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SCHOOL DAZE
by Edward M. Baldwin Copyright © 2008
KATIE TUMBLED FROM HER DESK TO THE FLOOR, but it was the classroom’s laughter that actually woke her. Mr. Goldberg, her fifth grade teacher, stopped his math lecture, which had been the background noise for Katie’s wonderful but fading dream. “Katie, you’re sleeping again,” he accused. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, but she didn’t mean it. Math was really, really boring. Mr. Goldberg ignored the students’ snickering and watched Katie climb back into her desk. The class watched, too, but when he cleared his throat, all eyes returned to him. “Recess,” he announced bitterly, and everyone raced for the door. “Not you, Katie.” Her classmates laughed as they hurried out the door and down the hall. Katie plopped back in her desk, folding her arms. Mr. Goldberg studied her silently, so she turned her attention to the Halloween decorations mounted on the walls, bracing herself for an even more boring lecture on attention span and threats of calling her home, as if that ever helped. She sighed and tapped her feet. She really, really didn’t care. “We’ve been here before, young lady,” he finally said, his tone icy and morbid. Katie rolled her eyes and shifted in her seat, folding her arms tighter. He was boring her again. “Let’s try something different this time.” He spoke plainly, using the same voice he used when switching from math to language or social studies or some other boring subject. But his frustration was undeniable. She shrugged, unperturbed by his bout of authority. “Whatever.” Mr. Goldberg parked his hands on his hips. “Come here, Katie.” This is different, she thought. He usually wrote her name on the board for a weak punishment, as if notoriety was a bad thing for school kid. But now he wanted to try something “different.” Whatever. She almost laughed at his weak attempt at sounding strong and in control. His attitude didn’t fool her. In fact, she almost felt sorry for him. Still, she obeyed, rising like a turtle on tranquilizers. When she reached his desk, still eyeing everything in the room but him, Mr. Goldberg stepped to her, closing the gap by mere inches. “You’ll start paying attention in class . . . or else,” he growled. It startled her. Not his closeness with the bad breath. Not his words with the empty threats. He really, really did growl! Katie looked up at him and stepped back involuntarily, gasping as her eyes widened. Mr. Goldberg’s eyes, on the other hand, narrowed with rage, and their colors changed from hazel to crimson as she watched in horror. His head quivered as his lips curled back, showing teeth that belonged to a dog—a great big dog. Saliva spilled from his mouth like plasma, but he didn’t seem to care as it coated his shoes in disgusting clumps. His repulsive, blood-colored eyes stayed on her, unblinkingly. She expected a howl any minute. Then he repeated himself, using the same growling words, and added, “Do I make myself clear, Katie?” She couldn’t speak through her terror, so she nodded vigorously, never stopping her nods, even as he turned to the board. “I’m writing your name for the last time,” he said—no, growled. Again with the growling. And this time, seeing her name on the board terrified her because Mr. Goldberg wrote it with a screeching, metallic fingernail, permanently carving her into the classroom with graphic anger. “Go now,” he commanded. He didn’t have to ask twice. Katie sprinted for the hallway, never taking her eyes from his menacing scowl, but that was a mistake because the door was closed. She smacked into it—hard. Blackness swept in to claim her. It was the classroom’s laughter that woke her. With the mental fog lifting, she found herself on the floor, next to her desk. “Katie, you’re sleeping again,” Mr. Goldberg accused. She scrambled to her feet. “I’m sorry!” she cried, and meant it, even though the dream was fading, and even though math was still boring.
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Short stories |
