Flashback: tales from ages past

Prank

Jesse was last one out of the schoolhouse that day in 1920. Just as the door swung shut behind him, the ten-year-old stubbed his toe on one of the uneven porch planks. He tripped, dropped his books, and lost hold of his pencil which bounced over the wooden ridges and lodged in a crack.

Jesse knelt and fumbled at the wedged pencil. Just inches from his head, the gap beneath the ill-hung door let him hear the teacher, still indoors, shuffling papers -- every sound sharp and distinct. Long skirts swishing. Chalk clinking.

Then a distorted voice boomed inside the schoolroom. "Harvey! Amelia!"

A startled cry came from Miss Burns -- Miss Amelia Burns, whose boyfriend Harvey stopped by every Friday afternoon to take her out walking.

"Harvey! Amelia! Harvey!"

Jesse recognized Willy's voice, in spite of the boy's attempt to disguise it. The class prankster must be calling through the ventilator pipe that fed air to the room's woodstove.

The angry tap of footsteps headed for the door.

The pencil finally popped out of the crevice. Jesse swooped up his books and lurched to his feet, but didn't have time to escape. The door slammed against his shoe, jamming it tight against another warped plank.

"Who's out there?" Miss Burns yelled through the inch-wide opening. "You hooligans are in a world of hurt! Let me out!"

Jesse didn't make a sound. She'd be sure to blame him!

"Amelia! Harvey-hee-hee!" Willy's cackle trumpeted down the pipe.

"Open the door this instant," Miss Burns fumed, "or you'll get the hiding of your life!"

Jesse stood frozen in panic. If he jerked his foot loose, his furious teacher would come barreling out and catch him. She wouldn't believe his protest of innocence.

"William Houser, I know your voice. I'm going give you such a licking! Whoever's blocking the door, you're in for it, too. Let me out!"

Not fair, to lump him in with that rascal Willy! In desperation, Jesse shoved with all his strength, slamming the door shut and knocking Miss Burns off balance. He wheeled, leaped from the porch, raced around the one-room schoolhouse, and took off for the pine woods, faster than a greyhound. He plunged under a deadfall, burrowing out of sight.

He heard no footsteps tromping his way.

He did hear a squawk from Willy, who hadn't left his post quickly enough.

.

From the life of my great-uncle Jesse, who gave no names in his account of one day's events at his Ekdall, Wisconsin, schoolhouse. I took the liberty of dubbing the characters myself. I also rendered his narration into dialogue.

I don't know why Jesse was lingering just outside the door, but every other detail is how he recounted it.

Prompt: disguise