Substitute of Last Resort

Down the hall, past the gym and lunchroom, to the right, beyond the small janitor’s room and large kindergarten, and past three more classrooms, the fourth grade door stood open.
Inside the classroom, the crashing, clashing, cheering, and chanting continued.
“Rub a dub dub! Rub out subs!”
In the center of the room, eight desks were arranged in a circle, and eight fourth-graders beat on the desktops with their fists.
“Rub a dub dub! Rub out subs!”
Pencils and wads of paper whizzed past their heads. Jets of water arched over them. A globe rolled under them. Amanda Wallclimber stood on a chair showering the drummers with silver glitter, while James Swipe chased Ursula Delete around the circle of desks one way, and Maggie Mudlark chased Wayne Hazard around the other way.
In the front of the room, Parker Whiner stood behind the teacher’s desk. With a pair of scissors, she carved a notch in the back of the wooden chair.
“Twelve substitutes in six days,” she announced. “A new class record!”
“Whoop! Whoop!” the twenty fourth-graders chanted in unison. They gave each other high-fives and thumps on the back.
The class was so busy congratulating themselves that no one heard a bell ring from behind the whiteboard. No one saw a window open or felt the warm breeze that blew through the room. Neither did anyone notice the short young woman, who suddenly appeared by the teacher’s desk.
At this point, Harvey Rowdy stood at the whiteboard, drawing gross pictures with a permanent ink pen. When he turned, he nearly bumped into the woman standing there.
“Hey, watch it,” he shouted. “Hey, where’d you come from?”
The outburst brought the ruckus in the room to a halt. The fourth-graders stared at this curious newcomer.
“I came from the other side of the whiteboard,” she said. “I drifted in on the ring of the school bell.”
Harvey made a face. “So who are you?”
“Substitute number thirteen,” said the woman. “Miss Subway, the substitute of last resort.”
The woman stood no taller than the teacher’s desktop. One eye was sparkling blue, but the other eye squinted behind a monocle, a single piece of round glass with a black chord attached. The far end of the chord was pinned to a pocket of the woman’s patchwork dress. The dress, more of a sack stitched together from pieces of colorful cloth, reached to the floor, but failed to hide two large bare feet.
The most extraordinary thing about the substitute’s appearance, however, was not her size, or her monocle, or even her attire, but her hairdo. It comprised two shoulder-length pigtails--the right one orange and the left one blue--and a red and yellow ponytail that ran down her back to her heels.
Miss Subway adjusted her monocle and peered around the room. Her smile formed a perfect U.
“How sublime!” she said. “Please take your seats.”
Perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps still bewildered, the fourth-graders pushed their desks into five rows and sat down. They watched the woman remove a canvas backpack from her shoulders and plop it on the floor.
“Now how should I begin?” she said.
Bending over until her ponytail and pigtails swept the tile floor, she opened her bag and removed a fat paperback book.
THE SUB WAY
BEGINNER’S GUIDE TO SUBSTITUTING
The room filled with snickers. The fourth-graders turned their heads and gave each other a knowing nods and grins.
“A rookie sub!” Ralph Killjoy said from the back row.
“This’ll be too easy,” said Ellie Mal beside him.
The substitute opened her book. Holding it to her face with two hands, she read aloud, “Number one. Introduce yourself.”
She lowered the book and said to the class, “Done. We’re off to a dandy start.”
Again, she consulted the book. “Number Two. Tell a little about yourself.”
She rocked back on her bare heels. “Well, there’s not much to tell, really. I was born in the suburbs, entered school at the age of five, and that’s where I’ve been ever since yesterday when I graduated from The Substitute of Last Resort Academy.”
More snickers and nods circled the classroom.
“Oh, my, this must be her first time substituting!” said Phyllis Pill in the third row.
“And she’s starting with us, the worst class in the world,” called Wayne Hazard from the front.
Miss Subway read some more. “Number three. Look up your class in Appendix One.” Here the woman flipped to the back of the book. “Let’s see…Maple..Martin…ah, here it is May Day Elementary…and here you are…grade four. Next it lists all your resent activities…Oh my! Oh, dear, dear, dear! Oh, dear, oh my, oh dear!”
As Miss Subway went on reading, the fourth-graders laughed at the pained expression she wore. But suddenly she looked up and smiled.
“And at the end it says that this entire class has been together since kindergarten. How sublime! How special! How rare in this day and age. What a shame it would be if you were ever split up.”
Without another word, the substitute flipped back to the front of her book. “Number four,” she read. “Find the seating chart and take attendance. Oh, yes. Splendid idea. I can’t wait to meet this extraordinary class.”
The substitute picked up a large card from the teacher’s desk. She removed her monocle from her right eye, polished it on her elbow, and placed it over her left eye. After studying the seating chart for a moment, she looked up at the class, and checked the card again.
“Horrors! Something is wrong,” she said. “This seating chart is incorrect. It’s faulty. On the fritz. Not one of you is sitting at the desk that this chart shows.”
Miss Subway reached into her canvas backpack again and took out a red pen.
“Since this seating chart is off, I could make a new one,” she said. “But it would be more simple...and fun...to move the students.”
Without looking up, the substitute began gliding her pen across the card.
“Now Ralph Killjoy, you are sitting in the back row,” she said. “But the seating chart shows that your desk is up front.”
All at once, Ralph’s blue chair, with Ralph still in it, slid sideways into the aisle. After a pause, it shot forward. The chair stopped by the first row and scooted to the left. It stopped behind an empty desk in front of the substitute.
“Wow! What a ride!” said Ralph.
“And Maggie Mudlark,” Miss Subway said. “This seating chart has you in the third row,” she said. “Incorrectly, I’m sure.”
Again, the substitute moved her red pen across the paper. Instantly, Maggie Mudlark and her chair slid over two rows and backward two.
“That’s better!” Miss Subway said. “I’m just getting the hang of using this proper place pen. Maybe I can go faster.”
Like bumper cars at a fair, students began scooting every which way. Wayne Hazard’s chair slid to the left and James Swipe’s chair slid to the right. Ursula Delete’s chair shot forward and Lance Leery’s glided backward. Parker Whiner’s chair and Seth Menace’s chair nearly collided, but at the last second they swerved around each other.
“Whoops!” Miss Subway said. “We almost had our first traffic accident.”
When all the chairs stopped moving, the substitute looked up.
“How sublime!” she said. “The seating chart is now correct. And how lucky I feel to be subbing such a rare and unusual class.”