"That was my wife. Apparently she can't pick up our son at school, and it's now my responsibility," he complained. Pulling a drawer in his desk open, he tossed a container of disinfectant wipes onto his desk. "I've gotta get going, but you guys have gotta stay for a while at least. Wipe down the desks and chairs. Pick up the trash on the floors. Then you can leave." My eyebrows rose, and the teacher packed his bag, getting up from his seat. "You guys are getting off easy this time, but be careful. Next time I won't be so nice," he finished before leaving, tossing Stan the keys to lock up.
Stan stood up and grabbed a wipe, tucking the keys into his pocket. He then looked at me expectantly, motioning to the wipes.
"We'll get out of here faster if we both work," he explained, and I stood, groaning. Pulling a wipe from the container, I began to wipe down a desk.
After a couple minutes of silence, I decided to speak up, break the awkward atmosphere that had taken over.
"So, why're you in here?" I asked Stan, not looking up from the desk that I was wiping. I felt Stan eye me suspiciously before he spoke.
"Uhh, 'vandalism', according to Haggard," he explained, waving his hands in the air sarcastically. I chuckled, and Stan frowned. I quickly took note of his confused expression and shook my head.
"Oh, it's just that I'm in here because of Haggard too. She's pretty much been out to get me lately," I joked.
"Tell me about it," the boy scoffed. "Last week, she made me redo an assignment because she couldn't read my hand writing. How about she just learns to read instead?" I shook my head at the statement, finding it completely relatable.
"To hell with that, I've even heard that when she wants to reprimand a student, she makes them grade papers."
"Uh, yes. I can confirm. From experience."
"Jesus Christ, the fuck did you do to get that sort of punishment?" I snickered. Stan held up his hands in defense.
"Apparently, she thinks dogs can eat grapes without getting harmed. I just wanted to save any future pets that she would've had, so I told her she was extremely wrong. I guess she disagreed," he shrugged.
"On behalf of all dogs, I thank you, kind sir," I said, slightly saluting him. Stan laughed and continued to wipe down the tables.
As we slowly but surely finished our cleaning, I packed up my bag. Stan was picking up the last few pieces of trash, when I heard his voice from across the room.
"Holy hell!" he exclaimed. I looked over to see him crouched beneath a desk.
"God dammit Stan, let me guess. You found a piece of gum with a tooth in it?" I retorted. Stan's head popped up and he beckoned me over.
"No, you've gotta see this."
My eyes widened, and I approached him quickly. "Is it TWO teeth?"
"No, look," Stan whispered, pointing at a small pile of folded papers lodged beneath the desk. "Someone's been leaving notes."
Reaching up, I gently pried the papers from their hiding spot, before setting them on the desk. They bounced a little bit as they unfolded slightly. Examining the notes, they were littered with jokes and riddles, along with some doodles. Some cute, some optical illusions, and some just plain nasty.
"Woah," I exhaled, in awe at how two people could keep a desk conversation going for so long. "Do you think they know who they are?"
Stan shrugged, as clueless as I was. Throughout all of the small notes, not once did I see a name. Quickly realizing that we were still in detention, however, I checked my watch.
"Holy shit, it's almost 5," I breathed. Stan folded the notes back up and squeezed them back into their respectable spot.
"Guess we should get going then," he shrugged, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
After locking up, we walked down the halls silently, stopping once to drop the keys off at the office. When we eventually walked out the front doors, I took a deep breath and turned to Stan. Extending my hand, I nodded my head briskly.
"See you around," I said. Stan took at, shaking it briefly, before smiling.
"See ya," he responded. Then, we turned separate directions and walked home.
_____
The day hadn't been so bad, but I once again found myself in Haggard's class, bored out of my mind. Glancing at the clean desk, I knew Haggard would get mad at me if I ever wrote another note. Sighing, I tapped my pencil against the desk.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Recalling the previous day's events, I thought about the notes left underneath the desk in the detention room. What if I just left notes like those? Reaching silently under the desk to the area where the notes were hidden, I attempted to find a good spot to hide them, like a ledge of some sort.
But something was there.
As I searched beneath the desk, my fingers found themselves brushing gently across a thin piece of paper that was creased on one side. My brow furrowing, I pulled the piece of paper from the desk and unfolded it to examine it. Scribbled across the surface was a familiar, messy handwriting, that was to say something I could barely make out. But I understood it nonetheless.
Sorry, what was that about engine oil?
Stan•Desk Discussion
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