Summer Daze | Teen Ink

Summer Daze

July 31, 2015
By aschoo SILVER, Darien, Illinois
aschoo SILVER, Darien, Illinois
8 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"If you don't stop looking sad I'm going to punch you in the throat."


The ceilings were low, splotched by brown water stains. A lone fly fluttered about frantically, curling loops around and around the dark classroom, searching for an out, an escape; he knew the windows were shut. The air conditioner groaned and sputtered into life above his head, blowing cool air down the back of his shirt, ruffling his hair. It could have been summer.
The lights flickered on halfheartedly, artificial brightness scraping the natural flush off Ms. Ross’s cheeks as she stepped through the door. She smiled, teeth white and straight behind the glossy pink of her lips.
Why didn’t you turn on the lights, she asked.
It’s sunny out.
She sat down in the desk to his left, turning her head to peer through the blinds. It was sunny, blue skies framed by little suburban houses next to rusty playgrounds and uneven roads, worn away by years of buses and busy parents. He often watched this street, eyes following bikers whipping past old women walking their tiny yappy dogs, children dragging along tricycles and scooters and younger siblings, all on their way somewhere, anywhere.
Alexander.
Ms. Ross was looking at him now, short hair swirling around her forehead like the twisted vanilla and chocolate ice cream he would often get at the local dessert shop. It cost only a dollar passed across the sugar-sticky counter.
Alexander.
But he was past all that nowadays, hurtling away from candy and scooters and afternoons spent lying in the sun, arms spread above his head, reaching. Gone were the times when running was a freedom and not a chore, when sleep was instantaneous and detested, when crying was alright.
Or perhaps it was he who had been left behind, slowly sinking into the marsh of homework and tests and people growing up, growing out of the forms previously established, until not even a single sprout was left of where they once stood beside him.
Alexander.
Ms. Ross dug her blunt fingernails into his arm. She leaned in so close, he could have dipped his head forward and tested whether her mouth was as sugar-sticky as it appeared.
It’s time to begin, she said.
She walked towards the teachers desk, and he moved to sit before her. The air conditioner hummed. The fly careened around the fluorescent lights. It was summer.



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