Chapter 4

Chapter 4

In Algebra, we turned in the ridiculous worksheet that we had to do. I missed maybe six or seven problems, but it was out of one hundred so I was happy with it. Mrs. Higgins didn’t give us any assignments in math, probably trying to let us recover from yesterday. I chuckled under my breath. Mrs. Dameson had given us more of a gift than she knew.

Then was History. We turned in our assignments on time, and Mrs. Lancaster gave us kudos and marked us off as one hundred. Yet again we had no homework. For most of the class, the eight of us sat together and discussed the airsoft war on Friday.

Afterwards was recess. This was sure to be interesting, having football so soon after a fight. Normally, the sevies would have declined to play us, but they were in good humor; we had taken all of the punishment, if you can call it that. Both sides agreed to play the game without aggression. Despite that, the game was still interesting.

There weren’t many fouls, and we ended up winning the first recess, 2-1.

Afterwards was Language. We turned in the Vocabulary and the teacher gave us full marks. Again, she let us off the hook to recuperate. I was thrilled. Is she actually giving us a day off? Again?

Lunch rolled around, and I ate one of the McDonald’s meals that they sell at school. I shared the fries with the others while we discussed the battle on Friday. As I walked to get a drink, I noticed that the sevies were doing the same. Don’t think they’ll be less prepared. Some of them have been to Luke’s in previous battles. They’ll know the place, too.

At second recess, almost the same pattern followed as the last. The main difference being that I caught the winning touchdown ball when it bobbled out of one of my classmate’s hands. I was the hero of that game, and we won 3-2.

Afterwards were the last two classes of the day: Literature and Science. We again were let off with no homework, and again discussed the battle. We were going to be entirely ready for this battle. We were going to win.

It was a fun day, even if it wasn’t very noteworthy. We went home with smiles yet again.


I again had no homework, and I decided to go to the gym this time. My system for a workout was just lift a third of the max weight. It always gave me a pretty good exercise. After this, I rode home tired out. Jess, Mom, and Dad were all back home. I walked in to find dinner well on its way. I took a shower and changed for dinner.

It was Trailer Trash Night; there was chicken-fried steak, chicken-fried chicken, a sausage gravy for the two, homemade macaroni and cheese, and a jello dessert. All in all, it was delicious. We saved some of the leftovers for my older brother, who was coming home on Thursday.

Before practicing piano, I asked Dad whether or not he had heard of The Screwtape Letters. It turns out that he actually owned the book in his library. He lent the book to me eagerly, happy to find me reading, as he said, good literature.

After piano I watched TV and shuffled into bed when the time came. As I scurried under the covers, I grabbed the book from my nightstand and read the intro. I laughed, as I read of the priest who accused it of being “diabolical”.
I spent most of the night reading the book, which was very interesting. It was about, or rather, from the viewpoint of, devils. Wormwood was a young, inexperienced devil that received many letters of advice from his wizened uncle, Screwtape.

Each letter told about certain aspects of humanity, that the devils used to trick them and tempt them. It pointed at how religion unintentionally could harbor arrogance and sin. Even more interesting was the thesis that a human’s emotions undulated, from troughs to peaks, both of which could be used against them. The subtle ways that they tempted and tricked a human were almost believable. I read almost ten of the letters that night ‘til about midnight. I took a look at the author’s name- C. S. Lewis.

Hey, what do you know? It’s that guy who wrote the Narnia series. I didn’t know he wrote stuff like this. But there was something else in that name. I scrambled out of bed and picked up the scrap from my desk. C.S. Lewis. Conner S. Laneson. CSL? The two authors had the exact same initials. Coincidence? Probably. But could it be the same author? Was this in fact a sample of the red books teachings? And if it was, then why would my principal be reading “diabolical” psychology books?

I paced the room, thinking hard. As for C. S. Lewis, it didn’t seem entirely unlikely that he would have a background in psychology. It wouldn’t surprise me after reading the letters.

As I stopped pacing and sat down on the bed, I realized that I was exhausted. This is more important than sleep! I tried to tell myself. Another voice said Quite. In fact, it is too important to think about without a full night of sleep. I chuckled, recognizing the method from the book. I laid down in my bed, set my alarm, and fell asleep dreaming of tomorrow.

I awoke to the sound of music, and it would be drawing a fine line to determine whether or not it was lulling me back into sleep or pulling me from it. I lifted my head up to see Mr. Brightside blasting out of the stereo. I pulled myself away from my bed yet again and climbed into the shower, leaving the music on. The warm water and steam woke me up quite well as the stereo burned through more of my Killers music. As I got dressed, I grabbed my Ipod and put on my headphones, so as to continue my playlist through the morning.

I prepared a bagel for breakfast while my Ipod finished my Killers and moved on to a Ben Folds Five song. I chomped my breakfast down and went upstairs to the tune of Taking Care of Business by BTO. I got my backpack still listening. I hooked the music player back up to the stereo and waited for the song to finish before I continued out of the house. The song still rang in my ears when I got there.


When I walked into the gymnasium to greet my friends, I couldn’t help but notice the affect of my presence. Every head turned, every mouth quieted. Immediately. I looked around the room in confusion. This was not a normal Thursday mood. As I tried to ignore the gaping eyes, I strode over to Mark.

