2006-11-29
a month until xmas
The florescent lights buzz like the wrong answer on a game show. I look up at the ceiling, which is coated in a diseased-looking layer of soot. It's probably some kind of insulation, but it burns my eyes and makes me sneeze.
Outside it's freezing, yet the A.C. is set to sub-zero, as always. Girls hunch at their desks with their velour hoodies zipped like Eskimos. They boys, who usually brag about their immunity to climate change, wear tracksuits in shades of brown and black. One kid even wears a skully cap hunched over his eyebrows. He wears it every single day of the year. For once, it actually makes sense.
I keep staring at the cat hairs flecked all over my black turtleneck and fight the urge to pluck them off. It's as if the hairs are magnetically drawn to me.
Ms. Armstrong catches me staring at my fur-infested sleeve. "Eyes on your own paper," she says. Naturally, everyone turns around and gawks. I catch a glimpse of Sharon cheating off this guy's test. They were texting the answers on their cell phones until Ms. Armstrong finally figured it out. She tossed the phones in her drawer and locked it.
Thayer told me that it would be easy to pick the lock with a safety pin. That kid can't even remember his locker combination. He's always borrowing pens from me and losing them. I imagine they disappear into the same black hole that swallows my missing socks.
He says, "Yo, shortie. Can I borrow a piece of paper?" as if that word, "borrow," means that he'll give it back. Of course, I tear a sheet out of my notebook anyway. I watch him drill holes into it with his eraser.
Ms. Armstrong starts coughing like she's come down with the plague or something. She honks her nose on a wadded-up paper towel (probably from the girls' bathroom) and doesn't stop hacking. Thayer blurts out, "Are you okay?" even though it's obvious that she's not okay.
The boys in the back row keep snickering...no doubt hoping that she'll die so we can all go home. Ms. Armstrong doesn't die. She stumbles to the door and walks out. I can still hear her coughing in the hallway.
The class bursts into chaos. Everybody's talking at the same time. A couple boys take out their Ipods, the music cranked so loud, the beats vibrate around me like mosquitoes. This new girl, Kim Wu, stands on her desk and yells, "Shut up!" She's so tiny that she's almost invisible.
Sharon races to the front of the room and tries to crack the locked drawer. She asks Thayer, "Can you open this?" and he says, "Yes," but doesn't budge. I have a feeling that Ms. Armstrong isn't coming back. So I grab my backpack and make a beeline for the elementary library. I'll sit on the floor and flip through picture books for the next 45 minutes...all those stories about talking animals and kingdoms. It's the safest place I know.
f-i-n at 10:21 a.m.