Back to school. Use traditional school materials like number 2 pencils or lined paper notebooks to make something nontraditional.
It all happened because she was making me learn math. The most dreaded, fearful, awful subject ever. I was tired of looking at the fractions and much more tired of the sticky palm she kept placing on my shoulder as her high pitched voice squeaks, “Pay attention, Devon. Do your work.” Then she waddles back to her desk like a buffalo and crams a piece of hard candy into her mouth. What flavor was it this time? Spider legs and nose hairs? This happened three or four times until she isolated me in the back, so I could concentrate, she said. But that only made me want to not do fractions even more. So instead I broke my pencils, which earned me a trip straight to the principal’s office. I wonder if mom would be called. I took the long way to the principal’s office. I took the stairs down and snaked through each level through the 1st graders in their reading groups and the kindergarteners in the play stations down to the first floor. On my way I saw a door I had never seen before. It shined red in the fluorescent light. I twisted the handle to see if it was unlocked. It was. I pushed it open and walked into the darkness, imagining cobwebs and staplers. The door shut behind me and I fumbled around for the light to switch on. A chain dangled in front of me and I pulled it, illuminating the space around me. And this is when I saw the most brilliant magnificent room ever. . .
To be continued.
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