Fallen by Laury Falter Page B

protest being launched on the back of my neck . It was a real struggle. In fact, sometime toward the end of class, when Mr. Morow called on me to answer whether I’d covered the same points of his lecture at my previous school, I replied as earnestly as I could.
    “ I’m very familiar with European history, sir.”
    “Is that so? And don’t call me ‘sir’. I’m not a police officer.”
    “Sorry.”
    “So, Ms. Tanner … is that why you’re paying so little attention in my class.”
    “I didn’t realize I was.”
    “No, you didn’t realize much at all, did you?” Mr. Morow said , taking a seat at the edge of his desk . He faced me with a scowl. “If yo u’re so familiar with European h istory, Ms. Tanner, why don’t you answer this for us … in 410 A.D., a Germanic tribe sacked Rome . It was the first time Rome had fallen to an enemy in 800 years. What was the name of that tribe ?”
    As if on cue, e veryone in the class shifted in their seats to get a better view of my response . A few students even shook their heads in pity , and I wondered if Mr. Morow’s tactic to get students to listen better had been used before.
    I realized that I should have simply told him I didn’t know and allowed him to ridicule me. He would have done so with pleasure , and the lecture would have continued peaceably ; b ut I’d already had enough of the teachers, The Warden , and the students mocking me.
    “They were called the Visigoths.”
    I glanced around the room and noticed every student was facing me, their expressions all the same – each one in total shock. Mr. Morow released a harrumph , and everyone’s attention turned to him , waiting for confirmation about my answer .
    He held in his anger fairly well. I only saw a slight quiver run up the side of one cheek before he said, “Where did you learn that?”
    “I told you. I’m well versed-”
    “Where ? ” he demanded , a little too forcefully , which caus ed other students to turn their heads .
    “I read a lot.”
    He laughed through his nose. “We’ll see about that.”
    “I’m sure we will,” I replied, under my breath , as he turned to face the whiteboard. “Mr. Moron.”
    Students close enough heard me clearly and did their best to muffle their laughter. Still, Mr. Morow spun around and marched to my desk .
    He towered over me, with his hands on his hips.
    “Would you like to repeat what you just said?”
    “I said … I’m sure we will, ” I countered, intentionally exclud ing my new term of endearment for him .
    He didn’t move for an exaggerated minute. O ther students in the class became uncomfortable during this pause , even though they weren’t the ones being pinned by Mr. Morow’s unrelenting stare. Finally, he turned to march back up the aisle.
    “ Didn’t you also call him Mr. Moron? ” someone jeered from behind me.
    Granted, I’d only heard the voice a few times, but still, I instantly knew who it belonged to .
    Achan was calling me out.
    I turned to face him. A smile was threatening to invade his face, hiding beneath his smug expression .
    “I think you heard wrong,” I challenged.
    He lifted one eyebrow. “ No, I don’t believe I did,” he replied, coolly.
    It was the first time we spoke to each other , and based on this initial conversation , it was evident that we both h arbored an unwavering dis dain for one another. When o ur eyes locked, s parks of distrust and loathing surged along an invisible conduit that somehow connect ed us.
    This was also the first time I was given a direct view of Achan. Being this close to him, it occurred to me that hidden beneath his boyish face and good looks, if you chose to look close enough, his age could truly be seen. I couldn’t put my finger on it , but I was certain that he was far older than the average teenager.
    The bell rang , interrupting my realization, but no one moved.
    “Well,” Achan finally said. “I have another class to get to.”
    When he stood, the rest of