Battle Royale: The Blood of The Lambs

Where's Mr. Tyson?

Chapter Two

I stumble into homeroom, whipping my arm around swiftly and slamming the door shut. "Thank God," I  say with relief. I rest my forehead on the door, letting out a sigh. Was he being serious just now? I've been tardy quite a few times, but this is the first where I've actually feared for my life when caught. Chatter still goes on behind me. It seems as dramatic as my entrance was, I wasn't very noticed. Good.

I turn around and lean on the door. Faces still stare at me -- most of them made up of my friends -- and all I do is shake my head. "Don't ask," I say. I walk over to the far side of the room where my friend, Joan, sits. I slump down in the seat next to hers, exhausted. Turning my head towards hers, she still stares at me in bewilderment. "What," I ask, slightly annoyed. She scoffs, disgusted by my tone. "You're really going to come dashing in here like Indiana Jones and expect us not to ask what happened," she questions. 

"I-it's just Mr. Simmons being a creep... as usual." I say this with an uncomfortable laugh. She stares at me with a funny look lingering on her face. "You sure, Lui?" Her eyebrows raise with a hint of concern. Once again, I laugh to assure her -- and maybe myself -- that everything is fine "Joan, I'm OK! Just chill!" The way I force it  out sounds so unnatural;  even to me. However, it somehow gets her out of my hair. "Uhh, OK then," she says. With the shake of the head, she turns around to another conversation. They begin confessing their hate for some British boy band, leaving me to my thoughts.

I can't help but to continue thinking about Mr. Simmons. Sure, he's always been freaky, but I've never known him to be so... confrontational. And what exactly did he mean by, " Even if it kills you."? Is he the homicidal maniac everyone says he is? As my many thoughts twirl about, one question happens to gnaw at the back of my head. The curiosity it holds becomes consuming, and what's on my mind is eventually forced out of my mouth. "Where's Mr. Tyson?" I accidentally ask this too loudly. Everyone, in the midst of their conversations, turn and face me; Joan included. "What," she asks.

"Where's Mr. Tyson?" I repeat.

"We've been in here for 10 minutes and he hasn't even showed his face." 

Everyone looks up to the front of the room to stare at an empty desk. Murmurs erupt as everyone comes to the same realization, and they shrug without a clue as to where he might be. "I saw him this morning," somebody near the door says. It's Charlie Rivers. He and I used to be really good friends back in 8th grade, but we kind of drifted apart once we hit high school. He'd found a place with the band kids, and I sort of settled in with the soccer team. Also, with girls taking such an interest in him, we rarely ever had time to hang out. We acknowledge each other in the hallway, but that's usually it for us in terms of being social. "When I was coming in from the parking lot," He continues. "He was just sitting in his car, staring at the school."

"Really? Why?" asks Joan.

"I have no idea, but it was crazy creepy," replies Charlie. " I waved to him, but all he did was just stare in my direction. He looked sort of... out of it. Like he was about to do something crazy."

We're all baffled at this point. This did not sound like Mr. Tyson at all. He was one of the good teachers. Somebody we talked to if we needed a friend. He'd never be one to ignore a student.This place was his life, and he loved everyone here.

"That doesn't make any sense," I finally voice. "Mr. Tyson is always happy to come here and see us."

"Maybe he finally split with his bimbo of a girlfriend," says somebody in the back of the room. A few kids chuckle at this, temporarily breaking the barrier of silence in the room.

"Even if he did call it quits with her, he'd still probably come to school. He's just that type of guy," I say. Others nod in agreement, knowing this just as well as I do. 

"Maybe we should go look for him," suggests Joan.

I think back to Simmons in the hallway, and instantly rule out that idea. "I don't think we need to do anything. Knowing Mr. Tyson, he's probably just a little delayed. He'll be here s-"

"OH MY GOD!" A girl by the window let's out a ear-piercing shriek as she jumps out of her seat. Looking at her bounce up and down in horror, I almost don't notice them; But then again, they're hard to miss. Moving through the parking lot, covered in black from head to toe, are 6 men. And in their hands, they hold long, shiny, black firearms. The girls' screaming suddenly mutes as she hits the floor, triggering the class to erupt in a cry of terror.