His boots were brand new. They squeaked with every step. I don't know what he was thinking when he chose to wear them that particular day. It seemed to be another of his sadistic choices to me. Let's call him Boots, to protect the innocent. And me.
The day started like most of our days did. We arrived by bus or car, moseyed to our homerooms, and schmoozed for ten minutes or so. But this day we all headed to the gym, which had been filled with desks arranged in neat rows and columns. We shuffled in, most of us nervous and short on sleep, and sat at our assigned desks. Each desk held a sheaf of papers, a small blue paper booklet, and a pencil.
We were commanded by Boots to be quiet, which we all did instantaneously - we knew which side our bread was buttered on. Boots blah blah blahhed for a while, a talk we'd all heard a great many times before this day.
Do not open the test booklet until you are told to do so. No talking, no looking at the other desks, no eating or drinking. When you are done, sit quietly until the two hours are up. You may begin.
We all began to take the exam.
And Boots began walking around the room. He squeaked his way up and down the columns of desks in his fancy new boots.
I tried to ignore the sound, because I really wanted to do well on this test, but eventually the incessant squeaking drove me mad. Murderously mad. Something had to be done.
I'd eaten a banana on the bus, and stashed the peel in my pocket. Just as Boots walked by my desk, I dropped it into the aisle. Those brand new boots made one last squeak, followed by a squish. Boots went down, hard, onto the shiny, slick gym floor and then slid right out the door.
I saw the photo prompt yesterday and woke up this morning singing an old school days song which prompted the above story. The song goes like this:
I'm chiquita banana and I'm here to say
if you wanna kill your teacher here's an easy way
just put a banana right on the floor
and watch your teacher fly outta the door
This is my entry to 
