By Dwayne Phillips
Short Story 2008-49, 7 December 2008
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The bell rang. "Finally," thought Allen. "Enough of World History."
Allen and the other seniors stood and walked out of Mrs. Valentia's classroom into the halls. They shuffled as slow as they could without risking being late to their next classes.
Some were able to stop at their lockers to open the doors and do nothing. They carried a few spiral notebooks all day. Each classroom had its own set of textbooks, and each student had a duplicate set at home. Someone discovered that the books lasted four or five times longer without being carried about all day. Hence, stops at lockers were merely symbolic. The students weren't able to "lock" the lockers, so no one kept anything of value in their lockers. Who would steal your History notebook? That was the lowest someone could do to anyone else. It simply didn't happen.
Allen had time to go to his locker. He did like everyone else, open the door, put a notebook in, and take it back out. He was able to go to his locker because his next class was in the library, and the library was in the center of the school building.
Allen's next class was Study Hall. "Why do I have to go?" Allen asked himself. "What's wrong with this school? Don't they teach any more math? Why can't I go outside and nap under a tree? That would be much more useful than this crud."
Allen was a year or two ahead in many of his classes. He had moved in from another state during his second year of high school. The two states were different enough that Allen's classes were upside down. Courses one state taught to freshmen, the other state taught to seniors. He had run out of math classes. He had scrounged to get into everything he could for his senior year, but he depleted what seniors could take. The only "choice" left to him was Study Hall.
Many people in this high school loved to have Study Hall. They could take one Study Hall each year, and that was a treat during the day. They could talk with their friends or take a nap. They saw it as better than sitting in a class with a teacher boring them to death.
Allen hated Study Hall. He had no interest in chatting for an hour with freshman.
Allen had little interest left in high school. This was his senior year, but it was torture. He had done everything a person could do in this high school, and yet he was still here. Such was a pain of being ahead of your class. Allen regretted his family moving here. Each day was the same - pain interrupted only by sleep.
The only respite to Study Hall was that it was in the library. Allen wandered from the chair-and-desk area of the library to the book section. Each day he would randomly pull a book from a shelf, sit at a reading table, and read. He never finished a book, but he read a variety of things.
The school's "Librarian" was Mrs. Johnson. Mrs. Valentia used to be the Librarian, but took the first opportunity to get out of it and teach a class. Mrs. Johnson had some sort of college degree. She had no idea what books were in the library, how to organize them, how to obtain more books, or anything else to do with a Library. She was a token hire, and putting her in the Library did what the principal felt was the least harm.
"Try to make the best of this," is what Allen told himself every day as he entered Study Hall. He sat with the Freshman for ten minutes while Mrs. Johnson took roll, then he would wander over to the book shelves and a random read.
Something went wrong with the usual agenda. Mrs. Johnson called roll and then made an announcement, "Everyone stay on this side today. My ankle hurts and I can't watch anyone on the other side of the Library. And I have a headache, too."
The Freshmen didn't hear the announcement. They had immediately turned into their little circles and were chatting.
Allen halted his breathing for a moment. "She's got to be kidding," he mumbled to the Freshmen next to him. "This is stupid. Why do I have to sit here all hour?"
"Relax, enjoy," answered one of the Freshmen.
"Yeah, take it easy. What you gonna do anyways?" added another.
"I was going to the other side and read some," answered Allen. Then he realized that he was chatting with the Freshmen, something he swore to never do. Was anybody watching?
"So you miss one day reading. It's just one day. Old Johnson won't have a hangover headache tomorrow. She never drinks two nights in a row," said the first Freshman.
Allen surmised that his name was David as that was embroidered on his blue corduroy Future Farmers of America jacket. The other Freshman must be Kyle for the same reason. Allen didn't understand Future Farmers of America. They didn't have that in his previous state, but it was a big organization here. "Now what am I going to do today?" wondered Allen.
"You ask him," mumbled Kyle as he elbowed David.
"No, you ask him," replied David.
"Ask me what?" asked Allen.
Kyle and David looked at one another, looked around Allen towards Mrs. Johnson, and then looked at Allen.
David spoke first, "You know those big ugly plants on the other side of the library. You know where you always go everyday?"
