Prologue

A big headed bully takes a shot to the side of his noggin for messing with the new kid.

Fight a Snake Like a Snake… Prologue

 

 

“Arizona?” questioned the snarky Loudmouth. “That’s the biggest d********g name ever. You make Justin Beiber look like Lil Wayne. Why are you such an epic-f*g?”

 

Wonderful!  Why do I have to be the new kid named Arizona in Arizona? Even I know it sounds retarded.

 

Group work again, at a table of four with two mutes and Loudmouth. Why'd Mr. Keele put me with these idiots? The mutes stared with unblinking eyes, awaiting Arizona’s response, prompting him to question whether they could talk at all.

 

Loudmouth a smart bully, with a "loud" personality, knew how to harass and to torment victims with a snake-like and faux-friendly voice. He delivered insults with hushed whispers and a false smile, so when overheard teachers assumed it harmless banter.

 

“The teacher wants you,” Arizona hitched his thumb in the direction of Mr. Keele, two tables away.

 

Loudmouth looked over.  With a lightening strike, Arizona punched Loudmouth's huge head. His fist struck Loudmouth’s ear, and Arizona didn’t even move from his chair; fight a snake like a snake. I've spent too long being afraid! I will not be bullied.

 

“Ouch!” Loudmouth yelled, now a classroom sideshow.

 

Mr. Keele's stare bore a hole through the boys. Meanwhile, Arizona declared his innocence by gripping his pencil and writing.

 

“What’s wrong?’ Why are you making a scene?” Mr Keele moved in like an alpha wolf.

 

Uh-oh "scary Keele". The kids loved "nice Keele", not "scary Keele".

 

Don't go all Hulk!

 

A video-game addicted nerd sporting an Angry Birds T-shirt directly across the room stared with wide eyes, as if Arizona, Loudmouth and Mr. Keele all signed up for a role in Call of Duty 13; Classroom Showdown. Arizona returned attention to his paper. The entire class pretended to work, but all sneaked peeks at the show.

 

“He friggin’ punched me!” Loudmouth whined.

 

Arizona shrugged and raised his eyebrows, professing his innocence. Great! I finally get out of the hospital and into a real school for the first time since third grade and in just my third week of school and I'm going to get in trouble.

 

“Why would he punch you?” Mr. Keele focused on Loudmouth, the wolf made the snake recoil.

 

“Nobody ever listens to me!” Loudmouth shouted, “You teachers are prejudiced.” A smile nearly cracked Arizona’s face as he observed the pale and fuzzy-headed kid puffing up. Prejudiced? Evidently, Loudmouth wasn’t as smart as he thought.

 

“Go to Mr. Jackson’s room for isolation.” Mr. Keele pointed toward the door. Loudmouth slithered away with his snake-eyes focused only on his escape.

 

“Maybe he can help Mr. Jackson comb his mullet!” Mr. Keele cracked as the door snapped shut.

 

Mr. Keele kept this strange rivalry with the bald-headed teacher next door. He did odd things like make fun of Jackson’s "mullet" and send kids in search of buildings that didn’t exist.

 

It didn't take long for Mr. Keele to assume the role of Arizona's favorite teacher. A reading teacher no less. Arizona swore off reading. So he thought. He spent too much time reading from a hospital bed. Reading is all he could do.

 

I couldn't play football. I couldn't go swimming. All I could do is read about those things. Now I plan on doing, instead of reading.

 

“That was awesome,” said one of the Mutes when everything quieted down. The voice belonged to a huge black kid everyone called Doof. He never really talked; he just smiled a big hearted-goofy smile, as if stolen from the face of a happy first grader. A huge pile of Pokemon collector cards sat atop his Sponge Bob Square Pants binder.

 

Arizona zeroed in on his reading assignment. A strange text called The 900 Pod’s Hidden Location. The buildings at Wigwam Creek Middle School were each numbered according to grade and called pods, which to Arizona sounded like a bad horror movie, Attack of the Pods. The buildings numbered-off, 600 for sixth grade, 700 for seventh grade, and 800 for eighth grade. The joke is that there is no 900 pod, but Mr. Keele assigned random reading examples regarding this building that didn’t exist. This confused most of the kids. They asked other teachers about its existence only to be laughed at.

 

Mr. Keele called the assignment ‘talking to the text’. Students wrote notes all over the margins responding and questioning the information.

 

There is no 900 Pod, if there were a 900 building it would be in the 9th grade...  This school has no 9th grade- So the 900 Pod is some kind of silly joke to mess with stupid people.  Easy stuff. Even taking a break to punch out Loudmouth, he’d still covered the paper in careful and neat notes.

 

Arizona kept busy thinking up questions and did not notice Mr. Keele standing behind him, reading over his shoulder. The teacher crouched down and spoke, “Brilliant answers, but we need to talk after class.”

 

Great!

 

 Arizona squirmed in his chair for the rest of class.

 

At the final bell he approached Mr. Keele’s desk. “Don’t say anything.” Mr. Keele slid over a plastic chair and motioned for Arizona to take a seat.

 

 Arizona complied.

 

 “You like this class, right?"

 

 Arizona repeated his best bobble-head impersonation.

 

 “Well. You're one of the brightest kids I've seen in a long time.”

 

 Arizona didn’t know what to say. Me? I guess eight years reading from a hospital bed counts for something....

 

“This is your punch-an-idiot-in-the-head-and-get-away-with-it card,” Mr. Keele handed the kid a huge stack of books. “Read these by the end of the month, log your reading in your class journal, and don’t pull that again or I’ll make the rest of your year miserable.”

 

“Uhh, okay,” he believed the teacher could make his year more hopeless than a cow's visit to a slaughterhouse.

 

“These books are just a start. There is a book club, Thursday’s at Blackstone Books, it’s only for the exceptional readers. You should ask your mom if you can go. Now get out of my room, I’m sick of you already.” A wry grin crept across his face.

 

He looked down at his new books. The top book’s title read, Master the Meta Log.

 

Master the Metalog? I want to learn boxing, or some football drills, and like Kung Fu or something.

 

 Mr. Keele shot him one last look, eyes like a prison warden.

 

 I guess I'll be reading this weekend.