My Idea of Vengeance

I was laying with my head on my desk when I heard somebody whisper my name. I looked up and saw it was Casey. She had a rather annoyed frown on her face as she pointed to my bag, which was on the floor by my feet. I looked into the front pocket, and to my complete and total outrage, it had little pieces of pink eraser scattered across my belongings.

I was, of course, furious. I knew exactly who had done it. How dare he, how dare he throw his stupid little erasers into my book bag. He had no right to do it, no right to do it at all. I stuffed my hand into the pocket, which was shaking badly due to my rage, and collected the foul little rubber pieces.

I had to wait for quite a while. I wanted to wait until Mrs. Rivers was done teaching and she had settled down at her desk. Once she had done this, I pressed down on my paper with the tip of my pencil until it snapped. I got up, broken pencil and foul erasers in hand, and walked to the front of the room. The way I handled myself, you never would have known I was plotting revenge.

When I was satisfied that my writing utensil had been sharpened, I began the walk back to my seat. It was one of those things that seems to happen in slow motion. The erasers had gotten sweaty in the palm of my hand. I passed by the immature little child’s desk and triumphantly threw the erasers in his face. “You can have them back,”
I said coldly.

I calmly walked to my desk and sat down as though nothing had happened. He had been stunned; I’ll never forget the look on his face.
Mrs. Rivers hadn’t even noticed. He turned around and threw them back at me. “You can have your erasers back.”

Weak. You can’t steal someone’s brilliant plot and still be cool.

I gathered them again and tossed them at the back of his head. Your erasers? Please. “I don’t want them.” He was about to throw them again when Casey’s voice registered with me. “Chase, stop it.” He scowled and walked to the garbage can. He was mad.

Ah, vengeance is sweet.