Page 24 of The Rebel
“Okay honey.” She leaned forward, expecting a kiss on the cheek. I stuck my head in, allowing her lips to briefly brush against my skin, but pulling away before she had the chance to put her arm around me. “I’ll miss you,” she blubbered, tears springing from nowhere in a rare show of emotion. Last time she’d cried had been when Paris had won his first round match at the US Open. “I love you. You be good, now.”
“Yep. I’m meeting Gabby.” I shut the door and juggled my backpack onto my shoulder, refusing to show I was affected. Her parting words wereto be good?
Hmphh!
I walked along the path, not acknowledging the short toots from her horn. I surged ahead in a half jog, wanting to get inside the building as soon as possible. Gabby had said we’d meet in the cafeteria before first bell rang, and right now I needed to vent to her more than anything. But she was nowhere to be seen.
I sent her a text:I’m here, where are you?
I grabbed a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and sat at a table to wait. My phone pinged, Gabby’s text a row of frustrated emoji faces, followed by:Can’t make it. Practice is taking longer than we thought. See you in class!
My heart sunk, like nothing was going my way today. I slammed down my carton, the juice spilling up through thestraw and squirting my crisp white blouse. Typical! Just exactly what I didn’t need.
Mopping myself with a paper napkin only made it worse. Adjusting my tie so the knot was looser was the only way I could hide the stain. My day was going from bad to worse, heck, my whole life.
Not for Mom, Dad and Paris though. Just before last period was about to start, Paris sent me a photo of the three of them being upgraded to premium economy class. Mom and Dad looked awfully smug reclining in their extra large seats.
“Good afternoon everyone.” An unfamiliar teacher stood at the front of my Art History class. The thin, elderly woman with a tight bun and old fashioned silver-rimmed glasses held a bundle of papers in her hand and proceeded to walk down the aisles handing them out. “I’m Mrs. Fox and I’ll be filling in while Mrs. Bullock is away. This is a worksheet that you’ll need to complete by the end of class.” She seemed like a nice old lady who’d probably sit at her desk and read a romance novel while we did our work.
I wrote my name on the sheet of paper and pretended to read it, but was actually glancing at my phone resting on my lap, tucked beneath my desk. Paris had sent a photo of the view of the airport from his window seat.
“Attention please!”
The shrill voice made me jump in my chair, and I only just managed to stop my phone from falling. Mrs. Fox was standing a foot in front of my desk glaring at me. It was a shock that a tiny woman had such a screechy voice. She held her hand out to me, but it took me a moment to understand that she wanted my phone.
“Mrs. Bullock lets us keep our phones,” I said, slipping it into my blazer pocket. There was no way I was handing my phone over to a sub.
“Excuse me,” Mrs. Fox boomed with a mortifying death stare, her eyes flitting down to my desk to read my name. “Please pass me your phone, Valencia. I don’t allow phones in my class.”
A couple of sniggers resounded around me, presumably over the mispronunciation of my name. Because Mrs. Fox called me Valen-cha.
I corrected her, crisply enunciating each syllable, “It’s Va-len-see-uh.”
The class laughed and Mrs. Fox scowled before spinning on her heel and clicking her navy pumps to the front desk. I blew out a sigh of relief and whispered across to Kelsey in the next desk, “Is this sub crazy?”
“Sounds like it,” Kelsey murmured with a smile.
“Va-len-see-uh!” My name pierced the silent room and I looked up to see Mrs. Fox waving a piece of paper. “Take this to the office please.”
I stiffened. The piece of paper in her hand looked suspiciously like a discipline slip. I’d never had a discipline slip before.
“Excuse me?” My voice was suddenly weak and hoarse.
“Disruptive behavior. Insubordination. Use of electronic device during class.”
“What?” I looked to Kelsey for support, and over to Luke on my other side, but their eyes dropped to their desks like they couldn’t risk being associated with me—suddenly a villain.
“Take this now!” she shrieked, making me hurry out of my seat, grabbing up my belongings in the process. Approaching the front of the room, I crammed everything into my backpack.
“I will not tolerate your unruly and defiant behavior,” Mrs. Fox said, holding the slip out to me.
Flummoxed by the whole episode, I at least needed to defend myself. “All I did was correct the pronunciation of my name,” I said. “Isn’t that allowed?”
For a moment, our eyes were locked, Mrs. Fox’s narrowed and squinty and her lips wrinkled and puckered. It was like a showdown, all too bizarre. Up until a few minutes ago, I had never had an altercation with a teacher, yet now my heart was beating out of control and I was being sent to the office.
“You need to learn respect, young lady,” she cautioned.
Overcome with fury and frustration, I snatched the piece of paper from her fingertips, unable to resist a jab. “And you need to move in to the 21st century,” I said before storming out of the room.
