Grown Ups and Misfits

2. Everything Is Coming Back

2. Everything Is Coming Back

"People are strange . . ."
― Jim Morrison

Carefully turning the pages of The Godfather, I tried not to rip the fragile edges as I scanned book two, soaking in the Don's extensive past. The text was thin but I couldn't even skim it, in fear of missing something vitally important to the plot and the six page test we were having in a week.

I slammed the book closed, sighing as I looked around the small classroom. To my surprise, the English department wasn't completely out of funding, though I had heard they were nearing bankruptcy. Kevin Stewart shuffled in his chair across from me, his long brown locks shimmering in the process. He was probably finding it hard to adjust to the room's new accommodations, so different from the bean-bag chair he had taken residence in for the first few weeks of school. The desks had been tossed months ago, and it was only the day before that we had switched from fold-up chairs and writing on our laps – to hard, plastic chairs that hurt like a motherfucker. At least we had actual tables, finally.

Kevin caught my eye, giving me a hard look. He gestured from his seat and back to where I sat, as if saying oh-my-god-my-butt-hurts-so-much-please-send-help. I nodded, agreeing with him but also saying thanks-but-no-thanks-see-you-on-the-other-side.

Door slamming open, the class jumped simultaneously as Mr. Gratson hopped into the room on one foot, lying his crutches against the wall. Hair poked up in multiple directions, he gave us a wicked grin as he slammed his broken foot atop his desk.

"So class, who's ready to discuss SHAKESPEARE?" Pulling out a book from his desk, he revealed The Tempest, all the while smiling proudly, as if he had actually remembered what we were learning for once.

"Uh, Mr. G..." Kevin spoke quietly, our small class of twelve whipping around in our seats to throw him horrified glances. He had finally peeked out from behind his water-falling hair to participate in an English lesson for once.

"What is it, peasant?"

Don't do it, I thought to myself, crossing my fingers. Don't you dare do what I think you're going to do, Kevin fucking Stewart.

"We're reading the Godfather. You know, by Marco Puzo. Not Shakespeare." Before retreating back inside of his hair, he felt the need to dig his grave deeper. "And are you really allowed to call us peasants?"

"Is it true that your mother tried to abort you?" Mr. Gratson spat in reply, swivelling in his chair to reach the chalkboard that sat behind him. Kevin didn't reply, though I figured he couldn't hear Mr. G through that thing he called hair.

It was silent for several minutes, until Lucy Candon choked on a piece of gum. Her best friend, Julia, managed to slap her on the back just in time, and we all watched as it landed in the space between Mr Gratson's desk and our own. We shared awkward looks, shrugging when he continued writing on the board.

Turning around, he flung the copy of The Tempest right at Kevin, who caught it before it could smack him in the face. I muffled a snicker.

"She alive?" He spoke loftily, pointing to Lucy. She nodded quickly, playing with her strands of brown hair, and looking at the ceiling absentmindedly. I sighed in relief.

"Guess we're not having that test." I breathed quietly, to which Brett Baker – who sat beside me – nodded in agreement with. Mr. Gratson's head perked up from behind the pile of books, and I felt a shiver of fear run down my spine. He disappeared within a few seconds, and relief washed over me.

Why hadn't he been fired yet? Not only did he have awful social skills, he was the worst teacher in our school. Looking off into space, I remembered all the way back to the beginning of the year, when Lucy had falsely accused him of slashing the tires of her car.