Fool Me Twice, Shame on Me

It was paranoia that made him second-guess everything.

The dark sense of dread that had been steadily building up in the pit of his gut for the past week or so finally burst forth into existence, as soon as the searing rays of sunlight first began to blister the skin of his cheeks. A puckering, bitter kiss of exaggerated proportions, but no less scathing for it.

Routine had him shuffling along mechanically. His mood turned decidedly and viciously sour, already crafting the endless possibilities of the schemes that he might fall victim to. It was an impressive achievement, especially seeing as the day hadn’t even properly started, and yet deep down, he knew that it didn’t matter. 

It always ended the same way, on the same accursed day. A jester and a fool made out of himself all for the juvenile delight of the same wretched children that his life had been enslaved to mentoring for the better part of the past several decades.

Resentment clawed its way up from the sides of his throat, and he spat it out along with the frothing sea-foam of thoroughly used toothpaste, saliva and the blobs of food from the previous dinner. Disgust curdling, he watched it drain down the sink, before impulse had him baring his teeth in a surprisingly animalistic display. 

He cringed, a heartbeat later. 

The fogged, chipped glass hung like a broken gallow opposite him, and for a moment, all that he could see was the sight of a disgruntled creature peering back at him, weathered and worn and frankly, too damn bitter for this world. 

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Stepping outside took the world on in a whole different smear of hues - rippling deep-blues of doubt and discontented maroons. It was both impressive and terrifying, because the only variable that had actually been affected while contrasting this day from all other days was his own perception. 

Jacob Morrison took off his glasses, and wiped them clean on the hem of his shirt.

A blast of frigid air hit him all at once as he stepped into the classroom. It was a testament to his state of absent-mindedness that he didn’t actually take notice of it at first. Crossing the threshold between outside and the room barely made a dent in his thoughts, save for a slight narrowing of the gut. Apprehension, but also prickly and tensed in response.

Mentally, he reminded himself that he could do this. 

And then cursed himself for giving in during that slight moment of weakness. The fact that he had even needed to renew his defences via a falsely cheery pep-talk, composed of various motivational speakers and radio talks, did not particularly bode well for him. Instead, he liked to think that the years of experience had managed to dull his senses to any shocks and curveballs that the children might decide to throw his way. 

No chinks in the armour. He strangled that thought into submission, as one would do an unruly child, and then moved on.

He took the next couple of minutes to set up his material. The echoes of every little thing that reverberated in the cavernous space was lonely and sharp in its silence. There was nothing constant about it, except for the monotonous hum of the projector running in the background. 

He very much preferred the quiet. 

Unfortunately - as all good things must end, he figured with a sigh - the first of the batch of students began to trickle in soon after the finishing touches upon the whiteboard had been placed.

Pulling the air deeply through his nostrils and into his lungs, he gathered what little scraps of sanity that he still possessed, and prepared himself for the coming trials ahead.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

When it came to the first day of April, Professor Morrison never failed to draw the short end of the stick.

Perhaps it was because of his reputation as a stuffy old miser, or perhaps it was because his reactions were usually the most explosive - no one really quite knew. Whatever it was, it drew most - if not all - of the mischievous students to him like a moth to the candlelight. 

( “Like an axe to a skull,” Alicia corrected dramatically, grinning wide as she reached for the hands of her fellow literature-mates. “Or a dagger to a certain person’s back.”

Samuel threw the pillow at her head. “Boo. Too morbid, Ally.”

Will snapped his fingers. “Got it.” He beamed. “I believe that the correct phrase is, my dudes, like pepperoni loves a pizza.”

They all stared at him. )

However, it was generally agreed-upon in the school - and a rare thing of beauty ‘tis was to have something so universally and mutually understood, encouraged even - that it was damn funny to rile up that man.

Here are the facts.

One, there was an angry rage-man available nearby. Their very own Hulk to poke and prod at, in fact.

Two, April Fool’s was usually a free-for-all battlefield. As stated by tradition of the seniors, the maximum amount of points stood to be gained on this day. 

Pranking on any other day was just considered rude. 

Three, children are juvenile creatures with no sense of boundaries. 

Evil, evil little devils with a terrifying range of imagination and creation at their disposal.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_

The thing about pranking their literature professor on the grand day was this: it was sorta hard to sneak anything past the man. Relatively speaking, anyway. Having been the subject of the wrong side of one too many pranks for the last decade or so did tend to put someone on their guard, and Professor Morrison was indeed no stranger to the mischievous whims of his numerous students. 

A Sisyphean task, as Alicia had proclaimed it. The motion had been seconded surprisingly quickly, first by her two partners-in-crime, before being followed up by the majority of the class. One too many harsh words and criticisms did make the heart grow harder, after all. 

So, really, it was the Professor's fault that he was now stuck with a whole room-full of bitter, battle-hardened and revenge-seeking teens.

( “Criminals in making.” Leo had dubbed the group, whipping them into a frenzy. “Come, let us all fill our cups, and dedicate our first crimes to the good professor!”

Whooping and cheering, they toasted and drank those little Church-service wine cups. )

Which then brought them to their next problem. 

Sneaking in the preparation past their Professor was one thing, but to come about the actual plan itself? Nigh impossible, as they would soon realise. There were simply too many ideas, and too much work needed to prep the pranks. One suggestion would often lead to the next, each one in turn attaching to the previous like a parasitic tumour, more and more, until the end product would turn up being mutated into some sort of monster-hybrid with a truly ridiculous amount of glitter and sparkles.

“Cling wrap on the toilet. It’s a classic.” Will suggested. “Does anyone have the guy’s address?”

