Following excerpts from my unfinished book. Even if you read the 1st paragraph and give feedback, it would be great! Sorry it's long like this
:-(Thank you!
Bam! Detective Debeauvoir slammed his fist down on the table in the interrogation room. I'd had my head lying on it, buried in my folded arms and the reverberation made me jump. I'd been going
to sleep, you see, because I'd been there for more than six hours. They hadn't even offered me any coffee like they do in the movies to keep me awake. What was the world coming to?
"Dolores Hidago, aged seventeen, current address is 115 Wheat Street, New Orleans, Louisiana. Is that right?" he said. I said it was and didn't ask to speak to a lawyer. I knew everything I said could
possibly be used against me but I didn't do anything wrong, so I didn't need a lawyer. Did I?
He'd already run my name through the system and it came back clean not even a parking ticket.
I was a ghost, no truancy in school, not even detention. Teachers had nothing but good things to say about me and my grades were glowing. My gym teacher claimed I had real athletic ability and my art teacher said I had talent.
Then the detective brought up Vernon Primson and a person who went by the name of Kid. He threw names like Little John at me, and spat the name Toby Jenkins at me like phlem.
He wanted to know what I had done with my life, particularly the past week or so of it. So I laid it down for him, starting with my nickel and dime job.
* Later, Delores Hildago, a teen drug trafficker, describes how they use teachers.*
Substitute teachers were more like backpackers than they realized, only instead of state-hopping with backpacks full of clothes that needed to be washed, a substitute traveled the school system with a briefcase full of homework that needed to be checked.
Subs operate on the fringes of academic society; they're never quite a part of things and they don't know what chapter you're on, either. And alot of times, whatever you're reading isn't something they're well versed in because their specialty is math and as of right now they're teaching band.
Faculty treat them like they're invisible because tomorrow they'll probably disappear, and students who've been kissing their teacher's asses all this time for extra credit have to start over at ground
zero, especially if the teachers' going to be gone for like, the last three months of the school year, or something.
That's the worst. Three months isn't enough time to become the sub's favorite and earn those extra points, but it usually only takes a day for them to decide that they don't like you.
All it takes is a spitball, or you're ugly, or you came in late, or they caught you whispering, staring out the window when they're lecturing, writing something when they're talking, passing notes and they catch you, passing gas and they smell it, whatever.
We decided to use a substitute as a mule. His name was Bill Cuss and he was subbing for an art teacher named Mr. Halvangus, who was out with a severe case of angina.
Bill Cuss wore glasses and drank a lot of coffee. Toby Jenkins said he had him fifth period and when he bent over Cusses' desk to ask about a drawing technique, he said Cusses' breath smelled like Alaskan tuna fish, Columbian coffee beans, Russian vodka, and Mexican reefer.
His age was early-fortyish, and his hair wasn't gray or anything; it looked like like he dyed it brown with some kind of shoe polish or something.
But it did bring out his eyes; they were blue, actually almost purple, and big, until he took off his glasses, then they were small, and his nose was greasy where the glasses had been, with
hot pink indentations where they had rested. Mr. Halvangus was coming back to class in three days, which was way to soon for us, frankly.
* Another Excerpt...*
Miss Kenny was a new teacher at our school, a transfer from another one across town. She had sandy colored hair and wore glasses, was in her early thirties and wasn't married. I saw our principal, Dr. Deiter,
showing her around a bit.
As they walked down the hall together, she held some of her papers and lesson plans close to her chest like one of the students might jump up at any moment and steal them from her. I don't think her behavior was a reflection of our particular school environment; I think she was just shy and the materials she held onto were her security blanket.
She wasn't on the payroll yet- our payroll- which gave us cause for concern because by the time she arrived, we had our vending machine up and running in the cafeteria.
We manufactured fruit and soft drink products called Sappies (You sip 'em and you get the happies), from a professional warehouse in the area (run by our people, ofcourse). Our Sappies shroom drinks only came in three flavors- fruit punch, which was my fav., grape soda, which I didn't like too much, and strawberry soda, which, on the grading scale ear
Sorry, it was cut off. Don't worry about the rest.
