In class, the sharp trilling of the telephone
cuts through the teacher’s rambling, ranting lecture.
Every dull-eyed student wants to be the One.
The one called for.
The Hobbit sent out of the Shire of Chemistry class
to go on an unexpected journey
through the poorly-decorated corridors
of some suburban high school.
Every student but me.
“Miss Horvath, they want to see you in room A032.”
My heart stops.
Well, I wish it did.
The dull eyes, suddenly interested, turn to me.
Dry-mouthed, I descend to the front of the room,
the pass to see She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named looming.
I leave the safety of the classroom,
step into the dragon’s lair they call her office,
meet her Death Eater of a secretary,
find myself escorted by lotion-ed claws
to a specific layer of the Inferno.
There are no windows.
There is no escaping.
Motivational posters litter the walls.
The “hang in there” cat is crooked.
How can they give a degree
to a woman who can’t hang posters?
How can I tell her my secrets?
This wouldn’t fly at Hogwarts.
The woman herself watches me,
forked tongue and all.
She looks like a princess.
In the evil monarch way.
Trying-too-hard blonde,
malicious mud-colored eyes,
disgusting pink dress,
clunking heels-
“How are you today?”
A toothy grin assesses me
and I swear I see fangs
as she tries to devour my mind.
Not a careful, gentle dissection, no-
a bloody, cannibalistic slaughtering.
“How do you feel?”
She repeats.
Beam me up, Scotty-
no intelligent life here.
Sarah to Enterprise,
come in, Enterprise!
“Er, I’m fine.”
I mumble at the neon Stick-It notes
cloaking her desk.
They bear the names of victims before me-
Joey the schizophrenic at 9:30
Emily the drama queen at 10:00
Mike the trouble child at 10:30
An orange one bears my name.
Sarah the sociopath at 11:00
“I’ve heard some interesting things about you.”
I raise an eyebrow.
She can’t break me.
I stay silent.
“I’m here to help.”
Dammit, Jim! I’m a student, not a psychopath!
“I don’t need help.”
She’ll never believe me.
They never do.