Don't Call Me Ishmael Read Online Free PDF

peered past Barry Bagsley’s head to the words being formed in Miss Tarango’s neat even handwriting. Barry Bagsley’s eyes dancedand swivelled in their sockets as if at any minute they would spin around like symbols on a poker machine and reappear at the back of his head.
    â€˜Eyes to the front,’ Miss Tarango said coolly just as Barry Bagsley’s head began to turn slightly behind her back. Miss Tarango finished writing and stepped a little to the side.
    We all read what she had written. We all frowned.
    Then Miss Tarango stood directly behind Barry Bagsley She had only one half-circle to complete. She looked once again to her hidden hands and then slowly raised her left arm into the air.
    Barry Bagsley watched mesmerised while all the eyes in the class moved to a point just above his head. The boys in the front row sat with mouths gaping, like a row of clowns in sideshow alley. Behind Barry Bagsley, Miss Tarango had the cold stare of the Terminator as her fingers closed into a fist.
    We knew she was bluffing, of course. But then again … maybe she realised Barry Bagsley had beaten her. Maybe she was desperate now and didn’t know what she was doing. Maybe she was a fake. What did we really know about her, anyway? She could be a totally insane lunatic who had escaped from an asylum and was just pretending to be a teacher!
    Miss Tarango’s fist hovered over Barry Bagsley’s head. She took in a deep breath. She seemed to be expanding so that her slight frame towered over the rigid form seated below her. Her eyes drifted up from Barry Bagsley’s head to her fist. I held my breath, not knowing if I wanted her to do it or not. Then, when the tension was almost unbearable, Miss Tarango rotatedher wrist, looked at her watch and turned to the class with a radiant double-dimpled smile.
    When the end-of-lesson bell blared through the intercom, the whole class was jolted, as if they’d been stuck with electric cattle prods. Some boys gasped out loud. I was one of the gaspers. Bill Kingsley let out a squeal that would have been right at home in
Night of the Living Dead.
    Even Barry Bagsley flinched. But he didn’t budge from his seat.
    Suddenly Miss Tarango was her old self again. ‘Well, boys, we’re all out of time, so we’ll have to continue this tomorrow. Don’t forget your English text for next lesson and your workbooks. Now pack up quickly and …’
    But she was drowned out by a howl of objections.
    Miss Tarango looked bewildered. ‘What’s the problem?’
    Barry Bagsley broke in rudely. ‘You haven’t finished the last circle. You have to finish the third circle and then I win. You can’t pike out now.’
    â€˜But it’s lunchtime, Barry. I don’t want to hold up the rest of the class. We can do it tomorrow or perhaps another day. Good morning, everyone.’
    Barry Bagsley looked astounded. ‘What am I supposed to do?’ he whined. ‘Sit here all night?’
    Miss Tarango smiled pleasantly. ‘Well, yes, Barry, I suppose you do, because
that
was the challenge you accepted. If you don’t believe me, it’s right here on the board. You can turn around now and have a look if you want to.’
    Barry Bagsley swivelled around but maintained his grip onthe arms of the chair. On the board was what Miss Tarango had written a few minutes ago–
Before I walk around the chair three times you will be off.
    â€˜You see, Barry,
this
is the key word here,’ she said, cheerfully underlining the word ‘before’ heavily. ‘Now, my part of the deal was to walk around the chair three times. I didn’t say how
long
I would take to do that or
when
it would be completed. Maybe I’ll do it tomorrow, maybe the next day or the day after that-maybe next year, who knows? And naturally, if you are still on the chair at the time, then you win. I promise you though,
one
day before I die, I will