Another selection from the short story I recently finished, code-name "Thunder."
The thing about teaching summer school is that if you don’t do it right, it can take up almost as much time as the regular year. Sweat poured down my face as I stacked the last box. I had a second pile of tests downstairs, keeping the first stack company. I had a lesson to prepare, half a book to finish reading, and God only knows how many other things. But was I doing any of that?
No. Of course not.
Instead, I was in that cramped room, with the pink and blue border peeling, even though Bego had only put it up a couple months before. It was that old, nasty type of paper, the kind you had to brush glue onto before sticking it to the wall. I didn’t even think they sold it anymore. But Bego had some. And she just had to use it. Because, well, she’s Bego. And it was already peeling. It didn’t really matter now, I guess. We didn’t need it anymore. I didn’t need it anymore.