»Part Seven: The Yack «

"Didn't we just come from here?" Ed asked as we hurried down the 10th-or 11th- grade pod, I could never remember which was which.

"Yes, but," I replied, "One, that was half an hour ago and two, we're going somewhere different."

"Oh?" Ed questioned. My sister hated it when people did that, but I sometimes did it myself. "Where are we going this time?"

"Math class," I said as we approached the door to Mrs. Whitman's room. It was her class, but we were taught by a student teacher—Ms. Yackel. Yes, Yackel.

"Mrs. Whitman." Ed read the purple sign on the door, "Is that the teacher?"

Did I not just explain this? Oh, not out loud. I sighed.

"It's Mrs. Whitman's room, but our student teacher is Ms. Yackel," not leaving out a word from my earlier description, I repeated: "Yes, Yackel."

"Psh," Ed laughed to himself as I pushed open the door. Then he muttered under his breath, again thinking no one could hear, "Yackel."

"Yes?" Ms. Yackel was standing right on the other side. She was young, about 22, and had light-brown hair with blond highlights. It was pulled back with a clip and hung halfway down her back. Her 'yes?' was not a 'did you call?' sort of 'yes,' it was more of a 'what do YOU want?' 'yes.'

"Ms. Yackel!" I exclaimed, though things like this had happened in the past. Ed was trying not to laugh.

"What's so funny?" She asked, maybe sounding like a little kid to people who didn't know her. But I knew her. She was annoyed; having another teenage boy to deal with was not a desirable event. "Who'er you?"

"Ed,"

"Ed who?" It sounded more like a statement than a question.

"Ed Elric, that's who."

Ms. Yackel turned to me. "Is he with you?" She asked, clearly annoyed.

"Yeah, he's my cousin," I went with the regular identity. Ed nodded.

"How old are you?" She questioned.

"Fifteen," Ed knew exactly why she had asked. You could tell from the way she was looking at the top of his head, almost like she were measuring him where he stood.

The Yack—I mean, Ms. Yackel—glanced back and forth between the two of us, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "Go siddown." She finally gave in.

"Yup," I said, already starting off in the direction of my assigned seat. I was placed at the front desk in the furthermost right corner of the room, a seat that was guaranteed to draw Ms. Yackel's attention should I do anything worth punishing. Any closer to her and I'd be the one teaching the class.

I walked around the corner of the desk, like I did every day, and pulled the chair out. I sat down and neatly arranged my binder into the rounded edge of the table, feeling unorganized when it laid askew.

"Who sits here?" Ed pointed at the empty seat to my left. He was still standing at the head of the class in front of the desk.

"You," I told him, "It's regularly unoccupied, since I tend to talk to people during this class."

"Hah, it's that boring?" Ed laughed to himself.

I cleared my throat rather loudly and looked down at the table; a signal that The Ya—Ms. Yackel—was right behind him.

"You two are not talking during my class," Ms. Yackel warned, "I mean it, Oli."

"I know," I replied, half smirking myself. Usually I would show great respect for a teacher by answering with, 'Yes, ma'am,' or 'Yes, sir,' but Ms. Yackel's young age and snappy attitude made her an exception.

She made a face and walked up to the front of the class, asserting her authority. "Alright, find your seats," she announced.

Everyone shifted into their own assigned places.

"Hai, Ms. Ya-ckel," someone called facetiously from the back of the room. I knew already that it was John Clark, for this 'hai' stuff was his little way of sucking up to Ms. Yackel.

"Quiet, John," she breathed, although it was clear that she was trying not to smile. "Okay, get out your homework, I'm coming around to check it."

"Subtle, huh?" Ed remarked, grinning sarcastically as I laid my homework on the table.

"Cha, right." Ms. Yackel came over to us. I cooed into a baby voice. "I did my homework, Ms. Yackel."

"Alright," she confirmed, still feeling like the two of us had tricked her in some way,

"Why'd you tell her that?" Ed asked as The Yack sto—arg! MS. YACKEL stomped... er, walked away.

"Tell her what?" I put the sheet under my purse, making sure they stayed organized. "That I did my homework?"

He nodded.

"Because I usually—I mean I sometimes..."

"Don't do it?"

"Yyyeah..." I sheepishly admitted. I had gotten more interested in Math lately, but I hadn't really done any work in the past.

"Okay, this is Section 6.5," Ms. Yackel called out to the class. She was talking about notes. I pulled out a piece of paper, handed it to Ed, and told him to copy down everything she wrote on the board.

"What? Why do I have to?" He asked in a whisper.

"Because," I tore out a piece for myself, "You were doodling little pictures of Homunculi all through Biology while we were supposed to be taking notes."

"Right," I handed him a pencil and he did as he was told. Usually I would've insisted on taking the notes myself—I was a neat freak—but I had seen his handwriting, and he gained my approval.

I pretended to take notes, careful not to let Ms. Yackel see what I was actually doing; drawing. I know, I know. Hippocratic actions are against what I thought to be right, but I really didn't feel like caring at that moment. Ed leaned over and glanced at my paper.

"What's that?" He asked.

"Nothing," I replied, covering my paper with my elbows. I didn't especially favor people watching me while I drew.

"Then why are you hiding your paper?" Ed smirked at me, but I just pulled the paper further away from him using my forearms. "Lemme see it."

"No!" I forgot to whisper.

"Hey," Ms. Yackel broke off from her lesson to scold me. It was not a rare action; I often talked in class during her notes. This time, though, I dragged in another victim. "Oli and Ed," she chanted, almost as if she were reading the title from a children's book. "Stop the extra talking!"

That was like her mini-catch phrase, 'stop the extra talking!' 'Find your seats,' 'Break's over; get back to work!' Many were used throughout the day. All of us had become quite familiar with them now.

"Extra talking?" Ed mimicked when Ms. Yackel wasn't listening.

"Dude, she's a Yankees Fan." I told him.

"Oh." he paused, "What's that?"

I just shook my head and went back to drawing. Class would be over in twenty minutes, and then it was time for period seven. Oh, boy.