August 23
Deacon passed the Antarctic cluster as he approached Mr. Walsh’s desk. Nick covered his paper and Tegan leaned forward, both blocking his view of their answers. Jeanne glanced up just in time to see Nick’s chair jerk backwards; Deacon put his hands up. It was obvious to the students that Deacon had kicked the chair, but Mr. Walsh was strict about not speaking during quizzes.
As expected, though, the Antarcticans were first done with the busywork. Jeanne turned her attention from the facile questions to watch Mr. Walsh count out the votes; she had to admit that she felt he was one of the more organized teachers this year, but he still was just a teacher. He was still just as blind to the realities around him, such as Deacon’s reign of terror. Not for long, she thought, smiling imperceptibly.
Mr. Walsh had been dividing the votes into three piles on his desk. Jeanne could see the piles clearly from her desk. One pile was significantly larger than the other two, but that was to be expected; someone had to win, after all.
He paused in his sorting, bringing the ballot in his hand to his face for a closer look. Bingo, she thought; that’s one of ours. He set it aside, creating a new pile of sorts. This process repeated four more times, creating five piles when all was said and done.
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