Class Is Not Dismissed! by Gitty Daneshvari Page A

you’ve
     forgotten something.”
    “What’s that, Sporty?”
    “That you’re driving!”
    “Oh, so I am,” Mrs. Wellington said, grabbing the wheel and jerking it abruptly in the other direction.
    The van weaved across numerous lanes of traffic, setting off a storm of honks and clouds of burning rubber. Cars literally
     came to a grinding halt as the van careened across the highway, perilously close to causing a pileup.
    “
Ah!!!!!!!!!!!!!
” Theo yelled before putting his hands over his eyes.
    “Isn’t that polite, all these drivers making room for me? Oh, and a parade’s coming!”
    “Madame, I believe that’s a police officer,” intoned Schmidty.
    “Oh, don’t be silly, there’s music.”
    “That’s the siren.”
    “The what?”
    “Pull over, Madame.”
    “We don’t have time. We are in a terrible hurry. You
know
you can’t be late to a pageant, especially when someone’s blackmailing you.”
    “Yes, but I’m afraid we must make time or they may arrest us.”
    “Arrest us? Absolutely not. I refuse to have my mug shot taken when my wig is in such a state!”
    “Madame,” Schmidty pressed on firmly, “you must stop.”
    Mrs. Wellington sighed loudly before slamming on the brakes.
    “Madame! No! You have to pull off the highway.”
    “Honestly, all these rules. It’s a terrible headache of useless information. All you need to know is how to turn a key. The
     car does the rest.”
    “Oh, Madame,” Schmidty said, shaking his head, “so much of your life is simply… inaccurate.”
    “We haven’t time for compliments. Handle this man, and let’s get on with it,” Mrs. Wellington said as a highway patrolman
     knocked on her window.
    “It’s glass,” Mrs. Wellington shouted. “You can’t put your hand through it.”
    “Ma’am, I need you to roll down the window and hand me your license and registration.”
    “Of course,” Mrs. Wellington said, turning to Schmidty. “Valise, please.”
    Mrs. Wellington riffled through stacks of papers and knickknacks before pulling out a large and weathered pink document.
    “Here’s my license, officer.”
    “Ma’am, this is a cosmetology license.”
    “That is most correct, but I must admit, I haven’t done a facial in years, so if you’ll excuse us, we really must get going.”
    The officer leaned back and looked into the van suspiciously.
    “Ma’am, who do these children belong to?”
    “Oh, who knows? I can hardly remember my own name, let alone their parents’ names. Now, officer, if you’ll excuse me, I am
     in a terrible rush to get to Bostonfor a beauty contest, so I am sure you’ll understand if we continue this chat later, perhaps someplace more civilized, like
     at my mansion.”
    “Ma’am, I’m going to have to bring you in.”
    “In where? Are you trying to recruit me for the highway patrol? It simply won’t work out; I’ve never looked good in khaki.
     Perhaps you can call me when you get some pink or lavender uniforms.”
    “Ma’am, I am arresting you.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. Call the governor; he knows me very well.”
    “Sure,” the officer said sarcastically, “and then I’ll call the president.”
    “Oh, please don’t. His wife gets so jealous.”
    “Ma’am, I’m arresting you.”
    “Oh, very well. Call the president. See if I care.”
    “I need everyone to step out of the van.”
    The ride to the police station was rather dull, except of course for Mrs. Wellington’s constant insistence on calling the
     governor. Once at the station, Mrs. Wellington and Schmidty were placed in a small holding cell while the children were taken
     into an office to be questioned.
    At a round table, Theo, Lulu, Garrison, Madeleine,and Hyacinth were seated uncomfortably before a large one-way mirror.
    “Theo, Celery doesn’t want you to mention getting arrested in the wedding toast. I don’t care, of course, but you know Celery…
     so conservative,” Hyacinth babbled nervously. “Although if I were ever