• "Hey, did you hear?" Adabelle asked Sabra.
    "Mmm-hmm. Who hasn't?" Sabra wouldn't look at Adabelle. They were both thinking the same thing.
    "Heard what?" Anya, another girl at Latgie High School bounced up to Sabra out of nowhere and tried to force her to make eye contact.
    "Mr. Denson died."
    "Who's Mr. Denson?"
    "He was the art teacher, Anya. Oh, that's right, you don't take art. You're on the cheer squad."
    "b***h off!" Anya swiveled on her heel and runway-walked away.
    "I guess she hadn't heard," Adabelle commented. They looked around the empty hallway and realized that everyone else was already in class. "Great. We have art. What exactly are we supposed to do?"
    "I don't know. Zak said he was going anyway, and that he and Gabby are going to make a sculpture or Mr. Denson."
    "Sabra...What if we have a different teacher?"
    "A different teacher? We will eventually, of course, but I'm not too worried about that. C'mon, we have to go. We're late." Sabra and Adabelle hurried to the art room, which was about the size of the school's gymnasium. Latgie High School's main focus was athletics. Basketball, football, swimming, tennis, lacrosse, soccer, volleyball, track. There was an infinite number of physical fitness classes at the school, but only one art class. Mr. Denson's art class was the sole reason Adabelle and Sabra had attended Latgie. Most other students there were jocks. There was just a handful of teenagers who took art seriously, and Mr. Denson had been a fabulous teacher. If it was art, it would be created in his class. Mr. Denson hardly ever said no. He loved all the students and valued their ideas.
    It was his classroom that Sabra and Adabelle entered slowly, painful memories hitting them as they walked into the huge room with wood panels and a peaked ceiling. The whole class was there. Although many students, were overcome with grief, they were too curious about what would happen next to miss this class. At the front of the room, the principal, Mrs. Larson stood with a woman Sabra and Adabelle didn't recognize. Mrs. Larson was an exquisite beauty with long curly hair that framed her pale, slender face. All the boys at Latgie envied her husband, a 70-year old war veteran who cursed a lot and had a habit of buying Mrs. Larson's love with shiny jewelry and new cars. The woman next to her was wearing an ankle-length skirt and turtle neck sweater, with her light hair wrapped into a neat bun. She was not smiling or frowning, but her expression left Sabra and Adabelle cold.
    "Thank you for joining us, girls." Mrs. Larson said sarcastically. "And what lovely outfits you have on." The mystery woman snickered at that. Sabra looked down at her clothes. She knew other girls at Latgie preferred tight jeans and pink shirts, but no one had ever insulted her alternative fashion choices before. Students at Latgie had always been indifferent to teens like her. Mrs. Larson had never made comments like that before. Why would she now? Sabra wondered. Adabelle didn't seem to notice; she had already sat down next to Zak, who was sketching sculpture ideas on a notepad. Sabra followed her.
    "Now that we're all here," Mrs. Larson began, "I'd like to introduce you to your new art teacher. As most of you know, Jerry Denson was killed this weekend in an accident at his brother's sawmill. And since we don't have any time to lose, Ms. A. will start giving you art lessons today." Shocked, Adabelle leaned over to Sabra with a look of horror on her face.
    "Ms. A.? What kind of name is that? Doesn't she have a last name?"
    "I don't like her, Addy. She seems mean. Did you see her laughing at what Mrs. Larson said?"
    "Yeah. This is strange. But maybe she's super talented or something."
    "I hope so," Sabra said. Mrs. Larson was talking with Ms. A. at Mr. Denson's old desk. It had been cleared out, and there was a crate next to it filled with what Sabra guessed were Ms. A.'s possessions. The two girls watched Mrs. Larson leave as an eerie silence fell over the room. Ms. A. walked up to the overhead projector and looked at it disapprovingly.
    "This school doesn't have much advanced technology, does it," she muttered. Andy, a boy who was sitting close to the front, shook his head.
    "Actually, we never use the projector. We learn by doing and watching."
    "Not anymore, you don't." Ms. A. said sternly. Andy shut up. Ms. A. didn't bother plugging the projector in, but instead instructed the class to take out a piece of paper and list the 6 principles of art. This was an easy enough for everyone, and once they finished and looked to their new teacher expectantly, she said, "Now write them again." Confused, the students followed her orders.
    "Why'd we just do that?" Andy asked.
    "To engrain it in your memories. You will be engraining it in yours for an hour after school, young man. Don't question your superiors."
    "What the hell?" Sabra whispered to Zak. He just shrugged, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. Adabelle ripped a sheet of paper from her notebook and scribbled a note to Sabra. She folded it and tossed it across the table. Ms. A.'s narrow eyes spotted it and she made a beeline over to them. Sabra gulped, and clutched the paper tightly in her hand.
    "What's your name?" Ms. A. asked her.
    "Sabra."
    "Last name?"
    "Goldman."
    "Sabra Goldman, give me that note." Sabra slowly handed it to her. Ms. A. unfolded it and cleared her throat.
    "What is up with this new teacher? She's horrible! I wish Mr. Denson was still alive. Then we wouldn't have to deal with this."
    "I'm sorry." Adabelle whispered to Sabra.
    "Who wrote this?" Ms. A. yelled.
    "I did, ma'am." Adabelle said timidly.
    "And what is your name?"
    "Adabelle McNeil."
    "That's a funny name. Adabelle, you will be staying after school as well for two hours to help me get settled in. Is that clear?" Ms. A. snapped.
    "Yes, ma'am." Adabelle replied. At the end of class, which consisted of writing down the elements of art 6 more times, and then writing a paragraph about an artist from the 1920's, Sabra and Adabelle dashed out of the back door of the school and walked to the diner that was a few blocks down from Latgie. It was 5th hour.