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DROP QUIZ
by Edward M. Baldwin Copyright © 2007
“IS SHE . . . IS SHE DEAD?” “How should I know?” “This is not good. Not good.” “She’s probably dead, which means . . . no quiz, right?” “She’s not dead, okay?” “We’re going to jail!” “Everyone just calm down, alright? The girls went to get the principal.” “It may be too late.” “Exactly. She’s dead.” “Will you just shut up? Stop saying that.” “Okay, but if she’s dead, do we still have to take the quiz?” “Shouldn’t we give her some air?” “You mean, mouth to mouth?” “Eeew! Gross, guys!” “Hideous is more like it.” “Not even a blind man, on a blind date, on a moonless, dark night would think about—” “No, freaks! I’m saying we should back away from her.” “Maybe she’s right, guys. We’re crowding her.” “If you ask me, it doesn’t matter.” “Why not?” “Like I said, she’s dead.” “Do you want to shut up or do you want a bloody lip?” “Oh, I’m so terrified. I think I’ll go shrieking to the principal’s office with everyone else.” “The girls were pretty loud running down the hall.” “Yeah, that was funny.” “Hey! Nothing’s funny about this, okay?” “What’s taking them so long, anyway?” “Oh, please. Do you expect Principal Walrus to run here?” “What’s that stench? Is that the pumpkin smelling like that?” “It’s the smell of death, people. She’s dead.” “That’s it! I’m—” “Cut it out, you guys! The principal will be here any minute.” “Well, he needs to shut his face!” “You’re just scared because you know it’s your fault, Miss Prissy.” “It’s not my fault! The pumpkin slipped from my hand when I reached for the door.” “Yeah, and our beloved teacher just happens to come through the door just as your pumpkin goes splat.” “Our beloved teacher went splat too.” “That’s not funny guys. Give her some breathing room.” “Good thing she wasn’t carrying the carving knife.” “Just as well, if you ask me.” “Don’t say it.” “I’m just saying, that’s all. Instead of a pop quiz, she gave us a drop quiz. Get it?” “Jeez! Will you just shut—oh, great. You see? She’s crying, you moron! Happy?” “I—I’m not crying . . . .” “Hey, I’m just joking around, okay? We all agree that it was just a stupid accident, right?” “Right.” “Of course.” “Yeah.” “See? No one blames you. It’ll be okay.” “Shhh. I hear the principal com—” “Okay, everyone, where’s Mrs. Johnsssaarrgh!” Splat! “Oh, no! I told you we should’ve cleaned it up before he got here!” “Stop crying! You’re freaking me out with your crying!” “It’s all my fault!” “Don’t crowd him too!” “Is he . . . is he dead?” “How should I know?” “Not good. Really, really not good.” “Jail . . . jail on Halloween!” “He’s probably dead. No quiz, right?” “Just . . . shut up.”
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Copyright © 2009 Edward M. Baldwin |
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Short stories |
