When the teacher walked into the classroom that morning, I knew something was amiss. He stood akimbo for what seemed like eternity. He finally took a step forward like a Massai warrior and stared at me menacingly. I immediately smelt a rat and developed cold feet.

“I want you in the headteachers office,” he blurted with saliva streaking down the sides of his mouth. Even before I could think of a recourse, a hot slap landed squarely on my sweating forehead. I hastily reached for a handkerchief in my pocked and was cleaning the mess when his next words chilled me to my bones.

“Are you listening…you…you….?”

“Yes, sir!” I stammered so loud like a police constable that he was taken aback. Anyway , he did not bother to complete his sentence and instead took a few steps back and waltzed out of the room.

Only then did I have time to make out what had caused ferocity in my usually sombre teacher of English. The puzzle was not hard, I soon realised when I recalled the french leave I had taken with my cronies from the dormitory the previous night for a discotheque in Seeta town. I quickly glanced behind only to see the three fellow escapees, sitting at the back of the class . They were as quiet as a graveyard, despite the apparent confusion in the classroom.

I led my guilty partners outside the class to a quiet room where we regurgitated out escapade the night before, and sought to figure out how we could escape the wrath of the teacher. That was like kicking against the pricks. We could not simply concoct a story because a night watchman had caught us in the hop as we wiggled ourselves through the fence, back from the discotheque. We ended up reliving the highlights of the discotheque.

Just for the fun of it, Jacky told us about how she nearly went to the way of all flesh when a dancing fanatic squeezed life out of her by holding holding her waist so tight which suffered from lumbago.

”Why didn’t you tell him off?” I asked.

”I enjoyed it. I didn’t realise how bad the lumbago was until the song stopped playing and he let go. I nearly crumbled to the dance floor.”

My other friends laughed but I did not. Jacky’s account did not amuse me. Unfortunately, I did not get the opportunity to respond for just then our language teacher’s face jutted nonchalantly through the door. He had obviously been eavesdropping our conversation. He confirmed our suspicion when he muttered something akin to dancing maniacs.

We suddenly as speechless as prehistoric monuments as he ordered us out of the room. We sashayed after him and this time not to his office but the headmaster’s. Before we reached we tried to sweet talk him into forgiving us but to no avail. Our attempt to kill him with kindness, that he was the best teacher, paid no dividends.

Just before we entered the headteacher’s office, the four of us exchanged knowing looks which notched our dutch courage. Inside the office three canes stood stood by the door, probably yearning for our bottoms. The headmaster sat on the other side of the table with countenance that would freeze fire. He had not even said a word when we began defending ourselves inarticulately, much to his bemusement.

”Enough with your mumbo jumbo!” he snapped with a ephemeral smile.

”May I know what the blubbering is all about?” he asked.

Before he continued, we resumed our panicky chattering upon which he banged the table with his right fist.

For a moment, we were all at sea and only realised then that a headmaster had his finger in the pie. He smiled broadly and said;

”I have agreed with all your teacher’s that you four are to represent the school in the forthcoming youth conference at………”

Our teacher sprung from the couch like a frog and almost reached for the headmaster’s throat. His right arm, usually lean, was today a strand of muscles. He leaned over and had a quick tete-a-tete with the headmaster upon which we were whisked away and we marooned in the vacant teacher’s staffroom.

Moments later the teacher came for us and from the look in his eyes we knew we were at the end of our tethers. Back in the headmaster’s office the atmosphere was deadening. His eyes, cold and full of fire seemed to pore through my forehead and capable for drilling open my brain. He glanced at us one at a time like a lion ready to spring at an antelope.

His words, when they finally came, almost made me pass out and I swore never again to pull a stunt similar to that of the previous night. I cursed the day I was born.

Another stunt from; AIJUKA EDWIN