Thursday, May 18, 1933
He had cleaned the kitchen each day for the last three days. Michael had been there too, constantly talking.
Currently, he was in a classroom, waiting for everyone to get their materials out. Tom already had his slate and slate pencil out. The slate was essentially a miniature chalkboard, framed with cheap wood. The slate pencil was a piece of slate cut into the rough shape of a pencil. Because of how expensive paper was, they only used paper and pen for formal practice.
Usually, Mrs Cole taught this class. But she had recently taken a break to visit her dying son in America. Now, they had a new teacher. And as if Fate were playing a cruel game, it was Mrs. Matthews.
There were four classes, each divided into age groups. The lowest was five to seven; the next was eight to ten; then eleven to thirteen; and finally fourteen to sixteen.
Tom was in the thirteen-year-old group. I'm not like the others. I'm better.
The schedule was the same every day. They woke up at 7 AM, washed, dressed, and then ate breakfast. They'd then attend classes, in which they would learn reading, writing, or arithmetic.
After that, they did chores and then ate lunch. After lunch was playtime, during which Tom was forced to do chores.
Then they would eat dinner, and finally, attend a prayer service before bed. Tom's nose curled at the mere thought of prayer service. I won't bow down to anyone, and I refuse to believe that any "godly" being controls my life.
Besides freetime on the weekends, classes were Tom's favorite part of the day. It was when he got to learn, to become better. And it was also where he could show everyone he was better than them. And he always did.
Today was arithmetic day. And Tom was the best at arithmetic; the only person who came close was Sam Doyle — not to be confused with Luke Doyle, his twin brother. He's twice my age, and yet, only half as smart. Tom smirked to himself. They were doing arithmetic charts today. I'll make sure to finish first.
Sam Doyle was sitting directly to the right of Tom. Definitely not a coincidence. Sam smiled at Tom and whispered, "We're doing arithmetic charts today — you ready to get destroyed?"
"You'll still be on the first line when I finish."
"Yeah, but they'll all be wrong."
He didn't have time for banter. Tom looked back at the slate, mentally preparing. His hand was already powdered with white slate-dust. He looked up at the chalkboard at the front of the room. Mrs. Matthews was drawing the chart on it. It was easy enough to remember. I guess most people aren't smart enough to just know it, like me.
The arithmetic chart was a twelve-by-twelve grid with numbers going down the top and left sides of it. The goal was to multiply the numbers together as fast as possible. And in doing so, memorize the multiplications. For example, the fifth row and the fifth column would be 25. Easy enough.
When Mrs. Matthews finally finished drawing the chart, she looked at the class. "Get your slates ready." She waited for everyone. "When I tell you to go, you will."
A girl, Abigail, raised her hand. Mrs. Matthews glowered at her and asked, "What is it?"
Abigail looked warily at the harsh expression on Mrs. Matthews' face. "Um ... Mrs. Cole usually lets the winner eat first during lunch. Are you still doing that?"
"I will do no such thing. If you finish first, that should be a reward in and of itself."
Abigail looked slightly put-off. Stupid question. It's not like she'll win, anyway. This is the only time I might actually agree with Mrs. Matthews.
Tom caught Sam smiling at him again. He probably wants to say something, but he won't risk it with Mrs. Matthews. He's always trying to get under my skin and throw me off my game. It's annoying.
Mrs. Matthews tapped the board."Start."
Tom glanced down at his slate and started writing the answers. He hadn't set up a grid.
He wrote the first line as quickly as he could; it was the easiest one. They're all easy, but this one's especially easy. He wrote the numbers one through twelve and moved to the next line.
It was quite simple once you realized you only had to count up by increments of the number row you were on. Tom kept writing as quickly as he could. 99, 110, 121, 132. He finished line eleven when Sam suddenly stood up, his slate in hand.
Tom's pencil stopped moving. No way. He can't be done. Tom continued and quickly finished the last line. He stood up and bustled over to Mrs. Matthews' desk. There's no way he's done. He definitely got some wrong if he actually finished that quickly.