:-(Thank you!
Bam! Detective Debeauvoir slammed his fist down on the table in the interrogation room. I'd had my head lying on it, buried in my folded arms and the reverberation made me jump. I'd been going
to sleep, you see, because I'd been there for more than six hours. They hadn't even offered me any coffee like they do in the movies to keep me awake. What was the world coming to?
"Dolores Hidago, aged seventeen, current address is 115 Wheat Street, New Orleans, Louisiana. Is that right?" he said. I said it was and didn't ask to speak to a lawyer. I knew everything I said could
possibly be used against me but I didn't do anything wrong, so I didn't need a lawyer. Did I?
He'd already run my name through the system and it came back clean not even a parking ticket.
I was a ghost, no truancy in school, not even detention. Teachers had nothing but good things to say about me and my grades were glowing. My gym teacher claimed I had real athletic ability and my art teacher said I had talent.
Then the detective brought up Vernon Primson and a person who went by the name of Kid. He threw names like Little John at me, and spat the name Toby Jenkins at me like phlem.
He wanted to know what I had done with my life, particularly the past week or so of it. So I laid it down for him, starting with my nickel and dime job.
* Later, Delores Hildago, a teen drug trafficker, describes how they use teachers.*
Substitute teachers were more like backpackers than they realized, only instead of state-hopping with backpacks full of clothes that needed to be washed, a substitute traveled the school system with a briefcase full of homework that needed to be checked.
Subs operate on the fringes of academic society; they're never quite a part of things and they don't know what chapter you're on, either. And alot of times, whatever you're reading isn't something they're well versed in because their specialty is math and as of right now they're teaching band.
Faculty treat them like they're invisible because tomorrow they'll probably disappear, and students who've been kissing their teacher's asses all this time for extra credit have to start over at ground
zero, especially if the teachers' going to be gone for like, the last three months of the school year, or something.
That's the worst. Three months isn't enough time to become the sub's favorite and earn those extra points, but it usually only takes a day for them to decide that they don't like you.
All it takes is a spitball, or you're ugly, or you came in late, or they caught you whispering, staring out the window when they're lecturing, writing something when they're talking, passing notes and they catch you, passing gas and they smell it, whatever.
We decided to use a substitute as a mule. His name was Bill Cuss and he was subbing for an art teacher named Mr. Halvangus, who was out with a severe case of angina.
Bill Cuss wore glasses and drank a lot of coffee. Toby Jenkins said he had him fifth period and when he bent over Cusses' desk to ask about a drawing technique, he said Cusses' breath smelled like Alaskan tuna fish, Columbian coffee beans, Russian vodka, and Mexican reefer.
His age was early-fortyish, and his hair wasn't gray or anything; it looked like like he dyed it brown with some kind of shoe polish or something.
But it did bring out his eyes; they were blue, actually almost purple, and big, until he took off his glasses, then they were small, and his nose was greasy where the glasses had been, with
hot pink indentations where they had rested. Mr. Halvangus was coming back to class in three days, which was way to soon for us, frankly.
* Another Excerpt...*
Miss Kenny was a new teacher at our school, a transfer from another one across town. She had sandy colored hair and wore glasses, was in her early thirties and wasn't married. I saw our principal, Dr. Deiter,
showing her around a bit.
As they walked down the hall together, she held some of her papers and lesson plans close to her chest like one of the students might jump up at any moment and steal them from her. I don't think her behavior was a reflection of our particular school environment; I think she was just shy and the materials she held onto were her security blanket.
She wasn't on the payroll yet- our payroll- which gave us cause for concern because by the time she arrived, we had our vending machine up and running in the cafeteria.
We manufactured fruit and soft drink products called Sappies (You sip 'em and you get the happies), from a professional warehouse in the area (run by our people, ofcourse). Our Sappies shroom drinks only came in three flavors- fruit punch, which was my fav., grape soda, which I didn't like too much, and strawberry soda, which, on the grading scale ear
Sorry, it was cut off. Don't worry about the rest.