Author's Note: I'm afraid that maybe my characters are a bit off character... I guess that my mind is just so on something else that I'm not paying so much attention to my writing... If there's anything that seems a bit off to you people, then by all means, tell me! I could do with some constructive criticism! This chapter, though dominated by another scene from Jim Hawkins's life, has a bit about a boy named Casey. You probably wouldn't know who it is by the name, because his real name is Quasimodo. I had to change it because it was a cruel thing to do, calling him Quasimodo. Hmph! Anyway, READ AND REVIEW! Please! Technically, reviews are all I get for writing and they make me feel good... If anyone can figure out who Mr. T is before I reveal it later on, I'll mention you in the fic! Talk to you later at the end of the chapter!
"Where's the doc?"
Jim stared curiously at the halfway opened door near the front of the room. It was ten minutes since the final bell, he and Nani having made it just mere seconds before it had rung, and their teacher, Dr. Delbert Doppler, had yet to arrive.
"I don't know," Nani answered absentmindedly. She continued her anonymous attention toward a group of fellow sophomore girls as they gossiped contently, glancing at them from the corner of her eye.
"You don't?" Jim grimaced, leaning back in his chair.
"No, I don't," she repeated. She turned away from the nattering group and looked at her friend inquisitively. "Should I?"
"I guess not," Jim replied, shrugging his shoulders at the question.
Nani raised a quizzical brow. "You guess not?" she echoed, half-laughing at the statement. "I'm not a stalker, Jimmy-boy."
Jim grinned at her claim. "Really?" he asked, leaning toward her. "What about that whole David thing last year?"
His friend narrowed her eyes in warning, her bottom lip jutting outward in a defiant pout. She lifted a finger to shake at him, but said nothing in reply.
Jim sent her a smug grin. "Can't come up with anything, can you, Nani?"
"If that's what you think," the Hawaiian replied surreptitiously, a mysteriously self-satisfied smile of her own curving her lips.
Jim frowned. "What does that mean?" he demanded, glaring at her questioningly.
Nani did little more than widen her smile, crossing her arms against her chest to further signify her contentment. "You'll see," she responded suggestively. She looked away from him, staring forward at the gray dry-erase board that took the front wall.
After several moments of persistence and receiving nothing truly revealing in return, Jim gave up with a groan of surrender, looking up at the ceiling as if imploring the heavens for a touch of sense now and then.
Resting his hand on his palm, Jim returned his glance to the door, still ajar, remembering his earlier question.
"You don't think that maybe the doc is sick or whatever, do you?" he asked after a moment, avoiding the annoying smugness that Nani's tanned face reflected. "I mean, like he caught the flu or something over the weekend?"
"He looked like he might've had a cold last Friday," Nani told him. "But, you know him. Unless it's bad, he'd come anyway."
"This late?" Jim looked back at Nani incredulously, gesturing toward the clock that sat above the front board. Three more minutes had been added to Doppler's previous ten minute tardiness.
Nani nodded, giving Jim a look as if suggesting his stupidity. "Uh, yeah, Jim," she said. "If you were here a bit more often, you'd know that the doc is almost always late for class."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
Jim bobbed his head in understanding and returned his glance to the entry. Now that he thought of it, the fact that Doc Doppler was late made a lot of sense. He was always absentminded, it seemed. A lot more absentminded than a scientist should be, in his opinion. He was clumsy, was barely able to speak more than a few sentences correctly before breaking into a stutter or some other slip… lateness wasn't too hard to believe.
Probably got his head caught in his shirt and couldn't break free, Jim mused with a slight smile. Strangely enough it was more than just a possible prospect. It probably happened to him everyday. Jim stifled a snicker at the thought of his teacher walking around with only the top of his head peeking over the edge of his shirt's collar, bumping into everything that got in front of him. He could just imagine his words then. Oh, excuse me, Madame, I seem to have lost myself in my clothing, I apologize for my clumsiness!
It was then when the door to the classroom was pushed all the way open and a figure, wrapped securely in uncountable layers of clothing, strolled into the classroom. The whole of the class, which had before then been busy socializing for lack of teacher, quieted, taking a long, awkward moment to stare at the alien form that had wandered into their class.
