This is literally the dumbest thing I have written but oh my god I couldn't help myself okay
"And the hand-out can be turned in tomorrow; I don't think you'll be able to read all seventeen pages in the class time," Arthur glanced up from the podium to his standard clock resting above the door. "Yeah, you only have 20 minutes."
"We're gonna havta take it home?" a boy questioned, clearly distraught with the idea of dragging his 7-pound English literature textbook around.
"Unless you have a study hall before first hour, then yes. You're going to have to take it home."
Half the class snickered whilst Arthur nonchalantly closed his copy of the text and set it down on the table under the chalkboard. As he passed the boy's desk, though, he gave him a playful look to lighten his mood. "It'll be a quick read. There are pictures."
He made his way back to his desk in the far corner as pages flipped and sighs were let out. He thought about going through his emails when he rolled his chair up to the computer, but stopped when he heard a rustle coming from his coat pocket as he sat down. Confused, Arthur pulled the trench coat from the back of his chair and into his lap to dig through the pockets and found what he was looking for; a small envelope, stuck in the pocket he never really uses because his cell phone goes in the other one and he wears gloves everywhere, with a shade of lavender that makes him frown even deeper, and no name on front or back. He contemplates for several seconds of whether or not he should really open it; it might be for someone else, he tries to explain to himself, but then again, if it was, he could pretend he didn't know.
He was far too curious at this point to stop opening his desk drawer and reaching for his letter opener and sliding the card out from its protective layer. It is white, of denser paper than normal, no print or picture on the front of it, no print or picture on the back. He isn't sure his face can frown much more until he opens it and recognises the handwriting.
In the last paragraph of the first page, the boy was sure he would fall asleep until he heard quiet "oh my god" from the other end of the room. A few others heard it too, but not everyone snapped to attention until a louder, more audible "Oh, my God." was spoken. All eyes that peered at him wondered what Mr Kirkland was reading that made him raise his eyebrows and shape his mouth in a half-smile-half-frown way. A few whispers broke out, but no one could directly ask their teacher why he was struggling to contain his emotions before the man sprung up unexpectedly from his chair, abandoning the folded paper on his desk, and walking directly towards the door holding the same expression on his face.
"Mr K?" a girl questioned.
He didn't look at her. "I think I need to go lie down," he choked through small fits of laughter.
As he disappeared from the door, the students froze and slowly turned to look at one another. A few "what?"s and "where"s were heard throughout the garble until someone loudly stated, "What does it say? Someone read it!"
It took several seconds of courage-building before the class clown left his boring story and ran for the teacher's desk. Everyone quieted effectively, anxious.
"Dear husband," the boy began, accompanied by a few giggles and "aw"s, "Sorry for…" he developed a sense of cackles as he read the full sentence in excruciatingly cursive handwriting out for his peers. "Sorry for being French and fabulous…happy 14th anniversary…Francis."
What did I tell you