My Manic Teacher Goes Insane Over Chocolate

Being a troublemaker isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, it makes you unforgettable, but after switching three schools in three years, you start to wonder if you’re too unforgettable.

Now, here I was, gripping my grey backpack in front of my latest school: St. Terry Academy. Never heard of a Saint Terry before, but I was willing to bet he wasn’t a saint of well-behaved children.

I’m Jonathan Reed—Jonathan Edsel Reed if you’re my mad mom.

I’m eleven, and a few months ago, I got booted from Bradley Academy after a peanut-butter-related incident involving the allergic principal. Now, I was here, trying to survive another new school.

St. Terry’s was supposed to be for troubled kids, so how hard could it be?

I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Thwack.

A paper ball bounced off my head.

“My bad, man!” a ginger kid with an afro and freckles called, scooping up the paper.

Okay. So maybe this wasn’t exactly the fancy private school Mom imagined.

And then—something moved.

It was quick, just a flicker at the edge of my vision. A ripple in the air, like heat waves rising from the pavement. I blinked, but whatever it was had already vanished.

Weird.

But I was used to weird.

“Hello?” Said a girl who tapped on my shoulder, her teeth caged by sliver braces. “Welcome to uhh…” She paused, lifting her mary janes to reveal a sloshed PB&J. “Aha…” she said awkwardly, smiling fully as she swatted the sandwich off her shoe. I narrowed my eyes slightly at the PB&J, what was it doing here? I swear she mumbled a name.

She then guided me to a room, reading “CLASS 5 BRAVERY” and quickly nudged me in. “Good luck!” She smiled, leaving me with the unnecessary booklets she handed me as she shut the door.

I just shrugged, walking to the very back of the- was what I was going to do. Suddenly, a ginormous lady, triple my size waltzed into the room. “New student? Sit here.”  She said, pointing at the seat in front of the teachers desk. “I am Ms. Linda, your homeroom teacher.”

I nodded, she did not look like a person you would want to get in trouble with. I sat down at my chair, I was lucky it was near the window and not in the middle of the row. Soon, a bunch of rowdy eleven and twelve year olds came in.

“Good morning class!”

Everybody hurriedly stood up, their disorderness fleeing. I got a glare from Ms. Linda as I stood up late.

“Good morning Ms. Linda, it’s nice to see you today!”

Everybody sat down, perfect posture and everything that it was starting to affect me.

“New classmate, please introduce yourself.”

“Uh, er, my name is Jonathan-”

“Minus 1 point, bad public speaking skills.”

“My name is Jonathan Reed, I’m from Queens, in uh.. NYC.”

“Yes, I think we know that since this school is in NYC. Anywho, page 117 of your textbooks!”

I opened my textbook, almost dropping my pencils. I thought, I saw a butterfly disappear behind a street lamp. Eh, it was probably because of that butterfly nonsense dad was babbling about at breakfast.

“Read!” Ms. Linda growled

As everybody opened their math textbooks, my stomach rumbled audibly, I hoped my sweat beads weren’t as noticeable. I was getting really hungry. I reached into my pocket — a chocolate my brother, Sam, had given me. I discreetly stuffed it in my mouth. Great, Jonathan. Already eating in class. I thought to myself, quickly ignoring that thought.

I earnestly browsed through my textbook, as Ms Linda’s fat nose hovered above my book. “Hmpf.” She snorted, arms crossed like a military general. Thud, thud, thud! My shoulders perked, phew. Quickly, I crumpled the chocolate wrapper — krrk.

“Who. Was. That.” Ms Linda growled, her eyes narrowing. Everybody trembled, the candy wrapper in my hand nearly dropping to the floor. “Respond when spoken to!” Ms. Linda yelled, her tone slowly rising. Nobody responded. This isn’t a military camp, geez I thought, making an audible pshh… with my lips

“Eeeeep!” A girl with blonde braids squeaked.

Suddenly, Ms Linda’s head snapped, brown eyes glaring like a pug. “Lola Turner!” Ms Linda bellowed, teeth gritting, “NO CANDY IN MY CLASSROOM!”.

“B-but, Ms Linda, that wasn’t-” Lola stammered, being cut off by the loud thuds of heavy stomping. “LOLA TURNER, DO NOT SPEAK BACK TO YOUR ELDERS!” She yelled, her harpy voice deafening, I clasped my hands over my ears.

