Rush Home Road
“PIGOT, THE FIRST-GRADE teacher, was standing over Sharla, flicking her red fingernails like she did when she wanted a fight. Sharla was silent, in the thrall of the fat yellow boogers riding hairs in Mrs. Pigot’s nostrils. The teacher opened her mouth and Sharla winced at the spoiled-turkey smell of her breath.
“I asked you a question, Sharla Cody,” the teacher said in her slow, slurry voice, as the other children watched and waited, fearing and hoping for the worst.
Sharla didn’t know how to e...xplain why she hadn’t handed in her work page or why it was still in her lift-up desk or why she hadn’t brought it home at all since it was called homework.
Mrs. Pigot pointed around the room, saying, “Cindy turned in her page. And Terry turned in his. Prasora’s mother helped,” she said, pointing to the Portuguese girl in the back row, “and she hardly speaks English!”
Sharla looked at Prasora and wished she could get ear holes and hang swingy gold hoops from her lobes too.
“Sharla!MoreLess
“I asked you a question, Sharla Cody,” the teacher said in her slow, slurry voice, as the other children watched and waited, fearing and hoping for the worst.
Sharla didn’t know how to e...xplain why she hadn’t handed in her work page or why it was still in her lift-up desk or why she hadn’t brought it home at all since it was called homework.
Mrs. Pigot pointed around the room, saying, “Cindy turned in her page. And Terry turned in his. Prasora’s mother helped,” she said, pointing to the Portuguese girl in the back row, “and she hardly speaks English!”
Sharla looked at Prasora and wished she could get ear holes and hang swingy gold hoops from her lobes too.
“Sharla!MoreLess
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