In Nightmares We're Alone by Greg Sisco Read Free Book Online Page A

around stupidly and finally Mrs. Harris gets me around the waist and lifts me up and carries me out of the classroom.

    * * * * *

    Mrs. Harris yells at me for a few minutes in a janitor’s closet before she even sends me to the office. She tells me I’m not the only one with problems and I need to be respectful to everybody else in the class. Even when I try to protest and make her understand, she says there are channels available for me to go through but I can’t be immature and cause a disturbance like this and I should be ashamed of myself.
    She doesn’t care. None of the grown ups give a shit. Mommy, Mrs. Harris, Principal V. They’re all too caught up in their own lives to listen to anything a kid says. They think I’m a liar.
    The way I get chewed out by Mrs. Harris, I don’t even bother trying to explain myself to the nurse or the principal. I just agree with everything they say and if they ask why I did it I say, “Why not?”
    Because they don’t actually care why I did anything. They just want me to sit and be quiet and get good grades and make their jobs easy. Between a healthy kid and a quiet one, these school people would all pick the quiet one ten times out of ten. Why indulge them in their game where they pretend they care what’s wrong. They’re not asking “Why are you upset?” They’re asking “Why won’t you shut up?”
    I don’t say it, but the whole time they interrogate me, the phrase that keeps going through my head is fuck you.
    “You’ve been a fine student until recently. What happened to change that?”
    Fuck you, Mr. V. We’ve been over this.
    “Your sister never had problems in school. Why do you think that is?”
    Fuck you, Mrs. Harris. I’m not my sister.
    “What do you think would happen if everybody vented their problems the way you have been?”
    You know what I think, Mr. V? Fuck you. That’s what I think.
    Mommy’s got nothing to say anymore when they call her. She just sounds tired. Too tired to be mad, even. She says she’ll see me after school and maybe we’ll talk if we have anything to say.
    Mr. V says I’ll have to spend lunch in detention for the rest of the week and he hopes at the end of it I’ll be ready to talk about what’s happening.
    I’m ready to talk now. But all I have to say anymore is fuck you.

    * * * * *

    At lunch detention it’s just me and Martin and Mr. Rolfe. Mr. Rolfe is the scary teacher. He hates kids. It makes sense for him to be the teacher in charge of detention but I wonder if they asked him to do it or if he volunteered. I think he just likes to scare us.
    A couple times Martin tries to whisper something to me and Mr. Rolfe shouts, “No talking.”
    Maybe he doesn’t shout it exactly, but it’s a lot more stern than it needs to be.
    Once in a while I try to look back at Martin or even just to stretch my neck and Mr. Rolfe says, “Face forward.”
    I think Mr. Rolfe was in the military and he got bossed around a lot and teaching little kids is his revenge for all the abuse he took. I watched a movie about army guys with Sissy once and they all get bossed around a lot and told to face forward and not to talk. Mr. Rolfe never calls us maggots but otherwise it’s mostly the same thing.
    For about a minute during lunch break Mr. Rolfe leaves the classroom for one reason or another and as soon as he leaves Martin starts talking to me.
    “That was pretty hardcore today,” he says. “Dropping the f-bomb in class. That was awesome.”
    “I didn’t,” I say.
    “Yeah, you did. Maybe you didn’t notice. You were pretty mad.”
    “Hm.” I’m pretty sure he heard something that wasn’t there. Mrs. Harris never mentioned it. Then again she called me a little bitch when we were alone in the janitor’s closet so maybe that’s that collateral thing Sissy was talking about.
    “You think that doll will be back tonight?” he asks. “After you smashed its head off like that?”
    “I don’t know. Why are you here