The person was barely visible beneath the beanie and numerous cloths that wrapped about his face. A long nose poked above a cotton and plaid scarf, upon which balanced a pair of glasses. Behind them could be spotted two tired, black eyes. Jim would've maybe considered the person to be Doppler, had he not seen the cinnamon tan that existed beyond the ice-bitten red of his nose. The doc had a long way to go to reach that color.
"Hello class," the man greeted. At least, that's what he seemed to say; the scarves muffled his speech rather nicely. A few of the class that had heard his salutation returned it unsurely. The man nodded his head, and began slowly to unwrap himself from the many layers that enveloped him.
Slowly, beneath a jacket or two, a windbreaker, a sweater, a pullover, and a plethora of scarves, the stranger revealed himself. He had a long face, much of it hidden behind a face mask that resembled something that a surgeon wore, probably to protect others from a cold that his bright red cheeks suggested. Just beneath the bottom edge of the mask could be seen a small wisp of black hair. Shoulder-length locks of the same color poked out from beneath the gray rim of his cap. He was thin, with long legs hidden beneath a pair of black slacks. He seemed relatively colorless at this point.
"I'm sorry for my tardiness," the man said, his voice less muffled now from the lack of impediments. Jim noted a strange accent attached to his speech, a mixture of French and some unknown dialect that he couldn't figure at that moment.
The new man walked over to Doppler's desk and, ignoring the horrible clutter of paper and other things that had found its way onto its surface, he sat on the edge, crossing his legs.
"Now, I am sorry to say, your dear professor Doppler has gotten a cold over the weekend and could not come to class today," he informed them. He sniffed his nose, his eyebrows lowering in an almost indignant fashion. "So, I have come to take his place. My name is… well, you can call me Mr. T; I doubt you'll be able to pronounce my last name correctly."
Jim barked out a laugh before realizing that it was coming. Mr. T? What kind of a name was that?
A screech of chairs followed his burst, the class turning to glance at him curiously. It seemed that the rest of them had seemed to understand the undeniable crankiness in their substitute's voice and had known better than to laugh at the strange nickname. Jim felt himself shrinking in his seat in embarrassment. Glancing at the teacher, he realized that Mr. T was staring at him too, one eyebrow arched. Jim held back a groan. The last thing that he needed was any bad attention from this substitute; he didn't want to gain yet another person to yell at him.
After a moment, the man stood up, and walked over to a case that sat on a chair laden with the clothing that he had managed to peel off. Opening the clasp, he began digging into the different files that could be seen, probably searching for the plans that Doppler had left for the class. Jim let out a relieved sigh. It seemed that Mr. T had decided to ignore his disturbance.
"Lucky." He heard Nani's whisper as he straightened up in his seat, and a subtle grin flashed on his face.
Mr. T turned about, a group of papers in his thin fingers.
"I'm going to take attendance." He raised the papers to read them. "Say here, or present, or whatever it is that you say when your teacher does this. Atlanta, Ariel."
A bright young woman with flaming red hair raised her hand immediately. "Here!"
Jim turned to Nani as the roll call began.
"Almost got in trouble there, didn't you, Jim?" Nani asked with a smirk.
"Almost," Jim said, echoing her words. "I almost got in trouble."
"Isn't almost good enough?"
Jim almost laughed at her words. "You almost sounded like Al there," he said, remembering his other friend's earlier words on the truancy police.
"Jim…" Nani's words were said in a way of warning, her face serious.
Jim perceived this as little more than anger at his words. "Come on, Nani. Al's not a bad guy. I know that he ditches class and everything, but he hasn't done anything horrible."
"Jim…" Nani repeated in a cautionary whisper.
The boy lifted an eyebrow in wonder. "You don't have something against him, do y—"
"Mr. Hawkins!"
Jim jumped at the sudden cry, jerking his head toward the front of the class, where it had come from. His face paling, he saw Mr. T standing at the front of his class, his eyebrows lowered angrily. He straightened immediately in his seat.
"By your reaction," the man began, irked, "I'm guessing that you are Mr. Hawkins, and that you are in fact here."
"Uh…" Jim lifted the collar of his jacket closer to his face. "Yeah."
"Why thank you, Mr. Hawkins, for responding."
"No problem," Jim muttered, sinking into his seat.
Mr. T raised an eyebrow at the response, but moved onto the next name.
"You know, Jim," Nani began, listening as attentively as she could to the substitute, "you might have to learn about a little thing called—here!"
