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From his desk, Jared looked up at the clock above the whiteboard at the front of the classroom. The bell to start the last class of the day would ring in a couple of minutes. He turned slightly to the right in his chair and stared blankly at the large poster of the Periodic Table of Elements on the side wall.
He was still upset—though considerably less than that morning—over the argument with his grandpa. Jared’s thoughts turned to the discussion he had about it with his friend Tom at lunch.
Tom was just as baffled as Jared about why Jared’s grandpa was overreacting. Tom had even tried to convince Jared to sneak out that evening, but Jared declined. He made up some excuses—like he didn’t want Tom to get in trouble for helping him—but the real reason Jared wasn’t going to disobey his grandpa was that, despite having had a heated argument with him, he respected him and didn’t like disappointing him. Of course, he didn’t tell Tom that because it would have made him sound like a sissy.
Jared sighed and resigned himself to being stuck at home and bored, and at that moment, Tim, a large, round, blonde boy, tromped into the classroom. Jared kept looking at the poster on the side wall to avoid making eye contact with the school bully.
Jared heard some commotion near the front of the room and then a book hitting the floor. Noise always seemed to follow Tim wherever he went. Though, it would be more accurate to say that he caused noise wherever he went.
“Hey!” a girl complained.
“Sorry. It was an accident.” Tim was obviously lying.
Out of the corner of his left eye, Jared watched Tim stroll over to his desk, which was across the aisle from Jared, and sit down.
Tim started slapping Evan—the pale, skinny boy he sat behind—on the back of the head and the ears. Without saying anything, Evan leaned forward as far as he could, rested his forehead on his desk, and cupped his hands over his ears. Tim didn’t stop, though, and Evan, who was wearing some kind of superhero costume, started whimpering.
Jared wished someone would teach Tim a lesson. What a jerk. He fantasized about learning martial arts and kicking Tim in the face but knew he was only kidding himself. Dream on.
“What are you looking at?”
Jared snapped out of his trance and realized that he had turned almost completely sideways to watch the torture session. He found himself staring right at Tim. With a jolt, he turned his body back to face forward, and his eyes darted to the blank whiteboard at the front of the classroom.
“Nothing,” Jared muttered.
Panic replaced the swelling of hatred that Jared had been feeling toward Tim. His heart pounded in his throat, and he found it hard to breathe. He gulped and tensed up, wondering if Tim was going to start picking on him next.
Fortunately, the teacher, Mr. Hobson, appeared in the doorway. Jared relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. He was safe, for the time being.
Mr. Hobson, Jared’s seventh grade science teacher, was a tall, dark-haired, handsome man. Jared noticed that, as usual, the eyes of all the girls had became riveted to Mr. Hobson as he walked across the front of the room. Practically all the girls in the class—and all the girls in the school for that matter—had crushes on him.
Jared rolled his eyes. Mr. Hobson was way too old for any of them, and he was a teacher.
“Hey, Collins.” Tim’s voice caused Jared to cringe.
The tardy bell rang.
Jared gritted his teeth and clamped his eyes shut. Leave me alone!
“Hey, soccer boy. Quit ignoring me.”
The same symbol he had seen that morning—of the white hand on a black background—flashed across Jared’s mind. His eyes popped open.
“What? Do you think you’re too good to talk to me? You freak!”
Jared saw Mr. Hobson look at him and, at the edge of his peripheral vision, saw Tim move his arm. As if he had sensed something flying toward his head, with cat-like reflexes, Jared turned his head, lifted his hand, and batted away what Tim had thrown at him.
Jared’s eyes followed the small, thin, yellow object—almost like it was moving in slow motion—as it flew toward the back of the class, hit a lab table, and then landed on the white vinyl floor. Tim had thrown a broken pencil at him.
Jared couldn’t believe what he had just done. How did I do that?
He looked at the palm of his still raised hand and marveled at the spot of graphite he saw where the tip of the pencil had hit his hand, or rather, where his hand had hit the pencil. Then, he glanced over at Tim.
With narrowed eyes and a scowl, Tim shook his head. “Lucky.”
Luck? Jared didn’t have an explanation for what happened, but he felt that luck wasn’t a good enough reason. Also, he was baffled that he had seen the hand vision again, and right before Tim threw the pencil. Coincidence?
“Tim! I saw that!”
Jared’s attention shot back to the front of the class.
Mr. Hobson demanded, “Come up here, right now!”
Tim waved his hand dismissively. “It was just a pencil.”
“I don’t care what it was. You don’t throw things at other people. I’m sending you to the office.” From a drawer of his lab table, Mr. Hobson took out a small, pink pad of paper and began writing on it.
Tim shrugged with his hands held out. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like it would’ve hurt him. He has a metal plate in his head.” He pointed to his own head.
“That’s enough.” Mr. Hobson gave Tim a stern look. “Come here.” He motioned with a curling finger for Tim to approach and then continued writing.
“Aw, man,” Tim whined.
Jared’s plump classmate got up and dragged himself to the front of the class. Once he reached the teacher’s lab table, he leaned against it, rested one arm on the countertop, and then began tapping on the lever of the gas spigot next to the sink.
After Mr. Hobson finished filling out the hall pass, he ripped it off the pad of paper and held it out between two fingers. Tim stood up, snatched the note from the teacher, and turned toward the door to leave.
With all the maturity of a third-grader, Tim dangled the hall pass out in front of himself between his thumb and index finger, pinched his nose with the fingers of his other hand, and cringed at the pink piece of paper like it was a piece of stinky garbage. Then, continuing his dramatics, he wiped both sides of the paper on his faded, black T-shirt to clean the fake grime and germs off the note.
Next, smiling, he shoved both of his hands into his front pockets and strutted across the front of the classroom. His jeans, already riding too low on his hips, were pushed down even more, exposing more of his white boxer shorts.
And, for his big finale, once Tim reached the open doorway, he said over his shoulder, “On my way to the office, I’ll try not to walk too close to the library, so the plate in my head doesn’t set off the metal detector.” He made a few high-pitched beeping noises as he stepped out of sight.
There were a few snickers. Jared could feel his ears burning with embarrassment. He bowed his head and slunk down in his chair.
Mr. Hobson made downward motions with both hands. “Alright, alright. Settle down. We’re going to watch a short video now.”