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Published at 5:11pm
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Miss Marble is in a slight panic. After the last bell rings, she notices that Buddy, the lanky black boy with awkward limbs and rheumy eyes, does not rush to the back of the room to grab his worn-looking backpack.
The boy does not stand the way he usually does, slow, glaring, his shoulders peaked like an unspoken threat, to go put on his enormous jacket. He only sits there at his desk, the desk that is too small for a boy his size, a boy who should have finished sixth grade at the end of last year, or so Miss Marble has been told a number of times, both by her principal, Mrs. Warner, and the other teachers who all sit around the faculty room smoking through their tears.
Buddy has been a problem all year even though it is only October and the school year has just been a little more than two months or so. Miss Marble—Ellen, as is her given name—suddenly pretends to be busy. She decides to clean off the chalkboard, hoping the boy will just make himself disappear. Please just leave. Please just leave, Miss Marble thinks to herself, then feels guilty for thinking such a thought, then looks up at Buddy, and his unreadable, unfamiliar expression, at which point she feels panicked all over again. Please just leave. Please just leave.
When Miss Marble turns, facing the blackboard, she can feel the boy’s stern eyes moving up and down her spine. She can feel his stare boring into the back of her neck. She quickly glances over her shoulder and sees he is still just sitting there, staring up at her without any expression at all, his mouth slightly agape, his hands gripping the desktop the way they usually do, as if at any moment he might just let go, collapsing onto the floor in a tangle of odd angles and loose-fitting clothes.