Mr. T nodded quietly, marking beside her name.
"A little thing called tact," she finished, giving Jim a kind, but undeniably stern look.
"But I didn't say anything!"
"And timing. Timing would be very good too."
Jim let out a sigh. He supposed she was right. If he didn't learn that little thing called tact soon, he might have to deal with another angry adult.
He stared at the masked person before him. For some reason, this person didn't seem like the type to be so cranky. It must be the cold.
Casey Q. Frollo stared out the window, where the snow had once again begun to fall. It wasn't a strong fall, little more than a flurry at the most, but it drew his attention much better than the drone of his teacher. Mr. Maurice had been babbling about social studies for a while, not something that the young man appreciated as much as he should.
He was imaginative. He loved the world and had enjoyed social studies much more the year before, when it was discussing the different continents and cultures… but now, when it had moved on to talk about history, war, things like that… he had lost interest. He wanted to know how things were now, what he could experience if he visited these far away lands, not what happened in the past, or about things that he could never come across ever again.
But it was true that he was usually much more attentive to his studies. Maybe it was the way that the snow flew on the back of the wind and swirled in invisible curlicues that pulled him away from the class. It had been a long while since he had seen such a snow…
A note sliding onto the corner of his desk caught his attention. Turning away from the flurrying white, he tentatively picked up the folded piece of ruled paper. Casey glanced up at Mr. Maurice, making sure that he wasn't looking in his direction. Sure enough, the old man had his mustachioed face buried deeply in the spiral teacher's edition of their social studies book, doing his best to read the shrunken print.
Casey attempted, with difficulty, to hide himself behind Arthur Pendragon, a thin, blonde boy who sat before him, and, taking another glance up at the front of the class, straightened out the note.
Scrawled out on the paper without any acknowledgement toward the light blue lines that ran across its surface, was a message that read:
Hey, Casey!
This is Peter (duh). Guess what? My dad got me something new! It's a plane, it flies and everything. Wanna Play with it after class?
Old Maurice is really boring today, isn't he? I can't even hear what he's saying behind the book. I hope he doesn't quiz us or anything.
Casey grinned at the note and glanced to his right where, sitting just a couple of chairs away, an impish-looking, redheaded boy waved at him. Peter Panning, Casey's good and only school friend, indicated the note that sat unfolded on Casey's desk.
Casey nodded. Yes, he mouthed, his tentative smile widening.
Peter raised a triumphant fist, accompanied with a silent whoop of joy. Quickly grabbing another sheet of paper, he scribbled down a note, folded it haphazardly, and nudged Marie, who sat beside him.
"What now?" Casey heard her hiss at Peter, adjusting the pink bow that wrapped about her platinum blonde hair.
"Pass this to Casey," Peter said, pointing directly at him.
"Again?"
"Yeah, just do it!"
Mumbling unhappily, Marie dropped the note on her neighbor Mowgli's desk and returned swiftly to her notes. Mowgli, almost automatically, picked up the packet and tossed it at Casey, who struggled to catch it without being caught.
Peter Panning, self-proclaimed future aviator, was almost the only person in school who was pleasant in any way to him. The rest of the town seemed to be sort of at odds with Casey for one reason or another, most usually the fact that his father was Mayor. There seemed to be a lot of tension lately about that, but despite it all, Peter remained ever loyal. Casey couldn't figure why; Peter was a pretty popular kid in their Elementary. Why on Earth would he hang with someone who was as avoided as he was? The best reason that Casey could come up with was that they had come to school on the first day both wearing green, and they had very red hair. Maybe Peter had found it interesting and decided to keep him around in case it happened again; the obscure similarity had created their introduction, anyway.
Most of the children were confused by their interaction, but soon got used to the constant note passing and the occasional after-school play sessions. Marie, who was, of her triplet group, the only one who cared much about succeeding in school, had just been moved to the back because her brother, Toulouse, had to be moved to the front for his behavior. She wasn't very happy about it, and hasn't taken the interruptions from both Casey and Peter very well.
Casey eased open the second note.
Think we can ditch Victor this time?
Casey looked at the short note unhappily. He had forgotten about that…
I really do want to keep writing, but I haven't even finished Hawaiian and Hunchback... I have this strange feeling that not finishing stories annoys people... but it may be just me... Ah well. I hope the chapter was okay! Read and Review!
-Guille van Cartier