“You’ve already eaten candy in my class last week! Punishment”

“No, I swear that was Beckett who did that!”

The whole class gasped as Ms Linda picked Lola like a plank of wood, “AAH! Mrs, let me go!” Lola begged, her short legs flailing helplessly. Ms Linda began spun like a ballerina, her triple chins collecting sweat.

Everybody gasped, huddling into the furthest corner.

“HAAAAIIIIIYAHHH!!” She yelled, tossing Lola Turner out the window.

“AHHHH!!” We could hear from outside the window, “TELL MY DOG I LOVE HIMMM…”

Abruptly, a wave of silence washed on the class. Hands covering mouths as poor little Lola’s screeches could be heard from outside the opened wooden window.

All the children ran out, worried and strangely anticipating what had happened to Little Lola. Ms. Linda just smirked, waddling herself to her desk as she watched with pride, the short legged students run as fast as they could to their friend.

 “Lola! Lola!” Missy Gardener ran, followed by the rest of the 5th Grade students. “Owwww…” Lola groaned, pressing her hand onto her temple. Meanwhile, I, as smart as I am, watched from a safe distance, fiddling with my  hands as everybody swarmed around unfortunate Lola. “Wait, who was the one crumpling  the candy wrapper..?” Lola asked, her gaze scanning across the crowd of students. I stiffened and quickly averted my eyes,

Wow, the leaves sure look lovely. “Yeah, we know better than to eat candy in Ms Linda’s class…” Timmy Pollock said, his curly brown hair bouncing as he moved. Everybody started to look around, their heads turning right, left, up and down. I slowly tip-toed away from the observing crowd, discreetly leaving the scene. Hah! easy. Boy, was I wrong.

“JONATHAN REED!” Lola yelped, pointing an accusing finger bluntly at me, “I SEE THE CRUMPLED CANDY WRAPPER IN YOUR HAND!”. Everybody’s heads rotated towards me. “Uh… haha!” I smiled, discreetly tossing the aluminum foil wrapper into the playground creek, “What a coincidence, i just forgot to throw this away!”.

“GET ‘IM!!” Russel Sprout yelled, his battlecry cutting through the air. The last thing I could remember was a stampede of furious 5th-Graders rallying towards me.

What a great first impression, huh?

“Arghhh…” I groaned, dragging my left leg as I limped out of the emerald green gates of St. Terry. My grey backpack hung off one shoulder like a broken wing. Blonde braided girls and slick-haired guys scoffed as they passed by. At least it was over.

“Hey, it wasn’t-!” I called, tippy toeing to deliver my message.

“Ugh.”  Jonas Middleton scorned, his nose scrunching as he passed by with brunette Ethel Rounder.

“Fine.” I pouted to myself, dragging my leg. “I’m glad I’m leaving.”  I hoped they didn’t hear me as I walked further away from the bricked building.

Even in the Clinic, an hour before, Mrs. Poleen, the nurse side eyed me as she handed the ice pack, “Jonathan Edsel Reed, bump from falling down on the….?” she jotted down, secretly glaring at me in between notes. “On the swing set, Miss.” I answered, one hand anxiously tugging on my gray pants as the other soothed to my giganticus red bump, relaxing on my aching head. I scoffed, they banged my head on the darn swing set! Can’t a guy like chocolate? I secretly glanced at Lola Turner, I felt a little guilty you could say. Lola said felt dazed when she came in, accompanied by the rest of the class, of course. She’d been in the clinic for the past 30 minutes.

As I drifted through memories, I walked home. Subconsciously remembering the  route we took home during the open-house as i twiddled my thumbs.

“Hey, Jon Jonny!” Samuel smiled, slapping me on the back aggressively out of absolute no where which snapped me back.  “Ouch, Sam.” I said, my right hand soothing to my back.  “What’s wrong, trouble maker?” Sam grinned, ruffling my hair, “Can’t I tease my baby bro?” I absolutely hated when he called me that, ‘Baby Bruh’, ‘Lil Loser’, ‘Jon Jonny’, and so much more. “It’s Jonathan to you, Sam.” I chuckled, speeding up my pace.

“Heard drama with somebody, your fault?”

