Many parents are stuck trying to teach their children, unable to make them focus or learn. I wonder, how many of you currently are helplessly trying to shovel vegetables into your child's mouth while telling them "Eat your veggies otherwise you won't grow big and strong", or locking them to their seats while futilely assisting them with their math homework. To many of you parents, this is a familiar story.
Teachers as well, must know of the struggles. Far more so than any parent, at the very least parents must only deal with a few children at a time. But teachers... well they struggle to handle tens of rowdy, rambunctious kids who are seated next to their best friends, distracting the very few ones who do wish to learn. During these moments, you must think to yourself "is there anyone on Earth who can manage to contain children like these...", but you are in luck! There does exist such a person. A particular fellow who goes by the name "Mr Lemmington", who just so happened to find out the best way to teach his students.
In a relatively small town somewhere in the West, lived Mr Lemmington. You see, Mr Lemmington enjoyed the peace and quiet of small towns. He once visited the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles but loathed the way people talked and droned on. So, he decided to settle down where the people were well-mannered, spoke clearly, and valued education. But while he was happy, oh so very happy here, there was just one tiny detail he couldn't get out of his head.
You see, in this town there was a school who had a very naughty boy. A boy who could never sit still and would interrupt his teacher with the worst jokes that didn't make sense. Mr Lemmington had taught many children in the past, some of whom were just like this boy, while others were curious and polite. But this boy, Mr Lemmington thought he would be able to teach oh so very well.
In the crowded hallway, a voice could be heard trying to squeeze through the many children rushing around, with the metallic clanks of lockers closing, books being dropped, and chit-chatter that was allowed in the short 10 minute break.
"Hey Jake, what class do you have next?"
"I've got English next, what about you?" Jake responded, trying to shuffle through his locker, finding a pencil that he was sure was in there.
"Mr Porter and his History class", Sully groaned, "anyways you know that reel I sent this morning. We should try copying it, I bet we'd go viral."
"Can't, got detention. Let's do it tomorrow though."
Rushing to his classroom with pencil and book in hand, Jake just barely managed to make it in time right before the bell rang. Taking a seat near the back, Jake plopped his things on his desk, deciding what he should daydream of today.
In the midst of dreaming of running a successful business, becoming a billionaire and fulfilling his wildest fantasies, a familiar voice interrupted.
"Jake, would you be able to answer this question please."
"Huh..." Jake mumbled, wiping away a small streak of saliva that had been building up in his cheek and now slowly running down his face.
"I take it you weren't listening, so I shall repeat myself", Mr Porter fixed his glasses while sighing.
"While Christopher Columbus may not have been the first European settler in the United States, he did ignite the era of European exploration and colonization that permanently reshaped the Americas, setting off a chain of contact, conquest, and migration that transformed the world. However, there were also many tragedies that he caused. Please recall one incident in which he took the lives of many."
Surrounding Jake, some students shot their hands up, while others murmured trying to figure out what the answer could be.
"Uhhh...," Jake stuttered but quickly gained back his confidence. He wasn't called the class clown for no reason. "Well Columbus came to America because he couldn't find India, murdering the tastebuds of millions of English who never found out what spicy even means."
Causing a chuckle through the class, Jake smirked and leaned back in his chair proud of his quick wit.
"Thank you for you... insightful thoughts. But I was going more along the path of 1495 and the mass enslavement of Taino people."
Continuing on with the lesson, Mr Porter asked the rest of the class similar questions. Some got them wrong, others answered with vigor. Like how many classes are set up, there are kids who cannot be bothered learning, others who feel like they must risk their lives to achieve 100 percent, and the rest somewhere in-between. Jake was at the very bottom.
As the bell rang signaling the end of class, Jake hopped out of his desk, almost in a habit he quickly rushed off wanting to be first to the door. However, a familiar figure managed to slip between Jake and his sure way to freedom.
"You do remember you have detention today, correct?" Mr Porter frowned.
It was not only his towering figure that made Jake gulp, but the expression Mr Porter had. You see, Mr Porter had the ability to put on quite a bit of a mean face, one that even the toughest of students and even teachers would flinch momentarily at.
Many people gossiped how he developed this face, if he was secretly a former military officer, or a now retired boxer who grew tired of taking punches. Or simply, he could have been born with it.
Either way, Jake didn't enjoy looking at that face. It could not only melt butter, but steel if Mr Porter stared at it long enough.
"Hahaha...," Jake laughed slightly, "of course not sir, I was just... rushing to grab my bag and get to detention as soon as possible."
"..." Mr Porter continued staring.
"Understood."
Without another word, he returned to the blackboard and continued wiping away the notes and diagrams from today's class. Without looking back, Jake skittered to his locker and grabbed his bag. Groaning and dragging himself to the detention room, he lamented spending another extra hour at school.
"I bet this is what those Taino people felt like..." he muttered under his breathe.
An hour of staring at the clock. Tapping his pencil. Zoning out while staring at the homework he had that was due two days ago.
It wasn't an unfamiliar scene, rather it was almost a weekly occurrence at this point. The same people in detention, with the occasional new face who would learn their lesson and never appear in this dredged room again.
Today's jailer was Ms Hilles, who was actually one of Jakes favorites. She would rarely talk during detention or try to turn it into some sort of life lesson, and mostly just scroll on her phone or do some of her work quietly tapping away on a laptop.
While with the rare Mr Porter or even rarer Principal Wills, they both enjoyed turning the detention into another class. At least with Ms Hilles she let the students do their own things as long as it didn't bother her.
"Ok kiddos," Ms Hilles glanced up from her phone, "go on now it's to get home. Shoo. Get outta here, I don't want to be here as much as you do."
That was all Jake needed.