"Yeah, you know, over there," echoed Kyle.
David rolled his eyes toward Kyle and then back to Allen. "Well you know how Johnson loves those ugly plants?"
"Yeah, you know how she loves them," echoed Kyle.
David couldn't contain himself this time. He flicked his hand at Kyle and popped his friend on the forehead. "Let me do the talking. Be quiet."
"Well look," started David. "We have this plan. We want to fry those stupid plants.”
"Yeah, fry them bastards," added Kyle. David acted as if Kyle hadn't said anything.
"Anyways, we have some herbicide. Got it from Kyle's dad's barn, got it in a little medicine bottle," said David as he leaned in close to Allen. He then pulled a white plastic bottle from his FFA jacket pocket. "This bottle is water tight, nothing spills until you unscrew the lid. It's real safe. And it doesn't smell."
David put the bottle back into his jacket pocket and leaned back. He looked side to side, looked towards Mrs. Johnson, and he and Kyle leaned close to Allen.
"All someone has to do is stand next to those three plants she has next to the window on the other side, unscrew the top of this little medicine bottle, and pour a little into each of those plants. This stuff will fry those plants. They'll be dead in two days."
Allen smiled. "But neither one of you two can get over near the plants. Mrs. Johnson won't let you out of your seats. You need someone who always goes over to the other side. Someone who Mrs. Johnson lets get up everyday. You need me."
"How'd he know that?" whispered Kyle. "You told me you hadn't told anyone about his yet."
"Shut up Kyle," shot David. He turned to Allen, but he didn't have to say anything.
"Tomorrow," said Allen. "Mrs. Johnson will be off her hangover. You give me the bottle while she takes attendance. I'll do the rest."
"Cool," said David and Kyle in unison.
* * * * *
The next day the plan, what little there was of it, went into action. Everyone filed into the Library looking like zombies. They sat in their usual chairs, grunted when Mrs. Johnson called roll, and chatted in their little circles. David gave Allen the small, white medicine bottle. Allen checked the lid to ensure it was tight and wouldn't spill in his pants. He slipped the bottle into his pants pocket as he stood and walked to the side of the library containing the book shelves and the three large, ugly green plants.
The Freshman kept up their chatter, but this day all their eyes followed Allen as he walked to the other side. Grins came to every face. Allen glanced back and caught all the eyes and grins. For an instant he paused and wondered, "Is this a setup? Are these guys going to do something while I'm over here with this bottle full of poison?"
Allen's doubts evaporated as one of the Freshman girls who was wearing a cheerleader sweatshirt grinned and mouthed the words, "we love you."
Allen continued his normal walk to the bookshelves. He detoured to the windows. In front of him were deep window shelves with three large, green really ugly plants. Allen didn't look back to where Mrs. Johnson was supposed to be sitting. He knew she was where she always was - in the Library storeroom with her eyes closed.
Allen pulled the medicine bottle from his pocket. He unscrewed the top and poured about a third of the brown liquid into each bushy, thick, green, ugly plant. He screwed the lid back on the bottle, put it back into his pants pocket, and pulled a random book from the book shelf under the window. Allen sat and read the rest of the hour.
* * * * *
Three days later a handful of Freshmen and Allen walked into the Library for Study Hall. Mrs. Johnson called roll and instead of going into the Library storeroom, she went to the book side of the Library.
"What happened to you?" she asked as she stood next to a large, bushy, brown, and brittle plant. She placed her fingers and thumb around part of one plant, and it crumbled in her palm. She went to the second plant and tried to caress it back to life. It also crumbled in her hand. She walked to the third plant and only sighed. There was no use in touching it. "What happened to you?" she repeated.
Mrs. Johnson turned to go the Library storeroom and sit with her eyes closed for the rest of the hour. She stopped in the middle of her turn. Everyone in Study Hall was sitting at the various reading tables on the book side of the Library. Each person had a book open in front of them.
The Freshmen were reading books in the Library during Study Hall.
Seated at a table with Allen were three Freshmen girls wearing cheerleader sweatshirts. He wore a sly grin.
Allen was happy that his family had moved here.
Go to
Dwayne's Home Page
Email me at
d.phillips@computer.org