Gertrude Rubble sat in her chair, waiting for her final hour to end. She had waited all day for it. She only wanted to see the light... Of the outdoors, of course.

Gertrude worked at the Central Middle School in a small town in Washington State, but the kids her bosses had given her for the last couple of years could have passed for Juvenile Detention Facility inmates, and the worst, most humid rooms they had, were always given to her, and this year hers was the size of a closet. Her students were coming into the class, riding on the line of tardiness, which was one of Gertrude’s pet peeves. They were talking about who was dating who, who did something stupid today, and who did something else that made Gertrude want to barf, and each conversation revolving around the same group of people.

Gertrude desired to get in her car and leave, leave forever. She was grateful for one thing, and that was that the school would let her off at the middle of the school year, giving her a bonus big enough to retire, probably because they wanted her and her attitude out of their school as soon as they could get her to leave; essentially buying her out. That thought her a slight smile across her thin mouth, her small yet sharp eyes hidden behind her overly huge glasses relaxed, allowing her to daydream about laying down for the rest of her life without a delinquent child asking her to use the bathroom, go to their locker to get something they were lazy, irresponsible, and unorganized enough to leave in there, or turn something in that was due three weeks ago. Of course, it was only the first day. She had a long way to go. ‘What is it? My fortieth year?’ Gertrude thought to herself
“Forty years too much...” she moaned silently. She decided to get up and write
her name up her whiteboard rather than continue fuming about her horrible excuse of a
life.

The students all laughed when they read the name ‘Ms. Rubble’ on the board. “Miserable!” they shouted, making her name into wordplay. Her students had done so every year.

“You bet I am...” Gertrude muttered under her breath. She allowed herself to laugh a bit at her joke, but wore her straight, long, and cruel face as she turned around.

“Quiet, class!” she snapped. She the word “Shakespeare” on the board. “Does anyone know anything about Shakespeare in case I don’t have to waste my time teaching -” The class spontaneously started talking again. “-You,” she finished. Her angry face became outraged. She whipped her pointing stick against the whiteboard as hard as she could, and the class simultaneously faced her.

“We will be studying Shakespeare at the beginning of the year,” Gertrude harshly notified the class.

“That’s dumb though!” a student complained.

“Well it’s dumb for me to teach a class full of people that don’t participate, wouldn’t you say?” she questioned the young student.

“Why do you think we make it hard then, Sherlock?” the student replied hastily.

“I’ve never heard so much disrespect in my life! One more smart (she exaggerated the word ‘smart’) remark like that and I’ll give you a detention - no - an In School Suspension - over the weekend!” she threatened the boy.

“Great, as long as you are not monitoring me,” the student taunted.
“That gives me all the more reason to,” she said with a sour smile.

The student called her bluff. “Of course you wouldn’t!” he laughed, “I can already tell you are one of those teachers that can’t wait to go to some retirement home in Florida or California or wherever you want to go, why waste even MORE time with us?”
“In school suspension for you, young man!” she proclaimed. The student’s friends high-fived and knuckle-punched him as if he had pulled off some sort of victory. Gertrude looked at her class list, “John Davison, right?”

“Yeah,” replied the smart-mouthed student.

Gertrude matched the pictures with names with the kids who didn’t seem to talk much, “Go sit by Clark,” she said.

“What?” John asked.

Gertrude was confused. She had only wanted to separate him from his friends, but John almost made it look like a death sentence. “Clark,” she repeated.

The entire class looked at her like she was crazy, or, crazier than usual. “Not Dork, anyone else, please!” John begged.

“His name is Clark, I don’t think his parents would name their child ‘Dork,’” Gertrude replied.

“Whatever...” said John, collecting his things and waddling across the room as if he was about to encounter something he had dreaded for years.

As class progressed, Gertrude snuck looks at this Clark kid. While everyone else suffered from the studying this kid seemed to be suffering already. After a while, she couldn’t
bear watching him so sad anymore. “Clark, come here!” she demanded. Clark walked over with
his head hanging, and what scared Gertrude was that she, the feared Miserable Ms. Rubble, the Evil Witch, and all of the other names her former and current students had given her, could tell he wasn’t just moping. He was actually hurt.

Once he sat down, he hid his face, as if he wasn’t allowed to be sad. “Clark,” she said. Clark had only lifted his head above his messy jacket sleeves enough to stare contently into the
distance. “Clark... CLARK!” her arm flailed and hit her desk. Clark suddenly stared forward at her, his wide, hazel eyes seemed to shrink down into dots. “Yes,” he muttered blankly as if Gertrude was about to kill him.

Gertrude was once again confused. Were all of this kid’s teachers softies or something? All she wanted was his attention. She quickly delved throughout her mind. She knew the answer in a flash. Gertrude herself had done some of the same things as this Clark kid, and she had come from a broken home. She froze, looking for something to say. “What’s wrong?” suddenly spilled out of her mouth.

Clark looked straight into her eyes, and although he said nothing, through his eyes, she saw that he had been waiting his whole life for someone to ask him that.

“I come from a broken home,” he managed to wheeze, as if he was out of practice with actually speaking. “Mom died when I was four, before I could really started things. Dad started drinking. Heavily. I don’t really like talking about it.”

Clark stood up and slowly strode back to his desk. leaving Gertrude feeling something she hadn’t felt in as long as she could remember - broken hearted. She had a similar story.

“Hey, guys, Dork is back!” John announced.
“John, there is no name-calling in my class!” Gertrude bellowed. “You’ve earned yourself another week of detention! I do not tolerate such insolence in my class!”

Clark looked up at her and smiled. Gertrude winked back.

Perhaps she would stay the whole year.