Short Stories

10. The Blue Wig of 2014

The bell rang, signalling the end of school. While all the 7 year olds in other classes let out shrieks of joy, II - C was sitting quitely.

Because Bessie Broadfoot was their teacher, and she did not tolerate anything childish. In fact, she didn't believe in anything.

Except studying, that is. That, she believed in with her life. So she continued writing problems of addition and subtraction on the board

"Blasted sadist," Steve muttered under his breath as he doodled Harry the Hairless Hobgoblin on the corner of his square lined notebook.

Cedric, who was paying attention to the class for the first time in weeks, turned around with a look of admiration. "That's a cool word."

Steve couldn't supress the self-satisfied grin, and it bloomed on his lean, young face."Mycroft says it all the time"

Cedric leaned in, pushing his unruly blond hair away from his eyes. "Speaking of which, do you still want to pull The Hat on your sister?"

Steve looked away. He wasn't actually sure. She was still a little demon, but Sienna had cancelled her trip to the USA. Dad had to go for an urgent trip alone. And now the stakes were too high.

Cedric waited for him to answer. It was quite a nice quality actually, not pestering when you can clearly see that your friend is thinking. Not everyone had the patience. Most wanted only their answers and the general desire to stick their nose in others' business.

Take Ms Broadfoot, for example.

"Trevino!"

Instinctively, Cedric stood up. 

Ms Broadfoot gave Cedric the glare through her horn-rimmed glasses. Frizzy brown hair was all over her head, giving her a deranged and mad look. "Where was your attention?"

"On the board, Miss."

A Melanie-Hammie-glare was shot Cedric's way. 

The poor girl had left the school on the very first day, when she had stammered in front of Ms Broadfoot, and the teacher had shot the legendary glare on Hammie. She had burst into tears and had ran away.

"Indeed?" She turned to Steve, "Hopkins, were you paying attention?"

Steve stood up, too. "Yes, Miss."

"Then tell me, if I have 10 chocolates and I divide it equally among you and Trevino," Ms Broadfoot began, her eyes glimmering behind her glasses. The class seemed to recoil as she started the question. Nobody wanted to be in the line of fire. "then take back 3 from Trevino and 4 from you, how many will you have with you in the end? "

Steve didn't speak. The moment she had uttered 'divide', his brain had shut down. 

Sun shone through the tall window, and shone painfully bright on Steve's face, warming it up. It warmed his cheeks and neck more than other parts. He felt stupid for not knowing the answer, but his brain had gone blank. Numb.

"Your Dad shouldn't have fired the cook. Now I have to feed a brainless boy."

"Well, Hopkins?"

"With these grades, Steven—with these grades you can't even polish some shoes. Go learn to cook. That's probably the only option for you. If your puberty doesn't hit, which I hope it won't, we can pass you off as a girl. An ugly girl."

"Many, Miss."

Ms Broadfoot turned her hawk-like eyes from Steve to Cedric. "Many isn't an answer, Trevino. This is maths. You have to give the answer in numbers."

Cedric grinned in the only way he knew—cheekily. "By many, I meant," he glanced at Steve who was still staring resolutely at the ground, "30."

Ms Broadfoot's eyes flashed.  "30, Mr Trevino?"

Cedric shrugged. "Even if you take back all the chocolates, I have loads at home. It won't hurt to give Steve some of it."

"And what if I took all your chocolates—the ones at home, too?"

Cedric deflated, his eyes widening in horror and the smile slipping away at the thought. And then, just as abruptly as he had shrinked, he inflated and grinned again.

"You can't. I have loads," he said.

The arrogance of a pampered boy was always hated by many, but Steve found this one fine.

Ms Broadfoot's eyes flashed again. She didn't like arrogant, pampered boys. "Trevino, Hopkins! Come here."

The grin vanished from Cedric's face, and he threw Steve a look. 

Oops, it said.

"Now!" she barked.

Both the boys shuffled to her desk. The other kids watched silently, each glad that Ms Vulture hadn't posed the question to them.

Ms Broadfoot pulled out her ruler. The thickest and sharpest one. "Hands!"

Reluctantly, both the boys presented their hands.

The ruler came down fast. It cut and stung their soft skin. Both tried to keep their face blank, but failed spectacularly. However, neither cried.

If they knew one thing, it was that there was only one thing Ms Broadfoot despised more than arrogant, pampered, mischievous kids who talked back—arrogant, pampered, mischievous kids who cried.

That, and kids in general.

But when the fifteenth blow came down on their hand—that was it. Neither of them was sure who did it, but the fact remained that Ms Broadfoot's wig turned blue, and the tips singed. Smoke came from her wig.

"Smokin' hot," Steve whispered to Cedric. It was also a phrase often used by  Mycroft. What it meant, neither Cedric nor Steve knew until later on, but it sure did crack smiles on their faces.

When all  the kids giggled, Ms Broadfoot learned something was wrong. She also realised what exactly was wrong, but by then it was too late. Cedric and Steve had dashed out with their bags.

The Principal did catch them outside, but he was too joyous a man to punish two lively boys, so he gave them slips that would inform their parents of their misdeeds, and let them run.

The boys jogged back home—they had missed the bus—each with a complaint slip, red hands and muddy uniform.

And it didn't matter how much their hands hurt that day because for the boys it was a proper job.

To Cedric, at least, it was.

For Steve, it meant much, much more.

~*~*~*~*~13 November 2021 ~*~*~*~*~

A/N: Ced and Steve are always talking about The Blue Wig of 2014, so I thought, why not write it down? And now I have immortalized it. Doesn't matter if you remember it after reading or not, in some corner of your brain, it will forever remain (wow, that rhymed.)

By the way, I suppose you found the phrase 'that became it' pretty odd? Even if you didn't, then let me assure you, I made that phrase. I initially wrote 'that was it', but then the double meaning hit me. That was it. That became it. Get it? No?

EDIT: I changed 'that became it' because it made no sense. 

*sigh*

Anyway, I sure hope you enjoyed it. Your comments will be waited for by me. Vote if you liked, don't if you didn't.

~Anony