“Dude, what’s going on?” I whispered to him. A few of the heads began to turn away. Apparently I was only a momentary distraction.

“I hate to tell you this, but Mrs. Dameson’s got a grudge on you. She’s been waiting to talk to you in detail about the fight. She hasn’t yet because she’s been in a lot of mud with school renovations, meetings, the normal busy week.”

“And why did I just learn this while everybody else has heard?” I looked around. Nobody was staring at me anymore, but the impression of those faces were still implemented in my head.

“Complicated really,” He explained, “You know how that Larry kid in our class is related to Mrs. Dameson?” I nodded. “Well, I guess Larry somehow over heard his mother talking to Mrs. D.”

Just then, the bell rung, and I shuffled up to class in amazement. I would’ve been anxious, but I was too stunned really. When I walked past the huge map of the world as usual, I heard people muttering. There’s that kid that started the fight on Monday. He’s in for it now. I absentmindedly went through my first two subjects when the call came. I watched Mrs. Lancaster put down the phone and call out my name. I felt almost numb. I staggered out of the room and hobbled past the huge map again to the office.

I opened the door to her office, and Mrs. D’s secretary handed me a clipboard and pointed me to a seat. I looked at the worksheet on it. I finished it quickly as the adrenaline rush boosted my writing. As I scrawled down my answers, I was able to draw some vague similarities between it and some of the concepts described in Screwtape. I noticed that the questions, and for that matter, most of what I had heard in school, emphasized the importance of education. But it almost intentionally blurred the difference between the schools authority and the valuable education. It was always suggesting that if the concept was good, the source must be good. And if the source was good, the rest of sources rules should be followed.

Almost all the way through the worksheet, the bell for second recess rung and the kids came in. Many of them stared in at me as if a zoo creature. I had had a lot of that today. I ignored them and tried to finish my work, but all the while, I mused as to why I hadn’t heard any bells for first recess. I guessed it had something to do with the talent show. Was the talent show today? Ah crud. I was supposed to play piano today. What rotten luck.

I drew one further observance before Mrs. Dameson came in. As I looked at the worksheet, I was admiring my finished work when I saw a company logo and name on the bottom right hand corner. Fly-ed. It had a picture of a book with wings. To distract me further from the inevitable, I looked out the window. It was gray out, but there was not a drop of moisture on the window.

Mrs. Dameson stormed into her office. The first several moments revealed that this would not be anything like my previous encounters with her. She was usually friendly and “disappointed” at most. The truth was, her venom came from her punish-ments, not her encounters. That was how it was most of the time.

Not this time.

“So this is the little brat who started the fight, eh?” she half yelled to nobody in particular.

“Uh…” I stuttered, “W-We already talked about this.”

She gave me a look as though I had cursed at her. She motioned me into her office. I scuffled in and took a seat. As she glared at me lividly, she asked me, “Why did you start that riot?”

“It wasn’t a riot, it was just-“

“Answer the question!” She yelled.

“I, uh…” I was going to have to decide how to go through this now. I could either act sorry and lie, or be sincere and take the consequences. And I decided. “I did it because of the sevies.”

“Ah, but the blame still lies in you for-“

“No it does not! They antagonize me and antagonize me, and if we respond, we get in trouble from you or the teachers! What I did was self-defense and-“

“YOU MAY NOT INTERRUPT ME!” She screamed. There was a three-secod pause. “It was your fault and you shouldn’t put the blame on others!”

“Fine!” I yelled. “But I’m not sorry!”

“WHAT? You better keep your mouth shut, boy, or I may lose my temper.”

“I’m not sorry! Any honorable boy would’ve done the same thing in my position. What was I supposed to do when they
kept pushing me around?”

“Tell a teacher!”

“No! That’s not by any means being honorable! If I’ll teach them a lesson, I’ll do it myself! Come to think of it, you
teachers don’t teach quite as well as you claim-“

“SILENCE YOURSELF!” She now stood up and pointed her finger at me.

I folded my arms and waited for the worst. Hit me with you best shot, you jackass. I can take it all. She breathed deeply; she sounded as if she was steaming. She stood in the same position for nearly a minute. Suddenly her face changed. Her
originally livid face curled into an awkward smile. She said to me out loud, “Don’t worry. I will. I already have.”


As I sat, stunned, the scene slowed down. She smiled, and tried to grab her drink, but she knocked it over in the process. She yelled for the secretary, and she was in within a moment to help clean up the mess. “Oh what a mess” “And all over my diary” “I’m so sorry for the trouble” she said in increments. Obviously she was no longer enraged. The bell rang. While still rather dazed, I saw my opportunity. I rushed out of the office and out the front door. I heard Mrs. Dameson scream behind me. I ran as fast as I could to my bike on the rack, and I was soon desperately dialing the numbers into my bike lock.

As I finally unhooked my bike after what seemed like minutes, I backed it out of the bike rack and looked toward the front door. Mrs. Dameson was twenty feet away from me, walking toward me with a strong stride. As I pedaled furiously, I looked back again. She was ten feet from me, and running now. I moved my feet faster, and was soon at her speed. I looked behind again. Five feet. With an extra boost of fearful adrenaline, I finally began putting distance on her. She lunged at me. She was truly only a few centimeters off, but she missed and only caught grass.

As I rode out from the school, I looked back again to see Mrs. Dameson, cursing wildly at me as I disappeared from view.