Redbeard

Pool Water Doesn't Taste Good

        Sherlock glanced at the wall clock. Surely that couldn't be the time! He didn't think he had been in the library that long! He stacked the three books in his arms and ran back to the front desk. She smiled as she heard him walk up and drop the books on then desk. 

“Apparently you found the books you were looking for.” 

“Yes, thanks you for showing them to me Cecilia, can you hurry and check them out? I'm gonna be late for class.” 

“It's my job after all, now hand them over and I'll check them out for you.” Sherlock pushed them across the desk towards her. She grabbed them, took his library card and stamped them before shoving them back and saying, “Here you go, they're due in another three weeks.”

“Thank you!” said Sherlock as he ran out the door and down the hallway, forgetting to take his card. He stopped in front of the door, took a few seconds to calm himself down and plaster a smile on his face. He wasn't really happy to be at school, but he was hoping he could make a good impression. When he opened the door the teacher stopped in the middle of his explanation and everyone in the class stared at him. 

“It's about time you showed up Mr. Holmes. Would you kindly explain why you're late?” Sherlock blushed and looked down at the books in his arms, hoping no one would notice. But the big boy who was sitting next to where Sherlock was standing did, and he apparently thought the world should know because he shouted, “Look at him, he's blushing!” which caused ripples of laughter throughout the classroom. Sherlock blushed deeper. Why had mother made him go to school in the first place?! Couldn't the idiots understand that he had been late simply because he had wanted some books? Why did they have to tease him for wanting to learn? He sniffed quietly, praying no one would notice. But the big boy noticed, again shouted loudly to the class, “Aww, now the little nerd is crying!” 

“Bran! That is enough!” shouted the teacher. Indeed, it was enough. Enough to make Sherlock turn and run towards the door. He made it about three feet until he tripped over someone's extended foot. He shouted as he crashed to the floor, the three books flying from his arms. He fell to his hands and knees, his knees scraping painfully across the wooden floor. He pushed himself up to his feet and ran out of the room, despite hearing the teacher shout after him, asking him to stop. He blasted through the door, his skinned palms protesting painfully as he pushed hard against the door. He ran down the hall, crying as he went. Why were the other children so mean to him? What had he done wrong? He rounded the corner at top speed and crashed into someone, both of them falling to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. Sherlock quickly extracted himself from the person and ran off down the hall.

“Sherlock? Was that you?” it was Cecilia. But he didn't stop. He was too ashamed to stop. Maybe she would tease him like everyone else, maybe she'd thing the crying little nerd looked funny. He found an empty janitorial closet and rushed into it, knocking over two brooms, a large metal dustpan and a vacuum cleaner. He slammed the door behind him, wishing it had a lock. The room was larger than most closets, roughly 15x15 and full of cleaning supplies. There were three mop buckets, boxes of cleaning rags and utility shelves lined the walls, their shelves full of plastic bottles full of various cleaning fluids. He curled up behind an empty mop bucket near a pile of rags and cried. He didn't want to be here, he wanted to be at home with his dog. He hated school! He hated the kids who had teased him, he hated the teacher who had yelled at him and he hated the stupid uniform. It was then that he heard the door creak open. Maybe some of the kids had followed him and were going to tease him some more.

“Go away!” he yelled. 

“Well that's a fine way to greet a friend!” said Cecilia as she walked in the spacious closet. Sherlock looked up at her, glad she couldn't see the mess that had become his face.