As the class began to grow with young adults from the hallways, rumor came around that today's class was going to be taught by a substitute teacher, or what they liked to call "their next target."

James strutted into class with a swagger of confidence. He slides through the rows to the back desk, smirking slyly to the girls who giggle as he passes.

"Samulson!" James announces. "Today is a good day my friend."

James plops down on his desk, letting his hands collapse on the top making a loud thunderous slam. Sam sat slouched with a dazed over look expression that gazed blankly at the black slate of chalkboard. He aimlessly extended his right arm into the aisle. James slapped it with authority.

"Everything a go?" James asked.

"Yep."

"Hot swap the list?"

"Pee Wee Herman. Yours?"

"Youlika MaNuts."

"Clever sir, clever."

"Thank you my dear Samulson. I do my best."

"It's Sam, James."

"Oh but my dear Samulson, how can I be so informal with a great day such as this?"

"You shut the fuck up if you know whats good for you."

"What do you me-"

"James is your middle name." Sam said as he cocked his head towards James with a great big grin on his face.

James face lit up, he leaned in towards Sam.

"Dude, don't ruin this day, please."

"Oh my dear James, this day can't be ruined."

Sam put his arms towards the celiing as if he was calling God down from the heavens.

"We are going witness another substitute flying out of this class faster than a fish going through Pike's Place. Besides, this is a delcious piece of black mail I can use on you later down the road."

James gave Sam a disconcerning glare but leaned back into his seat.

"What about the rest? Map?"

"Nice and loose."

"And the chair?"

"One way ticket to the great pleateau's of River City High School floor."

"And the ammo?"

"Lock, stocked and ready for stickin."

Sam pulled out a straw and a little container of rolled up paper balls from the front pocket of his backpack, ready to be doused by spit.

"You know, don't you think this is getting a bit immature? The whole spitball thing?" questioned James

"I figure we got this year before we retire it." Sam shrugged.

The bell rang and the last of the class filled the seats all around him. The torture room was ready. 30 desks, 5 rows of 6 stretching all the way to the back of the room. A lone wooden desk and chair stand front and center with matching wooden counters lining the right side of the class. The windows leaked light at the 11 oclock hour and at that certain angle where you can see little dust particles dancing in the rays.

The hallways began to filter out, doors began to shut and the class began to fill with murmmers and whispers.

Where is the teacher?

Do you think one will show

Ten more minutes and I'm outta here

James put his feet up on desk and put himself in a hammock like position.

"Dude, do you think we scared this person off this quick?"

Sam shrugged.

"Did you spike the man's coffee?"

"No, but I like what you are thinking."

"A worthy replacement to the ammo it would seem." James commented.

Minutes pass by. The classdoor was still open to the hallway. The whispers turned into talk.

This guy isn't going to show.

Fuck, I should take a nap.

Watch, the principal will come and teach our class

A pleased face morphed upon James.

"Well, while tortured teacher would have been neat, I certainly don't mind this day off. Shall we call it? Samulson?"

"Sounds good to me."

They begin to stand in victory. The class begins to notice. The time to leave seemed to be the top priority for the students in River City's English class today.

But something stopped them. An object, no, a missle. A brown missle. It shot from the hallway. It shot as from a cannon. It crashed magnicificantly on the pull down map with a great smash. The map dropped to the floor and rattled loudly as the ends hit one by one until it stopped. The students, now in a daze of wonder freeze in place. Not a peep came from their mouths.

In stepped the substitute. It was as if Jesus himself stepped in the room. The class slowly lowered to their seats, their mouths hung open. He walked with a stride, with confidence, with style, with experience into the classroom. His brown brushed back hair showed a complete full face that was tan, with dark black stubble and deep hazel eyes that seemed to illuminate the room as the children stared. He donned a white and blue striped collar shirt and pressed light brown khakis, ironed down the middle. His figure stood strong, tall, authoritatively. A man you wouldn't want to be seeing down an end of a dark alley.

He gazed around the floor and found his shoe. He picked it up and examined it, as if it were damaged.

"I dropped this." he announced. The sub placed the shoe back on his foot and stood in front of the class, staring down the rows, at the children as if he was personally scanning each one of them.

James and Sam were completely dumbfounded. For awhile, it was as if they forgot they existed. It was them, and the teacher. No one else.

With a quick boot, the sub kicked the wooden chair from the bottom tossing it halfway in the air, causing a leg to fly disjointedly through the air, only to be snatched right from it with a strong grasp of his hand.

He placed it on the desk and picked up the attendance sheet for the class. He quicklyed skimmed the paper and looked up again at the class.

Expressionless faced. Hushed. Quiet.

He turned the paper horizontally and made a quick tear staight through the paper. And with the two halves, he crumpled them into small balls and tossed them in the garbage can next to the door.

The sub turns around towards the chalkboard and walks back and forth, trailing the railing with his fingers, catching the chalk particles on his tips. He finds a 12 inch ruler and picks it up. He examines it, much like his shoe and begins to tap it on his palm.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

He paces the front of the room.

