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Chums, by Phyllis Souza

8/1/2021

 
Pee-Wee had freckles sprinkled over his nose and wore his hair in a flat top. He was quick. He was smart.

Dakota, tall and friendly, could sit in a chair and wrap his legs behind his neck. He made the kids in his class laugh.

Pee-Wee and Dakota were chums.

Their seventh-grade teacher, Miss Hatchet, wore horn-rimmed glasses and she had a braid coiled on top of her head.

One day, when Miss Hatchet was writing a sentence, conjugating the verb shoot on the blackboard, Pee-Wee stood at the left side of his desk, lined up his slingshot, and fired.

Miss Hatchet clutched her posterior and turned. Squinting she yelled, "Who did that?"

She grabbed a ruler off her desk. Smacking it onto her palm, looking this way and that, she marched down the middle aisle. Her wide nostrils flared. Miss Hatchet would sniff out the culprit.

Pee-Wee slumped in his seat. Hiding his guilt behind the pages of a book he pretended to read. After all, she gave him an "F" in English, hadn’t she?

Maybe because Pee-Wee was a wealthy farmer's son, Miss Hatchet passed him by. She zeroed in on Dakota, a poor double-jointed Indian boy. "Did you shoot that spit wad?"

"I… I didn't do it." Dakota's dark eyes stared into Miss Hatchet's magnified ones.

What did Dakota do? He faked a grin-full of crooked teeth.

Pee-Wee hated Miss Hatchet, she was mean.

So, he imagined himself as a superhero. He drank a cup of courage. And he grew. But Miss Hatchet, like a ball of wool, washed in hot water, shrunk.

His eyes turned into lasers and cracked her magnified lenses. Miss Hatchet's pupils became specks in the center of a web.

Feathered, in full Indian gear, Dakota flew like an eagle. He landed atop of Miss Hatchet and pecked. The twisted hair pinned on her head made a perfect nest.


As visions of triumph faded, Pee returned the scene in front of him.

He watched Miss Hatchet grab Dakota and jerk him out of his seat.
Dakota's arms went limp at his sides. When Miss Hatchet raised her hand and was about to slap Dakota on the face; Pee-Wee stood, took out the slingshot stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans.

Straight as an arrow, he aimed. He pulled back on the elastic band. "Stop! Let go of my friend.”

Miss Hatchet dropped to the floor. It’s justice.
Jim link
8/1/2021 07:28:39 pm

This reminds me of a squirt gun incident back in English Lit, our teacher a very "proper" New Englander, misplaced out in California.
Fun little story
Jim

phyllis souza
8/1/2021 07:53:01 pm

A misplaced New Englander.... hmm. that would make a fun story.

Doug
8/1/2021 07:49:18 pm

Thank you for the story. It was fun to read and brought back some memories.

phyllis souza
8/1/2021 07:54:23 pm

Memories, great stories are filled with them.

Mary Wallace
9/1/2021 10:43:36 pm

Very enjoyable Phyllis. Loved your characters.

phyllis souza
10/1/2021 12:21:05 am

Thanks Mary. I look forward to your comments. phyllis

Krystyna
10/1/2021 03:38:10 am

Thought of my school days while reading your superb story of character portrayal, Phyllis. A certain boy named Allen was the target of a mean teacher in elementary school.

phyllis souza
10/1/2021 06:46:58 pm

Glad you liked my characters. Mean teachers? There should be a protest.

Sue Clayton
11/1/2021 06:59:09 am

Could be the start of a new Justice League with students as the heroes and teachers as the villains. I know some of my old teachers who could do with being taught a lesson or two. Enjoyed this, Phyllis.

phyllis souza
11/1/2021 04:32:02 pm

Sue, Great response. New Title, "New Justice."


Comments are closed.

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