"Mr. Lancer?" I heard a very familiar voice ask, knowing what it was going to say. "Can I go to the bathroom?"
I sighed. This kid was never going to stop, was he? "I don't know Mr. Fenton, can you?" Some of my students snickered in response.
"May I go to the bathroom?" he groaned, if I didn't know better, it would have looked like he was in a hurry; maybe even angry as he ran out the door, receiving two very anxious glances from Ms. Manson and Mr. Foley. This was a routinely standard part of fifth period, commencing its status as a ritual since the begining of the year. Daniel would leave from class, and come back with sometimes huge bruises adorning his features. Yes, I knew very well that he was not in the bathroom, but there was no way I could know for sure. All my predictions had been ruled out again and again, only to make room for new ones that sounded less realistic with every cycle. So far, it wasn't drugs, gangs, abuse, malnutrition (though that could be easily argued) or even alien abduction that stood in his way, so what was it?
I didn't know. The kid was a true mystery, one that couldn't be solved through reading all the novels in the world, especially not the ones in the school's library. Whenever I'd try to confront him, he'd always give the same answers, saying things like 'You wouldn't understand,' or 'I'm fine'. All of his replies were ever common, but always... off. There was something about his voice that would give it away, a hesitation or break deep under the surface. His parents, too, did not know the whereabouts of their son, for he'd come far past curfew and sleep in, or so they'd said. But they were sincere when I'd asked them over the phone. Jasmine, however, was a different story. She would simply avoid my questions… I was almost sure that she knew what was up with her brother. Since the C.A.T. test, she, too, had been acting strange.
With that thought, I returned steadily to my lecture on the 'Two Roads' poem by Robert Frost, which I had almost finished. Fenton had seemed interested, maybe even deep in thought at today's lesson; or at least paying attention more than he usually did.
"So," I said to the class, "Who thinks they can tell me what this poem means?" Scanning the desks, no hands seemed to be raised, so I called on one particular student, asking them to answer the question and hand their note to me.
"Thank you Samantha," I replied as she explained her views on the work. "Now hand me that note."
Staring up at me with nervous eyes, she handed me the crinkled piece of paper, and my mind became confused at the written conversation between her and Mr. Foley:
Where is he? It started out, clearly in the boy's messy scrawl.
Out the window, Ms. Manson had written, don't look now!
More writing from Tucker showed below: Alright, alright! Anyways, I bet ten bucks it's boxy. You?
Not betting, the girl had scribed. A longer, deeply erased sentence lay beneath the handwriting, illegible and messy. I could only make out one word: Danny.
So they were talking about Mr. Fenton? And he was outside? My gaze shifted from the paper to the window, and sure enough, he was there.
"Great Gatsby!" I exclaimed to myself in a whisper, "Is that a ghost?"
Yes, my mind told me. Yes it is. A ghoul with a trench coat and a fedora stood next to my student, and it seemed as if they were… talking? Humans weren't supposed to have contact with ghosts, let alone ones like this one, even if they did look vaguely familiar…
"Mr. Lancer, " I heard the voice of Mr. Foley call from somewhere far away, along with the numerous whisperings between other students. "Uhh... are you okay?"
"Yes, Tucker." I said tiredly as the bell rang. "Could you let Mr. Fenton know that I need to have a word with him after school?"
His tone was faint. "Okay." he whispered, followed out by Ms. Manson. "This is not good."
I watched, ever patient, as a lanky Daniel Fenton slumped into my classroom, leaning on the doorway.
"So," I sighed, putting down the stack of papers I had been grading. "Care to tell me why you went to the 'bathroom' during today's lecture?"
"I... wanted some fresh air?" he fibbed, staring at his shoes.
"And while you were enjoying that fresh airyou just so happened to run into a ghost?" I raised an eyebrow. "I'll let it go for now, Mr. Fenton, seeing as you weren't harmed; but if this happens again..."
"I'll receive cruel and unusual punishment." he recited.
"That's correct." I said, twiddling with my pen. "Now go home. Oh, and Danny?"
"Yes?" he asked as he made a break for the door.
"I'll see you in detention on Monday." I confirmed. "And your parents will be hearing about this."
"Yes, sir."
When I looked up again, he'd left. Getting back to my papers, I rubbed my temples with one hand, reaching for an invisible mug with another
I really needed a cup of coffee.
"Hello, Jasmine." I spoke into the telephone on Monday evening. "May I speak to one of your parents? It's about your brother."
"Uh... yeah! Okay! I'll go get my mom right now!" she said, seeming to be in a rush. I might've even heard a muffled clang and a yelp in the background. Did she trip?
"Go!" I heard her whisper urgently, "Get out of here, before she sees you!"
My voice quavered as I questioned: "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah!" she panted, "Everything's fine, Mr. Lancer! It's just that... we got a puppy..... and he's really rambunctious. Oh! Here's my mom!"
A few seconds passed before I heard a voice on the other end of the line. "Mr. Lancer?" Maddie Fenton asked, worried, "Jazz said you wanted to talk to me?"
"Yes," I sighed, "It appears that Daniel has missed school today."
"He what?!"
"He was not recorded as present in any of his classes today." I repeated in a sad tone.
"What do you suggest Mr. Lancer? Not just about this, but about his grades as well... " she trailed off, lost in thought.
I paused... What should I suggest? There was that one county-funded camp that Tettslaff had talked about over lunch...
"Mrs. Fenton," I said, " I think I have a solution."
Tell me what you guys think! Were there any errors? Was everyone in character? Your words are important!
-Juni