My Teacher Is Not My Hero

The Heavy Baggage

“Hey! Ms. Trash” each word was uttered slowly and annoyingly by a group of boys, five or six, aging 15-17, who wore their school uniform unbuttoned, showing their sandos, some with band aid on their noses. One threw a crumpled paper at her. She heard nothing at all and continued walking while holding tightly the handbook of the school. They still teased her. Making faces and shouting bad words. Suddenly, she turned her head towards the boys’ direction, removed her ID from her neck and preparing to fling it directly on one of the boys’ faces. But she was stopped when she noticed me standing in her side, still holding the books. She put back on the ID and kept the walk. And I was left unaware of what had really happened.