,” I said, my head and voice rising. “And I am Mrs. Gunther. I’m taking your teacher’s place today.”
I asked for someone to hand out the tests and saw gazes divert. A thin African American girl jumped up. “I’ll do it.” She bounced around, passing them out, and then a hush blanketed the room. Faces dropped toward the papers. Pencils and pens swiveled. I waited. No one made more rude comments and thank goodness, nobody asked questions. The teens seemed to forget I was there. I sank to Mr. Burdell’s chair, found a leg of it unstable, and scanned the class.
Quiet, the teens appeared much less hostile. I watched them scribbling and saw only the tops of their heads. These children
Students snickered and dropped to their seats. A motley crew. Half of them seemed to be trying to get back into sleeping position. Some girls wore tight sweaters across bulging breasts. One girl’s cleavage hung out like ripe cabbage. I had hoped Kat might be in this class but now felt relieved that she wasn’t.
But that nice girl from the hall was. She sat in front of me. I smiled at her, but this time she didn’t smile back. Most of the males were wearing black or gray T-shirts with various messages. I noticed a sneer. My gaze found the cruel lips that had called me grandma and traveled up to the mean eyes. They belonged to the thug who hadn’t been sorry when he ran into me yesterday. And now he was smirking.
I gave him a bigger smirk. “Be polite, big boy. I’m in charge in here.”
Many of the teens grinned. The voice I now recognized as Hannah Hendrick’s made announcements through the speaker, and I took the opportunity to ferret for material. No textbook. I shuffled through papers, grabbed one and stared at its heading. Construction .
Construction? That was one class I’d missed. What the hell would you teach?
“This concludes the announcements,” the principal said, and I silently cursed her. Why couldn’t she have spoken longer? At least given me a chance to discover something about my subject matter. What could I discuss in a construction class?
Deep voices grumbled while I glanced at the wall posters. Maybe I could speak about how to build things. But I had absolutely no idea how to do that. Deliberate coughs and laughs came from the class, making me realize how ridiculous I must look, panic-stricken, again flipping through everything on the desktop.
“Just how old are you, Grandma?” The thug cocked back, his shoulders draping across the rear of his chair, his arms stretching to the floor. The boys who had accompanied him when he ran into me sat on either side of him. My attacker wore bottle-streaked shaggy hair that dripped to a wide face, its lower half coated with stubble. His heavy jacket showed that he’d lettered in football. He rolled dark eyes at his buddies, who both smirked. The thug’s lips curled up high at the edges.
Most of the students appeared to be holding their breaths, waiting for my response to him.
I placed my hands on the desk and leaned forward. “I’m old enough to have told your parents not to even think about having you.” Laughter erupted. I gave it a minute to quiet and then told my opponent, “But I’m not too old to allow you to run this class, if that’s what you’re planning.”
His lips flattened into a grim line. Color rose to his cheeks, his glare telling me it came from fury. You haven’t won yet , his stare said.
For the moment, I had. And if I’d worn my sluttish outfit, he probably wouldn’t have called me Grandma. With momentary respite, I again fingered the papers. I tried opening drawers, fear building when I found three of them locked.
The sweet girl leaned and whispered, “We’re taking a test today.”
“Where is it?”
“He takes them out of the bottom drawer.”
I yanked on that drawer, relieved when it opened. Stacked papers were labeled Test Eleven. “You’ll be taking this test today,” I said, my head and voice rising. “And I am Mrs. Gunther. I’m taking your teacher’s place today.”
I asked for someone to hand out the tests and saw gazes divert. A thin African American girl jumped up. “I’ll do it.” She bounced around, passing them out, and then a hush blanketed the room. Faces dropped toward the papers. Pencils and pens swiveled. I waited. No one made more rude comments and thank goodness, nobody asked questions. The teens seemed to forget I was there. I sank to Mr. Burdell’s chair, found a leg of it unstable, and scanned the class.
Quiet, the teens appeared much less hostile. I watched them scribbling and saw only the tops of their heads. These children
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