He closed his notebook, still mostly empty, and stuffed it into his bag. His homework sheet, which had been staring at him accusingly for the last hour, was crumpled and shoved in on top.
Standing up, he slung his bag over one shoulder and followed the others out of the classroom. The hallway outside detention always felt different. The rest of the school was quiet now, not buzzing like it was during the break. Most teachers had already left, doors locked, lights off. Only a few classroom windows still glowed with the faint light of someone marking papers or cleaning up.
Jake shuffled down the corridor, his footsteps echoing a little too loudly for his liking.
He passed the science room. Dark.
He passed the art room. Dark, except for one lonely paintbrush left in a jar of murky water. He passed Mr. Porter's room. The door was closed, but Jake could almost feel the man's stare burning through it.
"Yeesh," he muttered, speeding up just a little.
As he turned the final corner toward the main entrance, he spotted a few kids who had also just escaped detention or late clubs, gathered near the notice board. Two boys were arguing over whose turn it was to bring the soccer ball tomorrow. A girl was quietly reading while she waited for what sounded like a very late parent.
The double doors at the front of the school stood open, letting in the cooler evening air. Jake pushed them wider with his shoulder and stepped outside.
On the front steps, a few more stragglers hung around. One kid balanced on the railing even though there was a very large sign that said "DO NOT BALANCE ON RAILING".
Another group of students were huddled around a phone, laughing at something on the screen. Across the parking lot, a couple of teachers talked in low voices near their cars, keys dangling from their fingers.
This part always felt like the "end credits" of school. The loud, chaotic scenes were over. Now there were just leftovers.
Jake hopped down the last step and walked across the cracked pavement, weaving between the cars. A mum honked gently at her son to hurry up. Someone's little sister was dragging a backpack twice her size. The sky had started turning pale orange, the kind that promised dinner wasn't too far away.
He reached the school gates and stepped through them.
Right there, just outside, were a few kids from the year below. They were kicking a flat, almost-dead football back and forth, aiming at a crooked metal fence as a goal. One of them waved at Jake.
"Hey Jake!"
"Yo," Jake nodded back, not breaking stride.
This was all normal. This, he was used to.
He turned left down the sidewalk and started his usual walk home. At first, nothing seemed out of place. Two boys zoomed past him on bikes, arguing about whose Pokémon team was better. A girl was tugging on her dad's sleeve, asking if they could get ice cream on the way home. A car rolled by with loud music, windows down.
He adjusted the strap of his bag and kept going.
After a few minutes, the school noise faded behind him. The kids near the gates disappeared from view. The houses became smaller, closer together. This was the part of the walk where things usually changed. Less adults, fewer cars, more kids claiming the street as their own personal playground.
Except... it didn't happen.
Jake frowned slightly and looked around.
He was now on the stretch where he would normally see at least three different things at once. On a usual day, there was almost always:
One boy trying to do tricks on his skateboard, failing most of them.
Two girls drawing massive chalk flowers on the sidewalk.
The twins from number 34 racing each other on scooters and almost crashing into the mailbox every single time.
But today?
The chalk from yesterday was smudged, but no fresh picture had been drawn.
A dent in the mailbox marked the one time the twins actually did crash into it, but no scooter to be seen.
A ramp someone had built out of two bricks, and a wobbly plank lay waiting, but no skateboard.
Jake slowed down.
He walked past Mrs Patterson's front lawn. Normally, her yard was a battlefield of toys: toy trucks, toy swords, toy anything. Today it was strangely tidy. A plastic dinosaur lay on its side near the hedge, alone. But it had been there for months.
He looked toward the park half a block down. From here, he could usually spot at least one kid hanging from the monkey bars or someone swinging so high it made adults nervous and have to decide whether to stop their kid from swinging or risk having to rush them to the emergency room because of a broken arm.
Now: empty. The swings swayed slightly in the breeze, but no one was on them.
The sound of the neighbourhood had changed too. No shrieks of laughter. No "Pass the ball!" or "Wait for me!" or "Muuuuum, he pushed me!". Just the distant hum of a lawnmower and a dog barking at absolutely nothing.
Jake stopped walking.
"Where is everyone...?" he muttered.
He spun slowly on the spot, taking in each house. Some lights were on. Curtains were drawn halfway. He could hear a TV faintly through one open window. People were definitely home.
But the kids weren't outside.
"Weird..."
But thinking about it a bit longer, he realised it was probably just something on TV that everyone else wanted to watch. Friday mornings and afternoons always had the most addiction cartoons, the sort that glued kids to couches before parents could even say "go play outside"
As Jake continued down the street, the sounds of different houses drifted out into the open air like usual. One window blasted a hero's voice yelling, "Get ready, villain—!" followed by the whooshing sound effect every cartoon used when someone "powered up".
From another house he caught a jumble of noise. A laugh track, then someone saying, "Did... save day...!", then a voice that slipped through so quickly he barely registered it, something like "...kid...mis...ice..., before a dramatic boing sound erased it.
Jake didn't notice any of it. To him, it was all just the normal after-school TV chaos. Every house had a different show on, everyone talking, shouting, singing over each other. Nothing unusual.
He turned the final corner toward home. This stretch was always calm.
"Oh maybe they're playing a marathon of Ice and Fire!" Jake suddenly thought. "God I hope mum recorded it."
Hurrying his pace to see his show, homebase came into view. Porch light dangling slightly. Mum's car crooked in the driveway. Something cooking inside; pasta, by the smell of it.
Jake pushed open the door and kicked off his shoes.
"I'm home!"
From the kitchen, his mum called back, "Welcome back!"
And with that, the walk, the empty yards, the flickers of TV noise - all of it slipped away, forgotten as fast as it came.
Word count: 2427