Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to write a story where yellow is important in the plot. Today’s story comes to us from Val Muller, author of the kidlit Corgi Capers mystery series.
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“September” by Val Muller
It was June, and Sasha chose her brightest yellow shirt to commemorate the occasion. Her mother always used to read her this old picture book called “Barefoot in June,” and today she really felt it. She hadn’t even painted her toenails, and her feet were atrocious from gardening this weekend, but damned if she wasn’t going to put on her sandals today. They were bright white—it was, after all, after Memorial Day.
She pranced into the school, her sandals especially peppy on the worn linoleum tiles. The tiles always looked so shiny as the school year began, but by June they looked as worn as most teachers felt. But despite two weeks left of school, the warm weather and promise of summer put a spring in Sasha’s step.
She sat at her desk, organizing her papers and looking at her cup of iced tea. For once, she could sip it in peace. She did so as she threw handful after handful in the recycling bin. So close to the end, these wouldn’t be needed anymore. She had seniors first block, but they were at graduation rehearsal. Sasha would use the time to check students’ grades, then maybe get a head start on a chapter or two of summer reading. Her students for the rest of the day would just be working on their final project, and the day was smooth sailing.
A distinctly not-sandaled clip-clop sounded down the hall. Sasha looked up to see Mrs. Freedman, the assistant principal.
“Hi?” Sasha said, more of a question than a greeting. There was never really a good reason for Mrs. Freedman to visit your classroom—especially when you had planning first thing in the morning.
“Ms. Peters,” she said to Sasha, “unfortunately, we’ve had a lot of teachers call out sick this morning. We’re going to need you to cover Mr. Baker’s math class in Room 213.”
“You mean like right now?” Sasha asked.
Mrs. Freedman nodded. Then she put a small Ghirardelli chocolate square on her desk. “A little token of our appreciation,” she muttered before clip-clopping out of the room. Sasha took several sips of her iced tea, then shoved the chocolate square in her mouth. She now could feel that it was going to be a very long day.
Mr. Baker’s class was chatting quietly, though most kids were on their phones when Sasha walked in. She clapped her hands in greeting and approached the podium. “Good morning,” she said, trying to sound as cheerful as her shirt. “I’m Ms. Peters, and I’m stepping in for Mr. Baker today. Let’s put our phones away while I find his lesson plans…”
A hush came over the room, but it made her skin rise in goosebumps. It was not the hush of respect. It was the hush of people morbidly looking at a car wreck. She looked up from the podium to a sea of eyes. Some mouths gaped in horror. She looked down to see if maybe she had forgotten a shirt or something dire.
Then she heard it.
“She’s wearing yellow.”
It circulated around the room like a chorus.
“She’s wearing yellow.”
Then all eyes seemed to turn—like they all belonged to the same school of fish. They turned simultaneously to a student seated in the corner.
“Did he see yet?”
All eyes swam from Sasha to the student.
“Yellow, yellow, yellow.”
Sasha’s mind flashed to college, when she’d read “The Yellow Wallpaper.” The room gave off that same vibe of insanity that Charlotte Perkins Gilman embodied in the story. Sasha looked down at her summery yellow. Under the fluorescent light of the math classroom, it looked sickly.
A student in front was trying to catch her attention.
“It sets him off,” he whispered.
“Sets who off? What does?” Sasha whispered back.
“Yellow,” the students said. “And him.” He pointed to the boy in the corner who had not yet looked up. “You should cover up if you know what’s good for you.”
Sasha’s mind flashed. The mysterious boy in the corner did look familiar. He’d often been in the office for behavioral problems. What did they mean, yellow set him off? Could a color really do that? Then again, sometimes students liked to have fun with teachers—even real teachers subbing for a class or two. Were they pulling her leg?
The boy in the corner made a terrible groan, a sound like a death wail. What was it? She looked up. He was staring right at her. His eyes pointed at her yellow shirt accusingly.
“It sets him off,” the students whispered.
“Yellow.”
“Cover up.”
There was a school sweatshirt hanging over Mr. Baker’s desk, something he kept no doubt to keep him warm when the heat was malfunctioning, as it often did. But as Sasha’s shoes indicated, it was summer now. No need for sweatshirts.
Still, that wailing. How was she going to teach when the school’s number one behavioral issue was set off by… the color yellow?
She sighed and pulled on the sweatshirt. It had a musty smell. It smelled of school and September. It did not smell of summer. She felt the first trickle of sweat run down her back as the troublesome student in the corner quieted, and she began with the lesson.
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The Spot Writers—Our Members:
Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/
Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/
Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com
Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/
Writing Wicket 