Expressionless. Hushed. Quiet.

He comes to the first row of the room. Billy Marcus sat there. The classroom brown noser. Except he wasn't any different from today. He was like all of them. Scared shitless.

The sub kneeled down towards him. He held the ruler out in front of him. Firm, steady. His hazel eyes staring right at him, straight through him.

"What is this?" the sub askes.

Billy stares at it, confused, scared, afraid to answer. He takes a big gulp but doesn't answer.

"What is this" the sub askes again.

Billy's eyes dart. As if someone from the shadows will come to slit his throat. He is afraid to answer, but also afraid not too.

"A ruler, sir." Billy peeps.

The sub lowers the ruler slowly and stands up. With a solid strike, the ruler comes in contact with Billy's arm with a small smacking noise. The class gasps. The sub walks past him to the next in the row. Billy rubs his arm carefully not while he stares, transfixed on the sub.

Amy Maclure was next. "What is this?" the sub asks.

"That is a ruler - "

She gets cut off. He slaps the ruler against her arm. It slaps and he moves on to Patricia Miller.

"What is this?" he asks.

"Will I get slapped if I get it wrong?"

The sub shrugs. He asks again.

"What is this?"

"It's..its a ruler! I don't kn-"

"Wrong." he states and slaps her arm.

One by one, the sub goes through the class bopping everyone in the arm. Curtis Pederson, Nancy Smith, Betsy MaClure. All rulers. All smacked. For those that tried to save their arm were recieved with a nice bop on the head instead.

The sub reaches Sam. He askes the same question.

"What is this?"

"I'm - I'm not going to answer." Sam studders.

The class turns around the face Sam. His sudden stand of courage is viewed as foolish to many in the class.

"Everyone else did" the sub states.

"Yeah, they did. And they all got hit."

"That they did."

"I'm not letting you hit me with that thing again?"

The sub kneels down towards Sam. His eyes have him paralyzed. He wants to dart; leave, escape. But he can't.

"What" the sub askes, looking dantly upon the ruler. "...is this?"

"I..I don't understand!" Sam cracks.

"Why are you hurting us? Why are you hurting us with that! You are using it like a weapon!" James blurts out.

The sub stands up. He walks down the desk lane. Patting the ruler on his palm.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

He points the ruler to the ceiling of the class.

"A ruler, a wooden measuring device, a stick, a "dead tree" is what you think this is." He turns to face the class. "But, as our friend pointed out; THIS"

And with a great slam, he slams the ruler straight on the desk, snapping it in two.

"...is a weapon."

The sub walks towards on of the window. He stares out it momentarly, the rays of sunlight shine upon him. He opens the window and sticks his head out. With the parking lot ahead of him, a full yard of green grass greets him on the first floor classroom.

He points to the back of the room towards James.

"You, what's your name?"

"J-james. Sir." he chokes out.

"Are you cetain?"

"Certain? Y-yeah, er, Yes. James Lindermount."

"Lindermount?" The sub questions. James nods in approval.

"Come up here." The sub states. He motions for James to come by the window. Slowly, James begins his march towards the window. He stands opposite of the sub of the window.

"Look out and tell me what you see."

"A parking lot. With cars. Parked within the yellow lines. Some of them are leaving. One of them is coming in right now." James looks up at the sub.

"Keep going."

"I see the grass. It's green. Some weeds are poking through the grass, some of it looks dead. There are also trees."

"What kind of trees Lindermount?"

"I...I don't know. They are trees."

"Just trees? Are you sure about that Lindermount?"

"Y,yeah. Trees. They are trees!" he exclaims.

"Couldn't they be homes?" the sub asks. James stares out the window.

"If you looked at them in that way, yes. Yes, they could be homes."

The sub quickly closes the window. Slamming it with authority. He points towards the window.

"Now tell me what this is." he demands.

"It's a window."

"You're wrong. What is this." The sub continues to points.

"It's a uh...its a frame."

"Wrong again. What is this."

"Uhh..uhh a metal fragment, glass. Frames, a square, rectangle. I don't know."

"You're wrong, wrong and wrong again. WHAT IS THIS?" he bellows.

"I DON'T KNOW! IT'S JUST A WINDOW! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO US? WHY DON'T YOU LEAVE!" James snaps.

The sub stares right into James. The confidence James had has now sizzled away into nothing. He was brought down. He felt small, almost put in place. Ashamed.

The sub opens the window again. He kicks out the bug guard and it tumbles out in the grass. He takes one leg and puts it outside, and begins to straddle the window sill.

"You know what I see, when I look at Lindermount?" the sub announces. "I see a boy. I see fright. I see a boy who is beaten."

James stands, humiliated in front of the class.

"I also see a liar. Isn't that right, Evelyn?"

James face turns a bright red.

"Also, when I look at this. At what most of you call a window. I look at it as an exit. Class dismissed."

The sub throws his other leg out and plops on the grass. He then dissppears from view. And with that, the bell rings. The hallways begin to fill. The class still sits stunned at what exactly happened.

"Well, there goes that piece of black mail."