My name is Pherse, Pherse Johnson. I am thirteen years old and have been all over the state, hopping from one boarding school to the next. I have no idea on why my mother won't let me go to a normal school. But I've never asked. I also have dyslexia and ADHD to make matters worse.
"Johnson! Wake up!" Mr. Schumer smacks my hand with a ruler. He sure does pack a punch for a guy in a wheelchair. His bushy beard and fat stomach filling up my vision.
"Yes'sir." I sit up straight, listening to him yammer on about Roman culture and all that junk. But hey, history class is my favorite. I look over to Gower, who is chewing on his pencil nervously. His floppy rasta cap making me slightly nauseous. He's never washed that thing in all the time I've known the guy.
The next second, the bell rings. I hop up, grab my pack off the back of my seat, and start towards the door. Well, that is what I wanted to do. Mr. Schumer points at me, with a look in his eye that says don't leave.
"What is it with you Johnson? You're failing math, you're failing everything except history," he says, staring at me down his large nose. His tone is more disappointed than angry.
"I don't know Mr. Schumer. It's like I read, or try to. And the words just turn around and I lose my focus. I'm sorry and will try harder." I start for the door.
"Pherse, there is something I want to give you." He holds out a silver ball point pen. "This belonged to my father, he told me to give it to my son. But since I took the shrapnel in the war, I am not able to father a son. So I want you to have it." He reaches out, putting the pen in my T-shirt pocket.
"Uh, thanks Mr. Schumer."
"You will understand it's importance some day," he mutters under his breath, turning back towards the blackboard.
I walk outside into the smelly hallway. For some reason, there aren't any people milling about like they always do. It's like a ghost town. Only the faintest scent of impending doom and gym socks. I continue walking.
"Hey Pherse. Hey, over here!" I hear a shout from down the hall, one I recognize instantly. She comes running up to me. Her long flowing blonde hair brushing her shoulders. It's none other than Callie, the girl I've had a crush on since the beginning of the school year.
"Hey, Callie. Where is everyone?" I ask, walking the last few steps to her.
"Not sure." She pushes her hair behind her ear. "I think they went this way." She runs towards another hall. I go too.
"This is weird!" I stomp the ground. But then she wheels around on her heels, her shoes giving a terrific scream. I throw my arm up to counter. With a flash of light, a pair of scissors comes two inches from stabbing me in the eye. What is she trying to do? Give me a haircut of death.
"It's time to die Pherse," she growls, literally growls. Her teeth sharpen into jagged points, her eyes go into her skull. I have a hard time keeping my pee in my bladder at this point. She swings her other fist towards my face, almost connecting to my nose.
"What is this about!" I shout. She tackles me to the ground, ramming the scissors into my thigh. I grab her arm and start pushing it away.
"Pherse! The pen!" I hear Mr. Schumer shout from the other hall. I instantly grab the silver click pen from my pocket. I click it. And with a quick click of the button, it transforms into a full size Greek kopis, made out of the same silver as the pen was. It looks amazing opposed to the ones in the history books that are all grimy and dirty.
"Johnson! Stop squirming!" She shouts in my face, her breath smells like spearmint. I quickly put my foot against her stomach, and kick her off. I hop up and notice a small trickle of blood on my leg from where the scissors busted me. I swing the kopis with all my strength. And it flies through her stomach region and both of her arms. She looks down and turns into a pile of black dust. The sword turns back to a pen. I've seen some strange stuff in my life, but I think that about tops it.
"Hey Johnson. I need to borrow that pen for a second. I seem to have lost my Philips Space Pen," Mr. Schumer says after rolling his wheelchair up the hall. I hand the pen to him, he writes something on a piece of paper, and hands the pen back to me. He looks at the pile of dust, and makes a tsk tsk tsk sound. "The school board isn't paying the janitors enough, I'll tell you what."
I stand there with my mouth agape, feeling like a crazy person. I click the pen, and nothing happens. Well, other than the obvious. He rolls his chair down the hall, back towards the classroom. I start back towards my dorm. Just waiting for the day to end.