Jackson Humes is Not a Superhero

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The classroom was slowly filling up with chattering students. I was astonished to see that a few of them had decided to up their game by adding props to their Spanish presentations. Candice was carrying a comically large and obnoxiously pink sombrero. Perhaps Jesse's suggestion of dressing up like news anchors hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

Jesse walked in carrying a cardboard box. I felt a sting of shame when I noticed he had changed into his suit and tie. He shifted the box to one hand and dropped his phone into the basket. Walking across the room to where I was sitting, he seemed unusually confident. He set the box on top of my desk and said, "Help me drag the big table into the circle, we're going to use it as an anchor desk."

Normally the people making presentations angled their desks to face one another and performed their skits sitting down. Why did everyone all of a sudden have to wear costumes, use props, and have a set? I so didn't need that sort of attention in my life right now.

Begrudgingly, I stood and shoved my desk and the one next to it aside. I helped Jesse drag the heavy table from the back of the room and ended up having to widen the circle in order to get it to fit.

Jesse pulled two coffee mugs out of the box and set one in front of each of us. He slid the box over to me and said, "There's a long-sleeved white shirt, a tie, and a blazer in there. I borrowed them from the drama department. You don't have to wear the clothes if you don't want to, but I figured you'd want the option." He missed my look of utter contempt because he'd begun searching through his bag. "I must have forgotten my notes in my locker," he said—more to himself than to me. Jesse got up to leave right as Tracy walked in followed by Alex Cole. Alex and I locked eyes and he scowled at me. 

I was just about to go over the script one final time when I saw Tracy jerk forward violently. Her feet left the floor and her body was airborne for just a second before she collided into the side of a desk. Her face twisted with pain and she made a noise that was something between a yelp and a cry as her shins slammed into the metal section of the attached chair. Both her and the desk tumbled to the ground. The hand that reached out to break her fall hit the floor at an awkward angle. Her wrist immediately bent in the wrong direction with a slight pop. Her other arm didn't reach out fast enough and she slammed her face into the ground. Two pieces of what I thought were small white tiles rolled across the floor. A moment later I realized they were teeth.

Tracy let out a hair-raising scream.

There was a chorus of gasps and several cries of shock. A few people ran out of the room covering their mouths and gagging, while a few others ran forward to help. Someone shouted that they were calling 911. A couple of deeply unsympathetic students had taken out their cell phones and were recording the whole fiasco. The only person who didn't move was Alex, who had turned a sickly shade of green. Mr. Rodriguez ran into the room, saw Tracy on the ground, and pushed him aside as he made his way toward her.

"Go get the nurse," Mr. Rodriguez shouted at the nearest student, who nodded and ran out of the room at once. "Everyone else, grab your things and wait outside!"

Tracy was screaming uncontrollably. Her face was the same shade of red as the waterfall of blood that was pouring out of her mouth. A girl tried to untangle Tracy's feet from the desk and place her in a more comfortable position but was stopped in her tracks by another piercing scream.

"Don't move her!" Mr. Rodriguez barked.

The teacher from across the hall must have heard the commotion because she ran into the room to see what was wrong. She took one look at Tracy and swayed. A guy standing next to her reached out and awkwardly steadied her before she could collapse.