I had heard the stories about Mr. Harris, my new history teacher, long before I even entered Carver High School. My sister's friends would always talk about his particular weirdness whenever they would get together. His slicked-back hair, his strange clothes, and the permanent scowl that always seemed to be stuck on his face. I was looking forward to every aspect of entering ninth grade except the possibility of being in his class. I tried to push thoughts of this man out of my head as I compared the three outfits on my bed. Should I go all out on the first day, or save the mini-skirt for later on in the week?
I probably won't even see Joshua today, I thought. He always ditches the first day of school.
So I turned my attention back to the outfits and decided to go with the jeans and boots. The silver cross necklace that Dad gave me would go nice. I pulled a slick flowing blouse out of my closet and a denim vest and headed downstairs.
Mom would be downstairs, making breakfast for, like, the only time in the year. She's been okay, except a little in my business since Dad left. In fact, I was looking forward to bacon and eggs for once instead of toaster waffles. One last check of my hair in the hall mirror, and I walked into the kitchen with a flourish.
No bacon. No eggs. No Mom.
Where is she? I wondered, as I pulled the Eggo box out of the freezer. While my two waffles were in the toaster oven, I looked around. I went into Mom's room. I looked in her bathroom. I looked in the garage.
Her car was gone.
This isn't like her. Why wouldn't she be here on the first day of high school? I became a bit nervous.
When I returned to the kitchen, I finally saw the note stuck to the refrigerator. I pulled the orange juice and syrup out and looked it over.
"Honey, had to go run some errands in town. We'll talk about your first day when I get home tonight. Mom"
Wow, I thought. Chatty.
I grabbed my red backpack hanging in the front hallway and went through the kitchen into the garage. There she was. The parting gift from my father. I guess he thought it would make me not hate him. He was kind of right. This was my dream machine. A dragon red Vespa scooter. It really went well with my outfit. I would even go so far as to say I purposely picked this backpack to go with the scooter. Sadly, I wouldn't be driving her to school. I still had a little over a year before I would be able to get my license. But at least Mom let me drive it around the neighborhood sometimes. I just know I would get busted if I took it all the way to school.
But Mom wasn't there, was she? She had decided to "run errands" instead of dropping me off on the first day. Hmmm...
Nope. I decided it wasn't worth the risk. I would just drool over her every now and again and suffer through another two birthdays. I set the alarm and scooted out under the closing garage door and into the morning light.
YOU ARE READING
My Teacher is History
ParanormalAmber is just starting high school and begins to notice some strange things about her new history teacher.