From her scarred, wooden desk in the journalism office, Paula flicked an X-Acto knife at the wall, piercing Chuck Lawson’s kissing-poster of Ronald Reagan in a cowboy hat.
One of the freshmen winced. “Chuck’ll kick your ass,” he said.
“With his penny loafers? I’m so scared.” Rolling back on her wheeled chair, Paula pushed away from the blocky typewriter and strode up to the blackboard. On the board she chalked “Reaganomics hit home.”
“Okay, people,” she said. “Who wants ‘Controversial Budget Cuts at Children’s Hospital’?”
“This is a high school paper. Stick to high school matters,” someone yelled from the back of the room.
“Fine, I’ll do Children’s Hospital. For you I’ve got ‘Counseling Services Cut,’ ‘Yearbook Threatened’ or ‘Foreign Language Slashed.’”
After class, Paula hurried down concrete steps past graffiti: “Stupid ho,” “Fat nigga,” “Angie’s fine.” Had Tim, the handsome but despicable sports editor, looked at her tits while she stood at the blackboard parceling out assignments? If so, did she mind?
Read the rest of the story in the July issue of The Tishman Review