Fly on the Wall: Edward

By: Adam Sutton

“Why the fuck did they let Edward back in this place, Sue?  Why?  He’s terrorized every classroom here for 3 years!  My perfectly fine and well-mannered period 4 class is now a fucking disaster!  One kid!” screamed Mr. Clark after school on Tuesday. 

“Uh huh,” Ms. Heart replied, trying to be sympathetic.

“He’s in your period 2, right?  He’s a nightmare, right?”

“Well, Steve, yes…”

“I knew it,” interrupted Mr. Clark before continuing headlong into his rant, “That kid’s fucking up Jerry’s Science class, your English class.  I bet he even fucks up Gym.  Who can fuck up Gym?  It’s like making scrambled eggs.  No one fucks up scrambled eggs.  Except Edward.  He can’t do anything right.  Ask him to sit down.  Nope.  Incapable.  Stand up.  Too many words for him to comprehend.  Call mom. Nope.  Not possible.  Number’s disconnected.  Assign him detention.  Good luck with that.  Send him to the office.  He’s back in 5 minutes.  Why?  Because they don’t want to deal with his shit!  That’s why!” 

“Get those books out!  I want to see everyone’s copy of 1984!  Even you Jasmine.  Don’t roll your eyes at me!  I know you love it!” Ms. Heart encouraged the class.  “Look at that!  Edward a book with a book mark!  You’re going to make me blush!” 

After taking a few moments to let kids unearth their books, Ms. Heart continued, “Turn to page 44.  We need to look at a couple passages together.”

“Okay looks good people.  I need a reader.  Page 44.  Paragraph 3.”  Ms. Heart barely gets her words out before Edward’s hand is bolt upright.  “Edward, excellent.  You’re our reader.  Follow along with him.  3rd paragraph!” 

As Edward dove into the passage, Mr. Clark entered carrying a copy of 1984.  He leaned in and whispered to Ms. Heart, “I found this in the B hallway.  If I had to bet, I’d say it’s Edward’s.  You know.”  With that, Ms. Heart motioned her head towards Edward still plowing through page 44.  “What the fuck,” Mr. Clark whispered to himself.  “I didn’t think he could read.”

“Sue, what drugs are you giving that boy?” Mr. Clark joked.


“Who else could I be talking about?  He looked like a student in your class.  How is that possible?  He’s a train wreck.”

“Well, I talked to him.  A day or two after he got back, my class was in the lab writing essays, so I had Ms. Martinez watch them while I talked with him.  It went alright, so I invited him to lunch.  He showed up.  He likes ice hockey and dystopian novels.” 

“Who’s got time for that?” muttered Mr. Clark.   

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