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This writing was accepted for publication in the 96 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “Home at Last” Down in the Dirt (v123) (the May/June 2014 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book the Beaten Path (a Down in the Dirt Jan. - June 2014 collection book)		get the 372 page Jan. - June 2014 Down in the Dirt magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

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The Teacher

Caleb Holbrook

    This is bull. I think, writing down Mr. Brooks’ assignment. Thirty-seven algebra problems due tomorrow. Sure. Because there is nothing I’d rather do than spend four hours staring at a problem that makes less sense that a Chinese take-out menu. It’s bad enough the teachers don’t teach you jack, then they give out tests eight pages long. And Heaven forbid you fail the test. Then you get chewed out by some balding guy in a suit who ‘just wants to help.’ If Mr. Brooks thinks I’m gonna even look for the page number of my book, he’s got another thing coming.
    Finally the bell knells and I shuffle out of class, slinging my backpack over my right shoulder. I walk into English seven minutes late. Oh well, I couldn’t care less my glare says to the teacher, Mrs. Houle. And she doesn’t care either. Mrs. Houle has been teaching for fifty-nine years, she’s retiring at the end of this semester and stopped giving a damn back in January. Thank God, because most teachers would be all over me, lecturing about tardiness, and the effect it has on my education. Here we both ignore each other. It’s worked out pretty well so far. I walk in late, sit down in my seat and tune out Mrs. Houle as she drones on and on and on about dependent clauses or some crap. I pull out the latest The Magic Treehouse book I’ve been working through for the past few days. I only have about thirty pages left, maybe I can finish it before tonight and start a new one.
    These books are awesome. Each one takes place in a different place or time or whatever. My favorite was the one where they went to the Civil War. If Mrs. Maher could make History half as exciting as it is in The Magic Treehouse, maybe I could at least feign interest in her class.
    I’m so absorbed in my story I don’t realize class ended ten minutes ago. I finish the last page and look up. Great, just me and the old bird. She’s grading papers, so I try to sneak out before I’m noticed and told off for ignoring her during class.
    “Sam, a word please?” Dammit. My hand is on the door handle. Grudgingly, I about- face.
    “Yeah Mrs. Houle?”
    “I noticed that you were quite involved in that book you were reading.” Her voice is soft. Calming, not reprimanding.
    “Yeah, I- ah- sorry. Good book.” I hide my right hand, firmly clasping the book, behind my back. She can’t know what book it is. Even teachers can be known to laugh at students stupidness.
    “Why don’t you ever try in class? If you like reading, read my assignments!”
    “Because” Because I can’t understand half the crap they say in those books!
    “If the reading is too difficult we coul-”
    “It’s not too hard I just don’t like it.” I lock eyes with a floor tile. Why does the old bat even care all of a sudden?
    “Well alright then. Have a nice day.”
    Without a word I walk back to the door.
    “Oh, and Sam?”
    I turn, reaching my hand for the handle, and raise an eyebrow to Mrs. Houle.
    “I thought story where Jack and Annie visit the Titanic was very interesting”
    “Titanic?” I ask bewildered. “Oh, yeah.” She means The Magic Treehouse: Tonight on the Titanic. I remember that one. The main characters, Jack and Annie, are sent to the boat the night it sinks. Because the iceberg tore a hole bigger than the engineers ever intended. That why the unsinkable ship sank. I take my leave and recall the story as I trudge to my next class. There was something cool about the fourth smokestack being fake or something. Cool story. But if she thinks she can ‘reach out to me’ through the books, she may as well talk to a wall.
    I walk into History class and sit in my usual seat in the back corner. I can’t believe Mrs. Houle reads The Magic Treehouse. My mind wanders back to the story about the Civil War. There was some cool stuff in it, like some drummer boy who was too young to be in the army but was anyways. We’re actually studying the Civil War in class. Mrs. Maher is talking about the Battle of Fort Sumter. Boring stuff. Why does she have to ramble on and on about facts of death tolls and how many shots were fired. The Magic Treehouse is straight to the point.
    After class I head to the library. I walk through the scanners that go off when you don’t check out a book before leaving, and dump my book into the returns bin. The librarian smiles at me.
    “Looking for the next Magic Treehouse Sam?”
    “Sure. Umm, do you have any books about the Civil War?”
    “Well, yes, quite a few, there over on that shelf. We’re doing a feature of war books this month in honor of Veteran’s Day.”
    I look to the shelf. A whole lot of thick books, yellowed pages, and tons of tiny words. I scan the titles. They all look like adventure stories but it would take me months to get through one. Finally I see a book on the bottom shelf tucked into the corner. It’s one of those big books with the glossy pages meant to highlight a few points. I know kids who used these for book reports way back in second grade. If somebody saw me reading this, they’d mock me for being the idiot I am. I take it.
    “Did you find what you wanted?” asks the librarian.
    “Yeah, I did, thanks” I reply as I hand the book over the counter. The librarian rings it up, and gives it back. I quickly put the book in my backpack, and head to the bus.
    Later that night I pull out the book at the kitchen table. My mom walks over, and sees the cover.
    “Oh, Sam, thats a change” she says.
    “What? I can’t read other books?” I challenge. My God, why does she have to be such a bitch. I pick up the book and go downstairs to my room where I can read in peace.
    I flip through the pages, glancing at pictures of forts, diagrams of guns, and descriptions of uniforms. This book looks pretty interesting. I open the first page and begin reading. I only stop when Dad call me up for dinner. The book is really cool, and its not hard to understand. Those history books are like the freaking Encyclopedia Britannica with all these fifteen letter words in places where a three letter word would work.
    Later that night, after sorting through various web pages about Civil War technology, I see Mrs. Houle sent me an email. What the hell? What does the old bag want now?
    It’s a link to a web page. I click, and the page opens up. Sparknotes for the chapter of the book we’re supposed to be reading tonight. I never thought to look them up. These are like a short version of what happens in the book chapter by chapter. I know kids use it to cheat on the little quizzes some teachers give out to make sure everyone read the assignment the night before. I usually hand in blank papers.
    I scan through the paragraph, and the story seems pretty interesting. Some guy named George and Lennie working at a farm. The author certainly isn’t censored. I count like six curses. Cool, finally a guy who writes normal. I look over to my dresser, on top is where I tossed the book the day the class brought them home. I haven’t even opened it. Of Mice and Men the cover reads. Well the Sparknotes never mentioned any mice, but maybe its worth a shot. Tossing the book onto my bed I look back at the computer screen, and click on “Chapter 1”.

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