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He’s a teacher?
He raises his hands, trying to calm the outburst in the classroom. All the children are hollering except for one who sits in the front—Johan. His cheeks are red. He stares straight ahead with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
“Quiet,” Roch says, his voice carrying over the raucous noise. “Or you’re all doing an extra hour of grammar after school.”
The laughter dies down to snickering.
“Johan,” Roch says. “Weed isn’t the same as weeds. You can’t smoke them. Try again to make a sentence with the word.”
Johan clamps his lips together and glares at the blackboard.
The other kids giggle some more.
A boy at the back raises his hand. “Weeds grow in the garden.”
“Good,” Roch says. “Who else wants to try?”
A pretty girl with a tweed jacket and a high ponytail throws her arm so high into the air that her body lifts off the chair. “The Russos are like weeds. They’re hard to get rid of, and they never die.”
More laughter erupts.
Johan turns more red.
Roch addresses the girl in a stern tone. “You’re staying after school. One hour of extra homework.”
“But that’s what my parents say,” she says.
Roch points the chalk at her. “Another word from you and I’ll make it two hours.”
“Why must I be punished for the truth? He’s ugly and stupid.” She makes a face. “He should’ve already been in the fifth grade. That’s why he’s two years older than the rest of us.”
Johan shifts down in his chair, making himself smaller.
I don’t think. I’m too outraged. I simply act, knocking hard on the window.
The children turn their heads. Johan blinks and gapes. Roch gives a start. He frowns as he walks over and opens the window a crack.
“What are you doing?” he asks through thin lips, keeping his voice down.
“Let me in.”
A grumpy look comes over his face. “You’re disrupting my class.”
“Now, Roch, or I swear I’ll climb through the window.”
He narrows his eyes. “Don’t make me call the police and cause a scene.”
“I have something to say, and I’m not saying it through the window.”
He’s all growling and teeth as he pulls back his lips and bites out in warning, “Sabella.”
“Don’t mess with me, Roch.”
The light in his eyes turns calculated. “Must I call your husband? I’m sure he’d like to know what you’re up to.”
“Do what you have to, but you’re going to open that door for me.”
“I can’t just open the door. There’s a protocol to follow.”
