34. Mess with the Bull You’ll Get the Horns
We’re all very upset that Mr. Taggart isn’t here on our final day of class.
And by upset I mean absolutely elated.
But that’s short-lived when some wise guy comes into class, stands before us all, just looking and staring, then says, “Well, well. Here we are.”
No one is impressed. Brick makes a fart noise.
“I want to congratulate you for being on time,” our new teacher says, then stops and shakes his head like he’s got some thought dying to come out. “Anybody? Anyone?”
All we can do is look at one another.
His name is Mr. Charleton, and he says he’s taking over for Mr. Taggart, who can’t be here. No other reason, no credentials listed, nothing like that. This guy could have killed Mr. Taggart and put him in his trunk and decided to fake us out—we don’t know. But everybody seems bored and ready for class to be over.
Mr. Charleton looks like he’s energetic and eager to do something. He seems like a nice enough guy—at least for a teacher. He looks like he’s my mom’s age.
“How many of you have heard of John Hughes?” an excited Mr. Charleton asks a totally dead class.
Nobody reacts. Then Brick asks if he’s an adult film actor, which makes us laugh.
“Seriously. No one has heard of the director John Hughes?”
“We have cable,” Lily says in a classic snotty-girl attitude.
“So that’s a yes?”
He’s not getting any favors from us today. Nope.
Mr. Charleton leans against his desk as he looks at all of us. He’s dressed casual—a polo shirt and jeans—and he acts casual. He just doesn’t realize how done we are with this class.
“I just quoted from one of his movies when I first came in. I was hoping … Well, honestly, I’m feeling a bit nostalgic today. Anybody heard of The Psychedelic Furs?”
Brick starts to say something, but Mr. Charleton gives him the cut-it signal. “Anybody?”
I raise my hand.
“Good man. Doesn’t make me feel that old. This band was one of my favorites in the eighties. Wrote the title song for Pretty in Pink, a Hughes classic.”
“That movie was lame,” Brick says.
“Anyway, they’re coming in concert tonight in Asheville, yet I’m going to be attending a swim meet for our eldest daughter, which is quite a shame …”
“Excuse me, sir?” Shawn says.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to be teaching anything today, because if not …”
Everyone laughs.
“Very funny. Listen, I’m going to show you a clip from the The Breakfast Club.”
I’ve seen the movie before. Twice, actually. He shows us a clip on his wide-screen laptop that seems about as big as the television at our cabin. The scene is when the teacher welcomes the five students making up the Breakfast Club to class, then gives them an assignment. Bender, the rebel, speaks out, and the teacher gives him the “Don’t mess with the bull, young man, you’ll get the horns” quote.
The clip runs for a couple of minutes, then Mr. Charleton shuts his screen.
“How many of you have seen that movie?”
We all raise our hands.
“There’s hope for your generation yet. So this is what we’re going to do today. Taggart—excuse me, Mr. Taggart—described you guys to me, and I thought—this will be perfect. I’m going to give you a task to do this morning.”
Brick raises his hand. “Are we going to have to write a thousand-word essay on who we are?”
“No, but close. I’m only going to make you come up with a hundred words.”
“Good,” Brick says. “I haven’t written a thousand words in my entire life.”
“One hundred words. That’s all. Describing who you think you are. It’s that simple.”
Lily, who already seems in a bit of a foul mood today, doesn’t raise her hand, but just blurts out a question. “And we just hand it in to you?”
“You share it at the end of class.”
There is a collective groan.
“Come on, indulge me. I’m sure you’d rather do that than spend time going over English and algebra, correct?”
“I think Mr. Taggart covered those topics pretty well for all of us,” Brick says.
Mr. Charleton chuckles and hands out a sheet a paper and a pen for everybody, just like in the movie.
“This will be fun. I’m curious as to what your answers will be.”
“Will you be counting our words?” Shawn asks.
“I’m sure you can manage to come up with one hundred. I have confidence in you.”
“Then you don’t know Shawn,” Roger says.
I stare at Lily, who rolls her eyes and taps the pen on the piece of paper in front of her. Then I glance back at my own page.
I don’t need a hundred words to define who I am. This piece of blank paper pretty much sums it up.