Class Begins

The Science room was kept immaculately clean, its sterile white walls resembling a hospital more than a classroom. The room was divided into a class, with neatly arranged desks, and a lab, with beaker covered tables. As the bell rang, a man in a lab coat entered the classroom and wrote “Freshman Biology” on the board.

“I am Mr. Beakman. You will find your syllabi on your desks; read through them, I won’t answer questions that are answered on the syllabus. Once you’re finished, get into pairs. Whoever you pick will be your lab partner for the year. You will be doing experiments on them.”

A nervous hand was raised, and then called on. “Don’t you mean we’ll be doing experiments with them?”

“Yes. Of course. What did I say?”

***

It had taken several minutes of searching for Wooden to find the theatre room. And after looking around it, she was wondering if it had been worth the effort. There was no stage, and the few old props lying around were covered in a layer of dust that implied they hadn’t been used in a long time. There were other students, but all of them were the indistinct shadowy figures who seemed to make up most of the school’s population.

The bell rang, but there was still no teacher in the classroom. Wooden began to wonder what she was supposed to do. The other students didn’t seem to mind the absence of their teacher, and continued to chat amongst each other in a background murmur. What are you supposed to do if the teacher doesn’t show up to class on the first day? Are you allowed to just leave?

Not entirely sure what action to take, Wooden started looking through the props. There were signs of past plays, long forgotten underneath the dust. She tried imagining what play each prop could go with. The mask was almost certainly Phantom of the Opera, although she couldn’t imagine a high school being able to put that production on. The mad science styled things may have been from the play version of Young Frankenstein. And the Egyptian costumes were no doubt for Antony and Cleopatra. That one was a personal favorite of the Wooden Girl; she’d always wanted to play the part of Cleopatra. A quick look around to make sure everyone else was too preoccupied to be looking at her, and then Wooden put on Cleopatra’s crown. Another glance to make doubly sure that none of the other students were watching, and she began to say to herself, “No more, but e'en a woman, and commanded/By such poor passion as the maid that milks/And does the meanest chares. It were for me/To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods;/To tell them that this world did equal theirs/Till they had stol'n our jewel.”

It dawned on Wooden that the classroom had become completely silent. She turned around, and saw an adult man in a suit watching her.

“Isn’t this a miracle.” He said. “We actually have a student who knows what acting is.” He glanced at an attendance sheet in his hands. “Since I only have one person on the roll whose last name isn’t ‘Nightlander,’ I assume you’re the Wooden Girl?”

She nodded, her blush hidden underneath the layers of makeup.

“I’m your instructor, Mr. Steward. Your memorization of that script is very good.” Wooden started to smile, but then he continued. “However, your delivery was awful. Just because it’s Shakespeare doesn’t mean you have to say every word like you’re shouting a dramatic pronouncement.” He put the roll sheet away. “Not that it matters. We don’t have enough students to perform any of Shakespeare’s plays.”

Wooden looked at all the other students in the room. “Aren’t there enough people here to fill in all the roles?”

Mr. Steward didn’t even look at the shadow students. “Them? They’d be rubbish in Shakespeare. Great at keeping a set organized. But utterly devoid of any talent. Don’t expect to get any theatrical productions out of them.”

“But… if we’re not going to be performing plays… what are we going to do?”

“That’s an excellent question. Tell me if you come up with an answer.” Then Mr. Steward sat down in his desk, pulled out a book, and began to read.

Yes, it definitely was beginning to look as if finding the classroom had definitely not been worth the effort spent….

***

The history teacher standing outside her classroom door was drawing a lot of attention from passing freshmen.

“Is that an eye patch?”

“Where did she get those scars on her face?”

“Why is she wearing a trench coat?”

As the bell rang, the teacher stepped into the class and looked over her students with a wild grin. “Alright kids, I’m Ms. 330, history teacher. We’ve got a lot to cover this year, so we’re going to get started on the curriculum right off the bat. Here’s your first quiz.” There was a shocked groan from the students as she held up the papers, and a wild smile spread across her face. “Sink or swim, kids, sink or swim. We’ll see how many of you make it through this class alive.”