Eighth Grade Bites by Heather Brewer

fallen paper cupids and piped up from the back of the room, “Hey, Mr. Otis. Is today the day we start studying fairies?”
    The class erupted in laughter, but Mr. Otis remained stony. His voice was gruff. “Today will be a free day to work on your presentations.”
    Vlad relaxed in his seat and lost himself in his father’s journal for the better part of an hour. After some time, he came to a curiously short passage and paused.

    SEPTEMBER 21
    A year of studies has convinced me. The Elysian prophecy is being fulfilled in Vlad. He will be a great man, of that there is no doubt.
    Vlad jumped when Mr. Otis’s voice—hoarse, as if he were suffering from a cold—boomed into the room. “That doesn’t look like your presentation, Mr. Tod.” He gestured for Vlad to come forward, and after giving a heavy sigh, Vlad carried the journal to the teacher’s desk. Mr. Otis looked at the cover for a moment and then flipped through the book’s pages briefly. He pursed his lips and met Vlad’s gaze. “See me after class.”
    The remaining minutes of class dragged on for just short of an eternity. Mr. Otis alternated between staring blankly at his desk and flipping through pages of Tomas’s journal—something that really irritated Vlad. Wrong or not, Vlad deserved a little privacy. But the likelihood was that Mr. Otis wouldn’t see the journal as anything but a creative fiction, so he watched the clock tick the time away and let out his irritation with deep, calming breaths.
    The bell rang and the class filed out into the hall. Vlad approached Mr. Otis’s desk, ready for the lecture that was coming. Through the door, he could see Meredith talking with Henry in the hall. She was twirling a lock of her hair around her index finger and looking from Henry’s shoes to his eyes and back. Henry had his hands in his pockets and his trademark grin on his lips. Henry must have said something funny, because Meredith laughed and touched his arm.
    Vlad seethed.
    Then, as if the flirtatious torture weren’t enough, Meredith withdrew a carefully made valentine from her English book and handed it to Henry. Vlad’s heart slammed against his ribs like they were iron bars and it was a prisoner trapped within his chest.
    Life had a nasty way of being increasingly unfair.
    Vlad reached into his backpack and pulled out a pathetic box of chocolates. He scowled at his crooked handwriting. To Meredith—sweets for the sweet, Vlad . With a flick of the wrist, he tossed them into the trash can beside Mr. Otis’s desk.
    Mr. Otis looked from the chocolates to Vlad with a distinct lack of sympathy. “When you are in my class, Vladimir, you will do as I instruct. You will not review materials that have nothing to do with the assigned subject matter. Do I make myself clear?”
    Tomas’s journal lay open on Mr. Otis’s desk. Vlad tore his attention from it and looked his teacher in the eye. “Crystal.”
    Otis dropped his gaze. His tone softened greatly. “If it’s not too personal, Vlad, may I ask why you live with your aunt and not with your parents?”
    â€œMy mom and dad . . .” Vlad swallowed a growing lump in his throat. He rarely spoke to anyone about Tomas and Mellina. And why was Mr. Otis asking about them? “They died three years ago.”
    Otis shifted in his seat. A great weight seemed to settle on his shoulders and he slouched over his desk. “I’m terribly sorry. How exactly did they die?”
    â€œIt was an accident—a house fire.” Vlad shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Why do you want to know?”
    Otis shook his head, lost in thought. “Tragic. You must miss them very much.” His voice caught in his throat in what seemed like empathy. “Were you close to your father?”
    That was enough. Vlad pressed his lips together and flashed Mr. Otis a firm look. “Can I have