Short Stories

Shoe Swear

The Shoe Swear:

The bell chimes throughout the halls of the Courtney High School. Second period is over, now for the dreaded third period.

        I despise of third period, everyone that is in that class does as well. The class is taught by a teacher who is called Ms. Finnegan, she is the most ruthless, harsh, remorseless teacher I have ever encountered throughout my several years of school.

            The class she teaches is History, I honestly don’t mind history, but she makes it unbearable. With her beady narrow eyes and gray choppy hair, ugh, she is absolutely terrible. I swear she eats souls of her failed students for breakfast.

        I exit my math class and enter the now crowded halls, students swarming and shoving each other to get to their destination. Thankfully, History is adjacent to Algebra. No one wants to get a tardy, we would have to deal with Principal Barney, not the purple dinosaur, the principal is the complete opposite of that friendly purple creature.

            I enter the classroom and a chill instantly starts sinking into my bones, I shiver at the cold. I take my usual seat in the front, away from the nasty, obnoxious, boys in the back of the class.

            One by one students come in the room that is known as Hell itself, I see goose bumps form on their skin as well. Thank God it’s not just me.

The bell chimes once again, and then enters the spawn of Satan herself, Ms. Finnegan.

            “Good morning, class,” she announces, we say nothing. She stops in her tracks and turns to the cluster of children sitting before her in trashed desks. “I said, good morning, class,” she repeats in a growl, everyone replies good morning in mumbles, except me. Her beady eyes are scanning the crowd of unlucky children. They, unfortunately enough, land on me.

            “Tori?” she asks, “are you deaf this morning?” I decided to play along, “What did you say, Ms. Finnegan? I can’t hear you.” Some of the students snicker in the back. The teachers’ head snaps up, she points her fingers at the two people who made the noise. “I will see you in detention, Mr. Johnson and Ms. Moore.”

        They groan in compliant, “I’m sorry? Did I just hear a Saturday detention calling your name?” Ms. Finnegan cups her ear to elaborate.

            “I don’t know Ms. Finnegan, I don’t hear anything, you might want to get your ears checked.” I say nonchalantly.

            She shoots me a glare, “Ms. Hanson, may I remind you that this is my classroom, you should not treat me with such disrespect.”

            “And may I remind you,” I shoot back, “that I’m not married, or an adult, so you shouldn’t address me as one.”

        She takes a step closer to my desk, as if she’s about to lunge at me. I wouldn’t be surprised is she did. I’ve been giving her crap like this since day one.

        “Right you are, Tori,” she snarls, “right you are.”

        “You are ready said that,” I remark. Her eyes squint behind her spectacles, the light shining off them, making beams of brightness attack the wall.

        “What can I do to make you shut your filthy mouth?” Ms. Finnegan exclaims in disgust. “I honestly don’t know,” I reply, “but have fun trying!” I add, appending a fake sarcastic smile to my face.

            She chuckles darkly at this, “Do I have to inform the Principal about your disturbances and misbehavior in class?”

        My eyes go wide in fear at her comment. Of course it was a rhetorical question, but being the moron I am, I answer it anyways, this can’t be on my permanent record.

“        No! I promise, I swear I won’t give you any more problems, just please don’t call the Principal!”

            She cackles like an evil witch from the old movies, “Are you kidding me?” she exclaims, “Seriously? Now you want to stop fooling around and stop being the disruptive child you are?”

        “Yes, I do. I swear I won’t give you any more trouble! Just please don’t tell the Principal!”

            She stops laughing like a manic that she is for a moment and considers a certain thought of hers. “What would you swear on?” she asks, “Your pathetic mother’s life? The Bible? Your existence? Tell me, Tori,” she taunts, “What do you swear on?”

        I take a deep breath and answer the dearest thing that matters most to me in the world.

        “My shoes.”

            A couple of kids snigger, I expect Ms. Finnegan to bark at them to shut their dirty mouths, yet she continues to stare at me in disbelief.

        “Your shoes? What use are they? They’re just things that clothe your feet,” she says, clearly confused by my answer.

        “You see, Ms. Finnegan. These are my favorite shoes, and the only pair that I have,” I click my black sneakers to elaborate, “and if I swear on these and break this vow of ours then I would have to walk these halls of Courtney High School barefoot, and probably get an infection one day.”

        She looks at me as if I just offered her to go up into space with a pink giraffe while listening to Nicki Minaj song; in other words, as if I’m insane.

I break the silence that has collected in the classroom, I raise my right hand in the process, “I, Tori Hanson, swear on these black Ked shoes, and if I break this vow I will never wear these shoes again.”

        Ms. Finnegan says nothing in response to this. All I hear are the surrounding students breathing in oxygen and transforming it into carbon dioxide.

        Finally Ms. Finnegan speaks up, “Alright, Ms. Hanson, but if I see you even slip up once, making a snide remark under your breath, or talking back, I will know, and your life at Courtney High will be over.”

        All I do is nod at her words, contemplating if what she said was considered a threat or not, but I honestly don’t care, I’m off the hook.

        “Alright.” I reply. That’s when the bells blares through the speakers signaling that yet another period has come to an end.

        Some students manage to slip out of the classroom. Ms. Finnegan’s eyes are still on me, which makes me quiet frightened. “You’re dismissed,” she announces. That’s when bundles of students rise from their chairs and bolt out the door. “I’ll be watching you,” I hear Ms. Finnegan’s voice say under her breath, yet my ears are young enough to pick up on it. I don’t say anything in reply to this.

 ***

Once I’m out in the hallway, I look down to my shoes that are sworn upon. I click them together, and head off on my way to Science class, the last period of the day. My toes jam at the tip of my shoes while I walk down the hallway, as they are too small. Jokes on Ms. Finnegan, I think to myself, I’m getting another pair, of yet these exact same shoes tomorrow.

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