Mrs. Matthews was reading over Sam's chart. Tom tried to inch around and catch a glance at Sam's slate, but Mrs. Matthews shot him a glare. He felt his anger surge, but quickly stifled it. Just looking at her face makes me angry.
He looked down at his own board and saw how messy it was. Damn, I should have made a grid. The lines are all slanted and uneven. But the math is correct, at least.
Another person quickly stood up and walked to stand behind Tom. It was Ellis.
Ellis whispered to Tom, "How'd you do that so fast? I mean, I know you're smart and all. But even I can't write that fast."
Tom ignored him, instead looking at Mrs. Matthews as she checked over Sam's work. He has to have something incorrect. There's no way he could do that faster than me. I'm way smarter than he is.
Mrs. Matthews looked up at Sam, still scowling, and said, "This is correct."
No! Are you kidding me? There's no way that stupid idiot just beat me! He started earlier, he had to have!
Mrs. Matthews was looking at Tom, her eyes narrowed. Judging by the way Mrs. Matthews was looking at him, with narrowed eyes, he must have forgotten to mask his anger. "Tom, did you expect to win this?"
Tom looked at her, quickly readjusting his face to make sure he didn't appear angry. But on the inside he still seethed with rage. "Yes, ma'am —"
"Stupid boy."
Tom's anger flared inside him. Mrs. Matthews continued. "Are you that arrogant? Show some more respect to those who are better than you are."
What is she on about? She's attacking me for no reason!
"You, Tom, are foolish and arrogant." Tom had to hide his hands behind his back, they were shaking with anger. His gaze was rapidly hardening as he stared at her. What did you just say?
Mrs. Matthews continued to speak, her expression filled with disgust. "You think you deserve everything. I believe the other caregivers have done you a disservice by putting you in this class. All they have done is bloated your ego and made you lose any semblance of respect you may have had."
God, I hate her. I'm going to get her fired if it's the last thing I do. I don't care if I have to die to do it. I hate her so much right now.
Ellis, who was still standing behind him, came to his aid. "Mrs. Matthews, I think —"
"Did I say you could speak?" She turned her harsh glare to Ellis. "No, I did not. So stay quiet."
She looked back at Tom. "Do you want to know what I heard recently?" She didn't wait for him to answer. "I heard two boys talking about how you and Michael were planning to get me fired. And that was after our discussion."
Tom's heart stopped. No. No! That IDIOT! Michael told others! How stupid is he? How stupid am I? Why did I even tell him in the first place! Can't I just keep my mouth shut!
His hands were shaking harder than ever. And he had to clench them into fists to try to make them stop.
"All your potential is wasted when you don't respect your peers and the rules of this institution. I have never met a boy who gives lessrespect than you. You are blatantly selfish. You think you are better than your peers. And you have no regard for the rules." She continued. "The way you talk to the staff makes it seem like you are better than they are. You have no idea how hard we work to make sure you can have a childhood. And yet you treat us like servants." Her gaze turned even more dangerous. "And you know what all your problems come from? It's the fact that you're in this class and not with other people your age."
Too bad you can't do anything about it. I'm smarter than you, deal with it!
Tom looked back to the class. They were silently watching the confrontation. At some point, Ellis had crept away, leaving only Tom and Mrs. Matthews at the front of the room.
Tom quickly looked back into her eyes. Don't look away. Don't show weakness, only confidence. She's not better than you, so don't let her think it.
Her eyes narrowed. God, her face is so saggy. "Luckily, there's a solution. And I think you'll thank me for it later. From now on, you'll be with your own age group, not here. No more of this blatant favoritism the other staff members show to you. You are not special. You are not smarter. Nor are you, in any way, better than anyone else."
There were gasps from behind him. Tom's eyes widened. What is she saying? Is she –?
"The fact is, you're six years old. And six-year-olds should not be in this class." Mrs. Matthews paused, looking at Tom with a hint of a smirk. His fists clenched at his sides. "So, come with me, we're going to your new classroom."
