I never quite understood substitute teachers. Believe me, in all my ten years of going to school, I know that substitutes are just straight-up strange. Especially the fresh-out-of-college ones who think they know everything about teaching. Honestly, those ones know about teaching as much as they know how to fix the engine of a Russian spaceship with one hand tied behind their back.

So there I was. Third period, Geometry. Not exactly my best class, but manageable. I was fixing up a couple of mistakes in my homework before class started, ignoring the wackos around me. I hear the door open and turn, thinking it was the teacher. But Mr. Garcia wasn't at the door. No, it was someone else, some twenty-two-year primadonna wearing the tightest dress you can imagine. She had this air around her, this ego, that was just sickening. I saw the eye-rolls of some students as she entered.

This lady goes to the board—Mr. Garcia's precious blackboard that he doesn't let anyone touch—and starts writing on it. And yikes, is her handwriting bad! Good thing she's substituting Math, not English. It takes me a few seconds to decipher what looks like some ancient code, finally getting her name: Ms. Collman.

"Alright, idiots," she says, and immediately I feel the anger and hatred of my classmates behind me. She has been here exactly two minutes, and already she had made enemies with the entire class.

"Alright, idiots, get out you're textbooks. For the rest of class, I want you all to work on pages sixteen to forty-seven. Got that?" There is a mummer of disbelief throughout the classroom, but everyone goes through their bags and pulls out their textbooks. That is, everyone except me.

Now, believe me. I'm not a bad student. I get A's and B's in my classes, and my teachers love me. Even substitutes. (I know what you're thinking, but just because I don't understand substitutes doesn't mean I'm automatically bad.) But there was something about watching Ms. Collman go up to Mr. Garcia's desk and sit on it like she's all that, and put her feet up on top of it, that makes me boil up inside. She glances over her slaves—excuse me, students—to make sure they had followed her command. Of course, no one wants to get in trouble, so mostly everyone was already working on the assignment, with fury in their hearts. Ms. Collman looks satisfied until she reaches me. 

"Why don't you have your assignment started?" she askes me.

I shrug. "I don't feel like doing it."

With amusement, I watch as her face darkens. There are buzzes around me, and someone whispers, "Hey, are you crazy?" I ignore it.

Ms. Collman growls. It makes me think of a bear. "Oh, you don't feel like doing it? Explain why not, won't you. And tell me your name while you're at it."

I stand up, mock respectfully. "My name is Sebastian Frank, and I don't feel like doing the assignment because, in my opinion, it is stupid. You are supposed to be teaching us, not texting your boyfriend. Don't think I can't see your phone."

I bite back a smile as I watch Ms. Collman's face go pale, and she shoves her hand into her purse, hiding her phone. Behind me, the class is full of muffled laughter. I knew a trip to the principal's office was inevitable, but the big guy has seen me so many times he practically ignores me.

Ms. Collman regains her composer and turns on me. "I will not tolerate this insolence! You are coming with me to the principal's office!"

Just as I predicted. I begin to pack my things and think about what I will tell my mom when I get home when someone clears their throat. I look behind me reflectively.

A row behind me and to the side was Elizabeth Cannon, who was sitting almost out of her seat with her hand in the air. I'm kinda surprised at this since, as far as I've seen, Elizabeth's sole mission is to not be noticed.

Ms. Collman turns to Elizabeth, a look of exhaustion on her face. "Yes, girl, what do you want?"

Elizabeth takes a deep breath, then clears her throat again. She looks Ms. Collman straight in the eye. "I think Sebastian is right. No offense, but this assignment is dumb."

Ms. Collman's turns into a tomato. Never before had I seen someone with such a red face, and I'm nervous. Yet Elizabeth isn't finished.

"Obviously, you don't know how to teach. So you set us on something you think would keep us busy and do something other than what your job requires you to do. Then when someone like Sebastian brings up your insolence, you go over the top and pretend it's him who is not doing what he is supposed to do. Bring me to the principal's office, throw me in detention, expel me, I don't care! This isn't right, and I'm not going to pretend it is."

Just then I wonder why Elizabeth isn't on the debate team. Ms. Collman opens her mouth, then closes it. Opens it, then closes it again. She shakes her head, then points at my desk.

"Sebastian, sit down," she says. She's trying to sound commanding, but she just sounds defeated to me and probably everyone else. I sit down, a little shocked at this. So a student can prove a teacher wrong.

I look over to Elizabeth. "Thank you," I whisper to her. I watch as she takes out a fat sharpie and draws something on a piece of paper. When she's finished, she holds it up for me to see.

It's a smiley face. A simple one, with oval eyes and dimples. I couldn't help it; I smiled back.