Leo sighed in frustration, having gone through this argument several times already. “Yeah, no. The whole point of this is to make the Professor miserable and maybe explode with rage while he’s at it. Not actually get arrested for breaking and entering, or whatever.”

“Oh, look at you,” Felicia mocked, “Being the moral backbone of the group.”

“Terrible idea, Fe. Banish that thought at once.”

Samuel looked up from the wad of paper in front of him, a slightly manic look on his face. Colour smeared the sides of his faces and his nose in a rather intense tapestry, and he rather smelled like chemical cherry and grape at the moment.

“So, no toilet?” He asked, disappointment rather apparent in his voice.

“No, Samuel.” Felicia barked. “Bad Samuel. Erase that, and add more glitter. Lots and lots of red and pink sparkles.” She sniffed. “Personally, I’d like to see how that goes with his stupid clothes.”

“Sam’s not a dog, you know.” Alicia bit out, mimicking the other girl’s accent. “Bad Felicia. No Felicia. Sit.”

They glared at each other. 

From the back, came the screech of, “BANANA PEEL CLASSIC!”

“Yeah, we’re not actually trying to break the Professor’s back either.”

“Fake spider?” Came the tentative suggestion. 

“Nah. Prof would probably step on it. Smush the plastic, and then break his back. Again.”

“Cockroach, then?” 

“Then I will scream bloody murder, and then bloody murder you all. No cockroaches. At all. Got it, friend?”

A quiet, barely audible voice broke through the bickering mess.

Contemplatively, Ben asked, “How about, no prank at all?”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Nothing?

Nothing.

Oh, wait. 

Not actually nothing. Never mind.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

There was a devastating simplicity in the plan that had been finally agreed upon. A sliver of ingenious madness that rocketed up quiet little Ben to the top of everyone's everlasting respect.

If it worked... it would be the greatest thing in the world. Ever.

But the Plan hinged on a lot of what-if's, so it called for them to be as meticulous as ever. But if God was on their side (as Will had claimed) ... then, this would work.

80 percent chance.

Because as sharp as their Professor was, he really could be oblibious to other things. Like dates. Plus, he was really quite old.

Wouldn't every day practically be the same for him?

-_-_-_-_-_-

Tick, tock.

The clock crept back.

Tick, tock.

The pages flipped. Ink smeared.

And back and back, they went.

Just... one... little day.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Suspiciously enough, the class was well-behaved. For once, and that in itself was a clear cause for concern. As it were, not a single peep came from the usually unruly crowd. 

Morrison didn’t like it. 

Whatever it was that the little monsters had planned, he decided that he didn’t like it. 

Not. At. All. 

To his infuriation, the abrupt change in the rhythm of the classroom environment was startling enough that it actually threw him off track. He found himself stumbling, stuttering and tripping over words, as he desperately attempted to keep his attention glued to the teaching curriculum as well as to the task of tracking every single one of his charges motions.

Miss Abigail tilted her head approximately ten degrees to the east while copying down some notes. Acceptable. 

Quite a few coughs rang out at exactly twelve o’clock. 

He found himself desperately wondering, had that been a signal in itself?

Mister Samuel sneezed at approximately twelve-fifteen, an action that was quickly followed by a sleeve to the face. 

Hiding a snicker of amusement??

His nerves were frazzled. Well and truly wrecked, as he scanned the room with keen, narrowed eyes. His mind played the cruelest prank on him at that moment. He saw things that weren’t there, despite having reassured himself much earlier that nothing was, in fact, rigged in any way, shape or form in the vicinity. 

Sweat trickled down the side of his face, leaving behind a salty, filthy trail despite the chilled atmosphere in the room. 

The final straw came when he caught a glimpse of the ghost of a wicked smile pass the lips of many of his student - a rippled tremor in the fine seams of reality. He blamed lack of tact for what happened next.

He erupted.

The actual memory of the speech that followed thereafter would be distressingly blank in his memories, as he would reflect soon after. An unfortunate culmination of all the scathing and bitter words that had been held back and bottled up. A rather pitiful and raw brew that spat out, spilled and frothed from the base of his throat, unrestrained and certainly not censored in its impulsivity. 

He regretted it a moment later. Intensely.

“Professor?” Timid little Ben spoke up, eyes wide, from among the pale sea of ghosts barely breathing in front of him. The intrusion was a surprising, but welcome, change from the normally taciturn boy. 

It soothed him enough, so much so, that he nearly missed registering the meaning of the next phrase that came out of the child’s mouth. 

“Sir, it’s April 2nd.” The words were spoken with imbued meaning, although it took a moment before full realisation could start settling in.

Morrison stared blankly. Opened his mouth, and closed it.

He... hadn't he checked the date? He had, but- no, hadn't he?

With an almost frantic fervour he wrenched his wrist upwards, ignoring the thread of pain that stitched across his skin and the slight crack of joint bone. He squinted at the luminescent display on the watch, willing it to be what he hoped it would claim.

The numbers and letters blinked back at him, and true enough, it was the culmination of his very worst fears.

2nd April.

2nd April.

The realisation damned him all at once. The devastating entirety of the impact crashed down a moment later, a devastating surge of sickening realisation. The pit of his gut hollowed out, and his skin physically bleached itself. Paper-thin and seemingly stretched thin as he blanched. His mouth was open, although the words failed to leave it.

He gaped, silently. 

Once, twice, before spinning on the heel of his feet, and fleeing through the door. 

-_-_-_-_-_-_

Silence reigned for an absolute moment or two, before utter pandemonium set in.

“Shit, did we just break him?”