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School

No Mercy

In school, kids are always hearing horror stories about teachers, principals, custodians, and lunch ladies, but what about bus drivers? Back in 1999 Edd Phoenix lived three days he would never forget. School had only been in session two months when Edd’s regular bus driver, Mr. Huffler, announced one Monday afternoon that he would be out of town the next three days. “Who is the sub?” Manty Totem, a friend of Edd’s, blurted. “I believe it will be Mr. Mercer,” remarked Mr. Huffler. The children gasped, their mouths as wide as moon craters, their eyes as big as oranges. “Oh, no! Not No Mercy Mercer!” they shouted. “I know you have heard dreadful rumors about Mr. Mercer, but you can’t always believe what you hear,” said Mr. Huffier. “He’s actually a very pleasant man. Just remember: be on your best behavior.” Tuesday morning, as Edd crawled out of his water bed, his first thought was, Is No Mercy Mercer really as mean as they say? While Edd showered, dressed, and ate breakfast, No Mercy Mercer kept flashing on and off like a lightbulb in his mind. On his way out the door to catch the bus, his mom reminded Edd, “Did you feed Friskus?” Immediately, he dropped his backpack by the front door, dashed to the garage, and scooped Friskus a bowl of Kitty Chow. Then Edd sprinted toward the bus stop. The bus was already waiting at the end of the street. Behind the wheel sat a man who resembled an army sergeant. You could tell by his bulging biceps that he lifted weights. His gray hair was buzzed all the way down to the scalp. Instead of a uniform, he wore a sleeveless muscle shirt and blue jeans. Covering his eyes was a pair of aviator sunglasses, like the ones Tom Cruise wore in the movie Top Gun. Mr. Mercer was large and in charge. The bus was already waiting at the end of the street As the doors to the bus opened, No Mercy Mercer looked him square in the eye and growled, “About time, son. Don’t keep me waiting tomorrow.” After being lectured for the ten-second delay, Edd quickly sat down next to Manty, who was tightly grasping a Hot Wheels car in his right hand. “Manty, don’t get any wise ideas. I think we just need to lay low.” “He’ll never know who threw it,” snickered Manty. Just as the bus was coming to a stop in front of the school, another boy encouraged Manty to throw the car. “Yeah, I think I should too,” Manty chuckled. “That will make that scrawny old No Mercy Mercer regret the day he ever subbed on this bus.” Manty swiveled around in his seat to grin at Edd. Edd was staring upward. “He’s behind me, isn’t he?” murmured Manty. “Yep. He sure is,” Edd whispered. Manty spun in the direction of the six-foot bus driver to find that Edd wasn’t joking. Taking the metal car out of Manty’s hand, Mr. Mercer said, “Not a good idea, son. If I have any more trouble out of you, you’ll be visiting the principal’s office.” Manty looked like he wanted to dig a burrow and hide. Edd could see that Manty’s heart was almost pounding out of his chest. His heart was running like a generator. Even though Mr. Mercer wasn’t talking to Edd, he was still scared stiff and shaking like a leaf. Finally they reached school. Edd was never happier to enter a school building in his entire life. All day long all he could think of was boarding the bus of doom that afternoon. Of course, the school day went by quicker than a blink of an eye. Ring, ring, ring—there was the horrible sound of the bell, telling him it was time to venture to the bus and No Mercy Mercer. “After this morning’s incident, this is a no-talk afternoon!” the sub demanded loudly. All of the children were petrified and quiet as mice. Edd decided that for the next two days he would be sick. The next morning Edd’s mom went into his bedroom to wake him up. He rolled over and whimpered, “I don’t feel so good.” She walked over to his bed and felt his forehead. “Well, honey, you don’t feel hot, but let’s take your temperature to be safe,” she said. When the thermometer read 98.6 degrees, she urged, “You don’t have a fever. What’s wrong? Has something happened at school?” Hesitating a few seconds, Edd answered, “No.” “Edd, I know when something’s wrong. Usually you can’t wait to go to school,” said his mom. “What happened?” “It’s our totally horrible bus driver!” he admitted. “Mr Huffier? You love Mr. Huffier!” Edd’s mom exclaimed. “No, not Mr. Huffier,” said Edd, “the substitute for the next couple of days!” Edd’s mom bent over and listened to his story. Then she replied, “Edd, you need to go to school. You’re not sick. He’s probably not as bad as you say. You just need to get to know him. Remember, you can’t always judge a book by its cover.” Reluctantly, Edd crawled out of bed and dressed, dreading to face a duplicate of the previous day. He rushed eating his sausage and biscuit, and left ten minutes early. When the bus doors opened, Mr. Mercer commented, “Thanks for being on time today, son.” Edd nodded, then searched for a seat. Noticing that Manty had a grin plastered from ear to ear, Edd chose an empty seat. Whatever Manty was up to, he didn’t want any part of it. Five minutes down the road, Manty was standing in his seat. Edd dropped his head and sputtered, “When is he ever going to learn?” No Mercy Mercer stared into the visor mirror and ordered Manty to sit back down. Manty obeyed, but just as the bus was merging back into traffic, Manty changed over to Edd’s seat. Edd shook his head and moaned, “Why me?” SCREEEECH!!! The

