When We Seared The Sky

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

I Declare War

Brrrrring.

The bell for the end of class rang through the halls of Tranquillity High School, cutting the language lesson short as the twenty-five or so students all breathed a deep sigh of relief. Amongst them was Sam Witwicky, and his was, quite possibly, the loudest of the grateful groans.

He quickly shoved his workbooks into his backpack as Mrs. Lopez, his beloved Spanish teacher, began to rant at the top of her thickly accented voice, switching from English to Spanish in a way that was far more annoying than he could ever have thought possible from a woman that wasn't even five feet tall. She was small, but her voice was louder than Ironhide's during target practise - but twice as annoying, what with the shrillness of it.

"I am the one who dismisses you, niños, not that bell!" she barked, glaring at them all with her beady brown eyes. "Samuel Witwicky, put those books away! Sit back in your seats - immediatamente! And that includes you, Señorita Banes!"

Sam rolled his eyes and put his dictionary back on the desk.

He didn't hate Mrs. Lopez because she was Spanish - as she frequently claimed was the reason the entire class despised her. He hated her because of her personality. If she wasn’t screaming something incoherent at them in her native language and making a huge effort not to teach them anything, she was patrolling the corridors and making an equally huge effort not to let people enjoy themselves.

After a moment, she gave them a sour scowl and pursed her wrinkled lips. "Very well... now vete, all of you!"

Oh, the many ways he could think of to kill Mrs. Lopez.

Grabbing his backpack, he swung it onto his shoulders and dashed for the door in an attempt to be the first out of the door; however, in doing so, he managed to knock the elderly little woman's arm just slightly in his haste. And although he made a valiant attempt to escape and pretend he hasn't noticed... apparently he hadn't moved quite fast enough.

“Samuel Witwicky!” the deranged teacher screeched like a banshee and he came to a skidding halt in the corridor, groaning. “Get back here, chico!”

Groaning, he cupped his forehead in one hand. “Primus, man...” he muttered.

Then mentally kicked himself for letting the Autobots do this to his vocabulary.

“What did you say?” Mrs. Lopez demanded, striding out of the classroom and glaring up at him from where she stood from somewhere near his waist. Her greying black hair seemed to crackle with furious energy as she narrowed her eyes behind the lenses of her horn-rimmed glasses. “I sincerely hope you weren’t being rude, Samuel Witwicky?”

“No, Señora Lopez!” he denied vehemently, attempting to sound wounded at the suggestion. “I would never do that!”

There were two teachers he really could not stand in the school – Mr. Speller, the math teacher, and the little old lady that stood in front of him. His mother had somehow forced him into taking Spanish, claiming that it would 'help him get into a good college' and the like, but it had to be the most supreme waste of his valuable time since he had gone to Ironhide and asked whether he could use one of his cannons to kill Trent - the answer had been the loudest 'no!' he had ever heard.

Her shrivelled brown face tightened in apparent frustration, her eyebrows knitting together furiously. “Sam, I am getting old, and do not appreciate being knocked over by mad teenagers. Where are your manners? In Spain, we have great respect for those that are –”