The Brat Pack

"Andrew Clark and Brian Johnson, please report to Mr. Vernon's office immediately."

The intercom clicks off. Brian's entire Trigonometry class goes silent, some kids peering at him from the corners of their eyes. Brian sinks down in his seat as he shoves his things into his bag, his calculator smashing to the floor.

"Shit," he mumbles as he bends to retrieve it.

"Brian," Mr. Doms, the instructor, says sternly, "please do hurry. You're distracting the class. Go on now."

"Yes, sir." Brian stands, heading for the door.

"And you will return after school to collect any missed information and homework."

It wasn't a question, but Brian responds "yes, sir," anyway.


Brian's mind races as he hurries down the hall, short of breath. What was going on? He grins. Maybe he's getting an award. He licks his lips, nodding his head. Finally, this hellhole will recognize true talent!

But then he stops. Shit! What if he's in trouble again? His palms start to sweat. In the classroom next to him, he can hear tenth graders shouting out answers in Spanish. He groans, continuing on.

He reminds himself to walk. To breathe. To remember to turn left at the corner.

He accomplishes two of those three things.

The last one ... not so much.