Black and White

The recess bell pierced through the hallways like a needle puncturing a piece of soft velvet. Students threw back their chairs and stampeded towards the classroom door. I grabbed my leather jacket and stepped into the unfamiliar corridors. Alone, I walked down the deserted hall. It all started when my dad got fired from his job at the post office. My mom had to work two jobs at a time just to feed us. Our family had to rent out our house to strangers for extra cash. We couldn’t afford private school after that, so we decided to start fresh and moved to Fleetwood, Pennsylvania. Being a transfer in the middle of January made it ten times harder. Especially on your first day. I burst through the doors and onto the recess yard. There were kids dribbling basketballs, playing on the monkey bars, reading, drawing, and playing tag. I spotted one of the kids from my math group, the only class I had taken so far at this new school. “Hey,” I said as I walked over to the boy. “I’m Tanner. I came here from Connecticut.” The boy looked up at me and walked away. I scanned the horizon for any other place to sit. That is when I saw the chessboard. I strode over to the chessboard. Before saying anything, I took in the atmosphere. There were four kids clustered around the board. They all had a somewhat intense vibe. Two of the kids were engaged in the game while the other two kids watched intently. One of the players had darkish brown hair and piercing blue eyes. The other kid had thick, black glasses. This was the deciding moment. The endgame. I watched as glasses kid slid his rook onto A-5; not a very good move. It opened a hole in his castle. Blue-eyes immediately slammed his queen down onto H-2. “Checkmate,” said Blue-eyes. “Good game,” said the glasses kid as he reached his hand across the board. The victor shook it. “Hey guys, can I play?” I questioned. “Do you even know how to play?” asked the winner. “Yeah…” I said. “It’s my favorite game.” “Sure,” said the blue-eyed kid. “You probably won’t win though, so don’t get your hopes up too high,” he warned. “My name is Dexter. You can take a seat right over there.” I sat down on the smooth, wooden bench. “So,” began Dexter. “Hand me all of those black pieces.” “Actually, can I be black?” I pleaded. “It’s my lucky color.” “No,” said Dexter. “I am black and always will be. Now hand me those pieces.” I ignored him. “Can’t we at least flip a coin?” I tried. Dexter thought for a moment. “Sure.” *          *          * I handed all of the black pieces to Dexter and set up the white pieces on my first two ranks. A few kids gathered around the table, waiting anxiously to see who the victor would be. “Go,” Dexter snarled. The buzz of the playground slowly blurred around me, leaving Dexter and me as the only ones in focus. I took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. I instinctively moved my king pawn up two spaces. The casual opening move. Dexter glared at me hard before copying the king pawn move. I slid my G-1 knight to F-3. This time, Dexter advanced his bishop, pinning my queen pawn. I squinted at the board, trying to catch an early threat. I decided to try the Fried Liver Fork, to test how good he was at reading attacks. I moved my bishop into attacking position. Dexter didn’t see the threat. He pushed his queen pawn one space. I continued my tactic, moving my knight into position. One of the kids sitting next to Dexter leaned to the side and whispered something into his ear. Dexter’s face lit up as he thwarted my attack. He gave me a smug look. Pretty stupid, I thought as I saw he could’ve taken my knight. I quickly moved it into a safer position. I zoned out as Dexter prepared his next move. What if I lose this game? I thought. Will I still be an outsider? Will kids like me more if I win? Or maybe they’ll think I’m a show-off, trying to be smug and cool. Maybe the… “Your turn,” said Dexter, interrupting my thoughts. Dexter had castled, leaving himself in a great defensive position. My palms began to sweat as I scanned the board for a good offensive move, looking for a weak spot in his lines to attack. There. His king pawn was completely unguarded beside the king. If I could set up a Roman Blitz right on that spot, I could end this game, I thought. I decided to try it. As the minutes passed, more kids accumulated around the table. They were watching with a little dash of pity for me, knowing that Dexter would come out victorious. Dexter still had that smug look on his face, like it was plastered there. I looked behind me, just to see how many supporters there were on my side. Not one soul stood behind me. I turned back to the game. After several intense moments, one of Dexter’s supporters pulled out a chess clock. “You guys are taking too long. Recess ends in twenty minutes. We’ll give you each ten minutes to start out with,” the kid with the clock said as he wound the numbers to ten. The clock thumped down on the metal table with a clang. “Go,” said the clock boy. *          *          * The sounds were getting to me. Each time the clock ticked, it felt like a small chisel was digging into my skin. My heartbeat matched the clock’s ticks perfectly and beads of sweat dribbled down to my eyebrows. One kid was gently drumming his fingers right next to my hand. My quick, angry glance in his direction made him stop. My king was stuck. Trapped by my

