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Write a story about an unconventional teacher.

Posted in High School on May 12, 2023

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✍️ 57 stories

lamenting lullaby

Submitted to Contest #198

When I was a little child, I asked my grandpa if he ever prayed. He replied: “Only when my feet hurt.” And little did I know, at the time, that I would pray a lot for that reason. But I am running ahead on my story. Forgive me! I am thirteen or fourteen and I hate sports! Gymnastics was more my kind of thing, moreover because I was studying classical ballet. But anyways, I guess I was the kind of girl whose only real gift was daydreaming… There was this image in this classroom, of a woman with red hair standing alone. I imagined she was a no...

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Passion as the Bigger Picture

Submitted to Contest #198

I plopped down next to Alicia and Sarah at our usual table in the Senior Quad and dug out the smooshed PB&J from the bottom of my backpack. It was hard to believe that we only had two months of lunches left at this table and I’d miss them at NYU next year. Well, hopefully at NYU. Alicia had already gotten a scholarship to USC for water polo and she’d be leaving at the end of June to get a head start on her future. Sarah, on the other hand, had gotten accepted into UCLA’s medical program just last week. “Any word from NYU?” Sarah asked ...

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English Required

Submitted to Contest #198

His ball playing had tripled the attendance to high school games over the past four years. Everyone wanted to see his talents as the best slugger and runner.  He proved he was a big league contender year after year. The audience cheered every time he flipped his bat at the opponents after a home run. Teachers granted superior grades when his winning charm set them up for the best seats. That’s why it was hard to stuff the counselor’s pale pink notice deep into his breast shirt pocket. Pink notices were warnings. He tapped it flat, not w...

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Who Does Everything Right?

Submitted to Contest #198

“If Jesus was born, lived, and died in our time, would a church be built on his birthplace?” Half the class was asleep, the other half texting. It was always Emma.“No, Mr. Emerson, We’d set up a special containment facility, temporarily, then preserve everything, just as it was.” She looked at Oliver, Noah, or any of the boys. A reaction, anything at all was needed. One boy stirred, not the one she hoped for.“Yeah, preserve the cow, the dirty straw, pigs being pigs…” piped up Jonah.Everyone laughed, even Mr. Emerson, though if you looked clo...

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The Academy of Erebos

Submitted to Contest #198

I stood gawking at the palace that defiantly stood amidst the swirling snowstorm. Barren, naked trees flanked the palace on all sides, creating a radial pattern that spiralled outwards towards the property wall. A lone dirt path pierced through the middle of the forest, meandering from the front gates to the foreboding palace.  The Academy of Erebos was renowned for transforming juvenile drug traffickers into graduates of the most prestigious universities from all corners of the world.  That was precisely why I discovered myself ...

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WWMJD (What Would Mrs. J Do?)

Submitted to Contest #198

Trigger warning: Contains references to substance abuse and violence.Its funny how you don’t ever really appreciate things until you no longer have them, until they are gone. We were 16. What 16 year old appreciates anything really?I remember there was this one morning, I must have gotten a total of like 3 hours sleep the night before. I show up for first period like I have just crossed the finish line at the NYC marathon, all breathless and sweaty and full of teenage drama. I slide into my seat just as the final bell rings and lay my head d...

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The Substitute Teacher

Submitted to Contest #198

It was a foggy November day when a car maneuvered its way into an empty parking spot, seeking cover underneath a maple tree, which only a few days before had been a fiery red; for weeks had burnished, torch-like, but faded now, having shed its glory, a creature shaking loose its scales.  The morning was busy- buses gasping open its doors, students emerging: feet sluggish, heads down, fingers swiping and tapping, smiling and giggling.  An old man walked purposefully through the front doors, went directly to the front office and ...

