Fiction
by Bob Chikos
by Bob ChikosJanuary 26
“Can anyone tell me what the Native Americans did with the bison?” Greg asked.
“Brooke,” he called on a girl who had sunk in her chair.
“They ate it?” Brooke answered, questioningly.
“Yes! Don’t be afraid to answer. This isn’t life or death. Did they—?”
“Wheee!” A squealing pig noise sounded, followed by shrieks of laughter.
This occurred daily. Greg was never able to locate the origin of the noise.
He was overweight. One of his eyes was slightly lower than the other. His upturned nose created easy fodder for pig snout jokes, and his teenage acne had left him with permanent pits.
The bell rang.
“Quiz is on Friday!” Greg yelled over the din as the students filed out. “You have no excuse for not being prepared.”
He had put up with bul