The Spectacle Dilemma

I hate everyone for making me wear those things Angie pulled on a jumper and a pair of pants, not peeking. She stuck her arms in a jacket without allowing herself even to think. After gulping a cup of OJ and some cereal, she brushed her teeth without grimacing. But when she was ready, backpack slung over shoulder, it was time. To decide. She let her eyes wander to the dresser, staring with unconcealed revulsion at the small, flat case that crouched beside her alarm clock. I hate them, she thought. I hate the nurse for that test. I hate Dad for ordering them. I hate everyone for making me wear those things… and saying I look so cute in them! Angie shivered. The very abominable idea that she would look cute in that awful contraption was disgusting. Yes, that’s right, she decided, smiling smugly, she would not wear them. Of course she wouldn’t. She would leave them at home and say she forgot them. With that landmark decision, she walked triumphantly to the door, ready to catch the school bus. “Honey,” called her mother, “did you remember to bring…?” Her inquiring eyes appeared as she reached the landing. Angie scowled. “Well?” prompted her mother. “I forgot them,” she mumbled, scuffing the carpet all the way to her dresser. Her hand hovered for just a moment above the case before her fingers closed around the rainbow-embroidered Angelina. Then it was stuffed unceremoniously into her backpack. By the time Angie reached Mrs. Fox’s fourth-grade classroom, she had finished vowing to keep the glasses in her backpack until she could find another excuse to not wear them. But fate prompted her to break the solemn promise as the zipper was undone and the case fell out along with her homework. Gregor stooped down to pick it up. “I didn’t know you wore these, Angie,” he said, handing it back to her. Angie, chatting animatedly with a friend, suddenly flushed scarlet as she caught sight of the case. “I don’t,” she snapped, snatching them from Gregor. “No one in our class does.” “But it has… Angelina on it,” the boy protested. She flushed even deeper and stuttered a little. “Ooh, they’re yours?” asked Nancy. “Try them on! I wanna see!” “I… I…” she stammered with the case half in her backpack already. But already a few others of her classmates had started watching interestedly. Slowly, the hand withdrew with the colorful case in it, and the same hand pulled the case apart. A pair of purple glasses fell out, their clear lenses sparkling in the light. Her classmates waited, still watching. Angie pulled them on delicately, her eyes closed, like they might explode any second. I don’t need these, she thought. I don’t need these. Then she opened her eyes. And blinked. And blinked. These can’t be my eyes, she thought. These… are too clear. They’re too real. All of a sudden, in a dizzying rush, Angie realized, this is the real world. This is the real world! I can see again! But there was another thing… She turned around, facing her classmates, waiting. All of a sudden, Nancy beamed and clapped her hands together. “Oh, Angie! You look smart in them!” she exclaimed. “I do?” she asked, wonderingly. Gregor nodded his head, agreeing. “You look… nice in those.” “I do? I do!” and Angie couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief. Then she turned back again and slowly turned in a circle, drinking in all the details that had been so fuzzy before. I can see again… Joyce Chen, 13Missouri City, Texas Lydia Giangregorio, 12Gloucester, Massachusetts