School Day
By Angel St. Mathew
A/N: OK guys, I was totally bored and it was VERY late at night. If the plot of this story is at all recognizable to any of you (which I doubt) then it might be that much funnier to you. This is probably the shortest story I've ever written. Enjoy, if you can.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There it was again.
Arnold scowled. Class was almost over, but he'd already been hit with one-hundred and eight spit balls. He didn't even bother turning around and telling her to knock it off. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction this time. Or for the rest of the day, he vowed, but he wouldn't forget.
He would remember her constant annoyances later. For now, he'd just have to live with it.
He tried to pay attention to Mr. Simmons odd, high-tenor voice as he spoke over-joyously about the American Civil War. Arnold wasn't certain how the man spoke of such a terrible war, fought by brothers even, in such a happy-go-lucky manner. It was quite irritating.
THWAP
Arnold grit his teeth, and his resolve to wait until school was out was slowly shrinking.
Suddenly, Mr. Simmons paused for a moment, then smiled a rather strained smile.
"Uh, class, I have to step out for just a moment. Phoebe, could you watch the class for me? Everyone take out your history books and read paragraphs five and six". And with that, the teacher left the room. Phoebe stood from her desk and went to sit at Mr. Simmons' as she'd done only twice before when he had to step out for a moment. She took a piece of chalk and climbed up onto Mr. Simmons' chair, standing so she could write on the board high enough for everyone to see. She began to write what Mr. Simmons had told them to do.
She suddenly let out a startled yelp when several pointed objects hit her back and rear end. She twirled around to see several, actually most, of the student with their faces hidden behind their history books, and several sharpened pencils strewn on the desk and floor.
Phoebe scowled a little, which was surprising to those who didn't have their heads buried in their books. Those who were hiding had "guilty" written all over their foreheads.
Deciding to ignore them, she turned back to the chalkboard and continued.
Then there it was again, and she didn't have to turn around to hear the chinking of pencils hitting the desk and floor. Without thinking, Phoebe grabbed the detachable globe off of its stand and threw it randomly. She immediately covered her mouth with her hand as if she'd sworn, fearing she'd hurt someone. But it was Gerald who caught it and twirled it on one finger, showing off for a moment, before he tossed it backwards, and it hit Helga, who'd actually been reading, in the head.
Phoebe DID gasp at that.
Helga was dazed for a moment before she snarled deeply and grabbed the already cracked globe off of the floor, hurling it back at Gerald. But Gerald lifted his arm at the exact moment, hitting the globe with his elbow and sending it smack into Arnold, who was knocked from his seat.
Two seconds later a horrendous fight broke out, with books and pencils and things flying everywhere. Eugene had dove under his desk for cover, while Curly was swinging from the fan on the ceiling, laughing hysterically. Lila sat huddled in a corner, murmuring to herself that this was just ever so terrible. Rhonda was screaming about ruining her favorite outfit, when suddenly she was splattered with paint. This sent her to hysterical tears. Paint went flying through the mob and hit Gerald's hair, and it simply went on from there for some time before Harold noticed the doorknob moving and pointed at it, yelling, "It's Mr. Simmons!!"
Mr. Simmons opened the door to find the room a total disaster. Torn and tattered books and notepads lay everywhere, chalk and chalk dust all over the floor, half the kids covered in paint, Rhonda and Lila's faces streaked with tears, and his favorite earth globe in pieces on the floor.
All of the children, however, sat perfectly still with their hands folded on their desks in a praying manner, invisible halo's above their heads.
Mr. Simmons opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find his voice. Some thought he'd gone into shock.
The bell chose that moment to ring, and in a rise of dust and running feet, every last child had disappeared from the room.
Mr. Simmons was still left stuttering, one step inside the doorway.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The next morning on the bus, Helga sat with Phoebe on one of the benches, talking about yesterday.
As the bus pulled up to the curb and they stood to get off, Helga suddenly felt something wet and sticky hit the back of her head. She reached back to grab whatever it was, and her fingers met with something oozy. She pulled her hand back and found of spotted with blue paint. Too shocked to even scowl, and being pushed with the mob of children toward the door, Helga looked back to see who the culprit was, but no face betrayed itself. Now scowling, Helga got off of the bus and headed for the door behind Phoebe, who was quite oblivious to what had just happened.
Meanwhile, still on the bus, Arnold peered out the window at the departing girls. In his hand was a straw, the inside covered in blue paint.
Oh yes, Arnold didn't forget.
OK, I know this was REALLY bad. But for those of you who liked my other HA stories, I am currently working on a much better(and longer) one, and I have an idea for a really great one that I hope to get written soon.