Chapter Five

As Miss SaurAppel finished lecturing about strangers, police units, and the way that 1940's courts seemed to often have their own relations to the mobs of New York, the math lesson ended.  “And if anyone were to end up in court, I think the whole class agrees it would be none other than our own Donald that would be the one to do so.  And in doing so Donald, stand up!”  Donald stood up next to his desk right away, as if he was used to ending lessons in this manner.  “Now Donald, go to the front of the room, and lead us out of today’s math lesson by explaining to your fellow peers how you, in fact, would make a terrible criminal.”  

Suddenly, our hero knew it was his time to make a harrowing departure.  “Fate finally is reachable by my youthful little fingers,” said Donald aloud.  Soon, the young man was standing affront, classmates looking bright eyed and bushy tailed at their classmate.  “Oh my, when they hear that I’m sick, there’s no chance they’ll let me resume studies.” Donald began, “Well- COUGH COUGH COUGH! I would make a bad criminal- COUGH COUGH COUGH!”

But then, rather abruptly, Miss SourAppel cut in. “Donald, stop saying 'cough'!”

Donald shot back, “But I’m sick.  Please will you let me go, with whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles, green peanut-butter M&M’s, and a cherry on top?”

“Oh, fine Donald!  Just get out of here! NOW! I forgot that your face looked so bad!” she said, looking at the young man’s scar.  “HURRY!”

“Okaaay,” said Donald with a reassuring tone.  “Gotta scamper.”  Then Donald ran out of the room, running to his destination, hoping, praying his truancy wouldn’t be sacrificed.

Author's Note

Comments on repetition are against what the novel is establishing