Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Are you kidding me? Now, you’re awake?
I haven’t heard from him in at least three weeks and now that I need to stand in front of a class, he decides to bug me to let him out.
You’re going to have to wait. I’ll let you wander in the forest later.
Normally, he would just slink back down and sleep for another two days after hearing that, but he just gets even more alert.
He starts pacing around and snorting out breaths.
By the time I reach classroom seven, he’s thrashing around inside me like an angry bull. He starts growling in my ear and I swear that hasn’t happened since I went through puberty.
“What the fuck?” I hiss under my breath at him. “Knock it off!”
I grit my teeth and walk into the classroom as he just gets even more hyped up.
There’s a collective gasp when the twenty or so kindergarteners see me. “Wow,” they all say as they stare up at me with wide eyes.
The chemicals are extra strong in here and they nearly stagger me with every step. My chest starts searing like I just drank a glass of lava and my nose is burning and tingling like I just snorted some Anthrax.
How is this intense smell not bothering any of the kids?
“Hello,” the principal says as she shakes my hand. “I’m the principal, Mrs. Covey. Miss Olson should be here soon, but you can get started in the meantime.”
I turn to the kids as my bear continues to huff around. I still don’t know what’s gotten into him, but I have a presentation to do, so I do my best to ignore him.
“Are you a fireman?” one of the boys in the front row asks. He’s still got strawberry jam on his cheek from breakfast and his hair is standing straight up in the back.
“I am.”
“Like Marshall in Paw Patrol?” he asks.
“What the fuck is Paw Patrol?”
Mrs. Covey coughs loudly and I wince. “Sorry about that!” My bear has got me on edge and I’m not thinking straight. “What is Paw Patrol?”
“It’s a cartoon,” she says. “But we’re not talking about Paw Patrol, Matthew. Mr. Lamb is here to talk about fire safety. Does anyone know what to do when there’s a fire?”
“Blow it out!” a strange-looking kid in the back says.
“That’s a horrible idea,” I answer. “The fire would literally melt your face off.”
Mrs. Covey is staring at me with a horrified look on her face.
“I mean, your face would be fine,” I lie. “Your hair would probably catch on fire, but… how about I just get started on my presentation?”
Oomph. This is not going well. I can’t think straight with my bear jumping around like an excited puppy and with these cleaning chemicals burning my throat.
“Did you just do renovations in here?” I ask as I unbutton my jacket and wipe my sweaty forehead. She shakes her head. “What is that smell? Did someone just paint?”
“I don’t smell anything.” She turns back to the class. “Does anyone know which numbers to dial when there’s a fire so that Mr. Lamb and his other fireman friends can come and put it out?”
“411,” a girl says.
I shake my head. “That’s directory assistance.”
“406-555-3939”
“That’s the pizza place.”
“Aqua blue.”
“That’s a color.”
My bear turns from excited to angry and begins thrashing around inside. He starts snarling in my ears and I can barely hear all of the horribly wrong answers being thrown at me.
I stumble and choke through my presentation as best I can with my bear distracting me every two seconds and with my chest smoldering from the inside out.
Finally, I finish up and get to the question round. “Does anyone have any questions?”
A little hand shoots up. “Did you ever shoot anyone?”
“No! That’s the police. Firefighters help people. We don’t shoot them.” Even if we really want to.
“Do you carry an ax?” another kid asks.
“Sometimes.”
“Have you ever cut someone’s head off with your ax?”
“Does anyone have a question that doesn’t involve killing people?” I ask, looking around as sweat drips down my back.
“How many tattoos do you have?” the chubby kid asks.
“A lot.”
A cute little blonde girl in the front row raises her hand. She has an innocent smile on her face and looks like she’s going to ask a real question. Finally…
“My mom has a calendar of fireman on the fridge,” she says. “Are you in it?”
I sigh. This is going worse than I thought.
The door suddenly flies open and Miss Olson bursts in, apologizing continuously for being late.
“Sorry! My car broke down again and I couldn’t…”
I can’t breathe as I stare at her in awe. My lungs are on fire, but it’s a sweet burn that feels so good. I suck in another delicious breath and it makes my bear go deathly still. He’s on full alert as we watch her walk over to her desk and drop her bag on it.