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Of Pirates, Bees, and Angels

Submitted to Contest #198

The Professor of Forbidden Criminology at Vulane’s College of Elements was a hive of bees. “The Church of Tyr would have you believe that there are seven ‘Vile Vermin,’” the hive buzzed as the students sat around the enchanted tree that held it. “In truth, there are eight!” It then issued a staccato buzz in such a way as to convey a laugh. The three students who were gathered around the Tree - as familiar as they were with the more hidden elements of the world - shuddered as a few bees crawled out of the hollow and buzzed furtively on th...

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Call me Jorgé

Submitted to Contest #198

Barista’s still in their corporate company collared polo’s. Forty somethings looking for a career change. Semi ambitious poor test takers bypassing university admittance testing. Flip flops. Blue hair. Arms crossed. Red college hoodies with Varsity font. Low cut jeans. Freshly washed hair from a non liberal arts major. This motley crew of 20 assembled to meet their elective credit requirement in the summer of 2010 at the sprawling institution of academia known as Mesa Community College. Shuffling in like ghosts, most wanted nothing more than...

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Something New

Submitted to Contest #198

The cry of the baby, always another baby as soon as one was ready to explore, the pitter patter, stop, and then more pitter patter of those newly exploring feet on the wooden floors, the creek of the beds with Mary, and David trying to find room to play, all of these sounds greeted Thomas every morning without fail. The smell of the baby’s napkins, constantly needing to be washed, the acrid smell of the coal stove, the familiar smell of the same porridge day in day out were a constant, and without change every day.  They weren’t all b...

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Where in the woodlands

Submitted to Contest #198

Act 1 It was a cold dark morning at Woodlands, the rain lashed down on the depressingly horizontal concrete roof as the rusty gates squeaked and squealed in the ravaging wind.  The hallways of Woodlands are cold, dark, concrete, beige unforgiving, but for a singular stripe of red running through the center of the wall. Adding a dash of colour.  Ringgggggggg! – The bell rattles in its shell.  Mr Mardy confidently struts into the room, old and wise, he has black and grey hair with a pointed beard, short in stature. He sh...

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How to See in the Dark

Submitted to Contest #198

It was the beginning of spring, and I was counting down the days until the end of eighth grade. Most of us in my class were what you might call "not particularly nice kids"—we didn't care much for authority, and we were quick to judge and mock those who were different from us. We all grew up in the same rough neighborhood, with little regard for our futures. But as the school year drew to a close, I found myself growing restless and dissatisfied with our aimless existence leading into high school. One day after spring break, our previou...

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The Handwritten Note from Mr. Gilliard

Submitted to Contest #198

English class. I’m at the north side of the classroom, up against the windows. There’s a fly in the corner of the window, between the two panes of spotless glass. I was just wondering how it could have gotten there when I hear a screeching sound coming from the front of the classroom. I look up and Mr. Gilliard is wielding his handheld garden cultivator with four black prongs at the front of the classroom. Each one of those god-forsaken prongs is vibrating at top-speed as he drags them across the blackboard to get our attention. At fi...

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You Only Need to Look

Submitted to Contest #198

My seventh-grade English teacher was, well, for lack of a better word, fat.Not chubby or a little overweight. She was a fat person. Andthat made the students feel they had the right to disrespect her.But I loved her. I loved her class. The knowledge about booksthat she possessed. The capacity that she had to transport me into different worlds and eras. Sometimes I felt the class was just between her and me because everyone else was passing little notes back and forth (no cell phones then) and whispering to each other and all were more than g...

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The Tale of the Pointer

Submitted to Contest #198

When I think about my co-ed high school years, two boys come to mind. One of them full of meanness, and the other full of mischief. The mean one, Mark, dreamed up many ways to torment me physically and mentally. I spent my last two years at High School dreaming up and sometimes succeeding in getting even with him. I recollect he took it very well. That’s another story.Years later, when I bumped into him unexpectedly at a Super Market with a babe in my arms, he seemed delighted to see me. He positively grinned, complemented me on my cute chil...

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