“Again.”

“Ha, you’re really trouble prone, baby-bruh. It’s our first day!” Sam laughed, “Mom’s gonna KILL you!”

“JONATHAN EDSEL REED!!” rang through the air the second I opened the door. Samuel shot me a ‘You’re on your own, kid’ look,and stifled a laugh.  He scurried upstairs like a mouse.

“What is this report I got from school, huh? Explain yourself!” Mom scolded, walking up to me like she was charging into battle, and I was the enemy general.

“Mom, I-”

“We talked about this Jonathan! No more trouble making! Don’t you remember the Blueberry Bernice incident?”

“Yes mom..”

“Or.. or the Yancy Yeeting? Please, just a week without any reports?”

“Mom, just let me-” I asked, reaching out a hand before I clenched it back.

“It’s your first day! Attic, now.” Mom growled lowly, pointing up.

“Ugh.” I groaned. Yeah, it isn’t one of my proudest moments but come on! I trudged upstairs, following Samuels route, taking small glances at mom and going extra slow as she glared at me, her hands set on her hips.

I stomped to the bitten off (probably from mice) attic door, slightly hesitating. I might sound like a sissy, but I never had forgotten those ghost stories Sam told me about the attic. I reluctantly reached out for the creaking rusted handle.

CREAK…..

I secretly hoped Great-Uncle Willy’s ghost didn’t ACTUALLY live in the attic as I peered through the opened door crack before jumping into the attic, BOOM! Dust flew in the air as I pounded on the ground. I frantically scanned the attic, closing the chipped off door behind me. The attic was looked like it was from Pre-World War 1, honestly, it probably was. There was a triangular window at the tip of the ceiling where the roof met.  A ray of light cut through the darkness of the attic, unveiling floating dust specks. There were thousands of boxes. All organized by decade. The older the decade, the more faded out the writing was. The newest box was from the 2000’s, I could see all my baby photos flooding out of the barely-holding-on box.

My eyes still scanned the room as I reached out for the broom I subconsciously knew was there from all the times I was forced to take it from the attic. “Come out now!” I yelled, holding the broomstick like a sword, “I’m armed with a weapon and I’m not afraid to use i-”

Squeak… squeakkk

“AHHH!!” I yelled, running into the farthest corner from the door, hiding behind boxes like a measly mutt.

Silence.

I clutched the broomstick tighter, heart pounding. Okay, maybe it was just a rat. A really aggressive rat. No big deal. Deep breaths, Jonathan.

Squeeeak.

I flinched. But this time… it didn’t sound like a rat. It was slower. More human.

And then, clear as day, a voice whispered—no, announced—right in front of me.

“Jonathan Reed.”

I snapped my head towards the voice, coming from the box across me as it basked in the evening sunlight. “Uhh…” I stammered, somehow burying myself deeper into the corner.

“Uncoder of thee world, he keeps. Soon, shall Jonathan Edsel Reed shall meet.”

The male voice felt ethereal — out of this world even. Like something not from this dimension you couldn’t quite explain. It was slow, melodious, and even haunting.

I held my breath. Nothing. No whisper. No movement. Just the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

With the end of the broomstick, I slightly nudged the box. My shoulders slowly perking up in anticipation.

Nudge, nudge, nudge.

Maybe I had just imagined it. Probably all that ghost story fuel is making me hear stuff. Or it was just the wind, or—

Fzzzzt. A crackle, like static on an old radio.

Then, the pink sparks burst out.

They weren’t just pink; they shimmered, shifting like oil on water, flickering between colors I didn’t even know the names for. The edges of the attic walls warped, just for a second, like everything was stretching… bending… and then—

Whoosh. They shot toward the window and vanished.

For the next 30 minutes, I just mingled around. Staring into the wall. I felt really dazed, like that feeling when you lose your parents in the supermarket. “What…” I muttered to myself, fidgeting with the broomstick. Okay, I thought, a bunch of pink sparks were in the attic and they feel… alive? “Huh.” I said out loud, gazing at the box which had the voice, now all silent.

I could hear my pulse in my ears. Did that just happen? No — It couldn’t be. Maybe I was just going nuts, but with the silhouette of those sparks burned into my vision it said otherwise. And that voice, It knew my name.

***