CHAOS: a story about gods and afternoon recess (#ONC2023)

Chapter Four

The high priest hangs his pack from a red hook and disappears into one of the many near-identical rooms. I peek in and see the extraordinary woman with hair like sunshine kneeling on the floor, helping a child tie a knot on their shoe.

Matthew sees me and makes a frantic gesture for me to leave and so, with reluctance, I back away from the door and go to explore but before I take a dozen steps, a gray-haired female approaches with the untamed majesty of a bull in heat. "Can I help you?"

"I am Zatyafan."

She scowls at me.

I sigh. "I am the new gym teacher."

Her scowl darkens. "Oh, nobody needs to tell the principal anything, right? Well, you're in entirely the wrong part of the building." She gives me a long look and adds, "And what are you wearing?"

"Armani."

She snorts, enforcing the image of the bull. "Maybe tomorrow you'd be better off in gym pants. Come on, then."

I follow her quick, waddling steps past the doors where we'd entered. We pass a room more colorful than any I'd seen so far. Inside, a woman with a wild shrubbery of red and gray curls sticking out in every direction carries buckets full of wet river clay to long, low tables. Rows upon rows of rectangles like the one carried by the girl on the bus fill another room. I struggle to tear my eyes away. There must be thousands of them. What purpose do they serve?

"You never saw a library before?" the principal asks.

The word tumbles through my mind and settles into place. I shake my head. "It must hold the collected wisdom of all the ages."

Her gaze narrows on me. "Yeah. That and Captain Underpants, all sorted in alphabetical order."

Sorted? Oh, no. That would never do.

Ahead of us, a sign over a set of double wooden doors reads, Cafegymnatoriam.

"You'll have two morning classes—eight twelve and nine oh two. After the second one, you'll need to pack away whatever mess you've made and pull the tables from those niches so the children can use the room for lunch. The last lunch period ends at twelve eleven and you'll have twenty-three minutes to wipe the tables and put them away and set up for your next class. Gladys will help you with that. On Wednesday and Friday, you're the playground supervisor, so you don't actually get a lunch break on those days. You can take a sandwich outside with you. Take it to the union if you've got a problem with it. The school board has my hands tied."

A man in gym pants and a tee shirt is sitting on a row of rising ledges at one end of the room. When we stand directly in front of him, the principal jerks a thumb in my direction. "Mr. Zatyafan is your replacement. Mr. Zatyafan, this is Mr. Brueller."

"I got five days to go before I'm vested and if you think you're going to get rid of me—"

"Oh, stuff it, Wyatt. Nobody's getting rid of you. Does he look ready to teach gym class today? I'm sure he's just here to meet you and ensure an orderly transition."

The man scowls.

The principal declares, "I have other things to do."

Wyatt and I watch her waddle away.

"This is the gym," Mr. Brueller says. "That closet over there holds all the balls, hula hoops, and so forth. Your budget is jack. The equipment is worn to nothing. These children would rather stare at a screen than play in a park. You got one in fifth period who isn't actually potty-trained. Anything else you need to know, you'll have to figure out as you go. Now get lost. I don't want anyone trying to say I bailed a week early and didn't finish the term of my contract."