His heart was an inferno. It was a torrent of rage so potent it sent tremors through his body, a wrath he'd never felt before. The world seemed to shake in front of him, taking on a distinctly red hue. His rage spread to his face, his toes, his fingers. He was clenching his teeth together so hard that his jaw muscles were genuinely starting to hurt. If he didn't stop himself, the fire was going to burn Mrs. Matthews alive.
She stood up and started walking toward the door. She turned around and stared at him impatiently. "Come. Don't make me wait."
A wild, unfamiliar sensation coursed through him, hotter and more raw than any he'd experienced before. This wasn't just someone insulting him, or trying to make him mad. This was someone actively trying to hurt him — trying to limit his potential — trying to put him in the idiot six-year-old class. And he would never, never,let that happen.
He stayed silent, glaring at Mrs. Matthews. He'd never wanted to hurt someone as bad as this. He wanted to make her feel pain she couldn't even dream of.
"I said, come." Her gaze was getting more dangerous by the second.
"No." His voice was shaking.
"What did you say?" She rapidly marched toward him. She stopped only a few inches away, her icy presence overwhelming.
"I said no," he managed to utter, barely keeping his voice from cracking.
She latched her bony fingers around his arm and started tugging. He glared murder at her, his eyes like two sets of death-sharp knives.
She tried dragging him away, but she was surprisingly weak. She couldn't seem to move him more than a few inches. He had so much energy. He felt so powerful. His anger always did this to him. But he had never felt it like this.
She suddenly stopped trying to pull him and instead bent down over him until her face was mere inches away. "You're going to be doing chores for the next month if you don't follow me right now."
He grit his teeth. I'm going to snap. I know it. I'm getting to the point where I can't control myself anymore. "No. Stop talking." This time he couldn't keep the shakiness from his voice.
She snarled and pushed her face even closer to his, trying to intimidate him. But it didn't work; it only added to the raging fire that was his fury.
Calm down, calm down, calm down. He repeated it over and over and over. He had to calm down. Otherwise he would do something he'd regret. But he wasn't able to. It was impossible. His body was shaking with so much fury that he knew he was going to explode if he didnt let it out.
He didn't say anything. He couldn't even if he wanted to. His body was shaking and his mind was being constantly overloaded.
Her voice was starting to shake now. "If you don't come with me in the next five seconds, I'll — I'll … If I have to make your life hell to teach you some goddamn respect, I will."
Don't punch her, don't punch her, don't punch her. The rage was so uncontrollable. So hot. So fierce. His vision was starting to blur. His ears were ringing. The blood pumping through his veins was red-hot. He could hear his heart punching against his ribcage. Why is she still talking. Stop talking, you idiot!
Mrs. Matthews scanned his smaller body, and her expression slowly turned utterly appalled and disgusted. She stepped back from him and pondered aloud. "You're so angry. This is more than just disrespect. I think you have a problem in the head. We might need to send you to an asylum if this is how you act."
Something snapped inside him. His inner barrier exploded in a fiery blast so powerful that all thoughts were eviscerated. Except for one thought: fight.
He sprinted forward and without thinking, slammed his fist into her stomach. Her shriek of pain could distinctly be heard over the sudden yells and shouts that filled the room. The punch was strong.
Mrs. Matthews' body crumpled over. And she fell to the ground, whimpering. So weak! She can't even take one punch.
A shaky moan of pain escaped her mouth, and it was music to Tom's ears. It was a gift straight from God, if he existed. It was more beautiful, more melodic than any song he'd heard. He advanced on her, she was starting to move again. But I won't let that happen.
He looked down at her, he didn't care to stop the scarily dangerous stare that crossed his face. Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around him from behind and picked him up.
He yelped in shock and started fighting against his attacker.
"TOM!" the voice of Mrs. Hudson yelled. "What did you do!"
Mrs. Hudson dragged him from the room. His thoughts were stuck on Mrs. Matthews. I hate her so much. She deserves to be punched again!
