Page 106 - English_Spark_8

Mr Earl’s hands clenched slightly. Parker cringed as his teacher pushed away his desk.

Mr Earl almost never left his desk. Students came to him. He did not go to students
unless the infraction was terribly, terribly bad.

You, young man, are irresponsible. Remember our talk about responsibility on the first
day of school? He looked at each of his students, who nodded in turn. ‘Isn’t your book

in your desk where it belongs?’
‘No, sir,’ said Parker. How could he explain about the swirling dust, the pulsing red glow,

the sun’s pinpoint of light?
Of course, it is. That is where your books should always be. Everything in its place. A

place for everything. Isn’t that right? His question sounded like an accusation.
Parker nodded. ‘But my book isn’t there, Mr Earl’.

The teacher took two long strides and stood beside Parker’s desk. Before the boy could
speak, Mr Earl threw the desktop open. For a second, he stared into it. A white glow

reflected off his face. ‘‘What is this?’’ he said, as he reached towards the brightness.
‘Careful, Mr Earl,’ Parker started to say,

but it was too late.
The teacher screeched before

lurching against the desk. He went
down quickly, his feet vanishing

into the desk last.
A long silence filled the room.

Parker stood up and walked
back to his desk.

The sun within had grown,
its heat baking like a tiny

oven. He closed the top,
which snapped down hard

on its own at the last moment.
The other students hadn’t

moved. Parker looked at them.
They looked at him. Over the intercom, a bell softly chimed.

‘Recess,’ said Parker, and they all ran outside to play.
—JAMES VAN PELT

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