Heck: Where the Bad Kids Go by Dale E. Basye Page A

the vampire has a little baby bat,” she jeered. “It’s plain and shapeless like its mama.”
    Miss Borden turned sharply. “What is going on here, girls?”
    Lyon turned coolly to address her teacher. “We can’t concentrate with Marlo’s constant grumbling.”
    â€œIt’s really distracting,” added Bordeaux. “We’re trying to learn how to become good homemakers, but—”
    â€œIs there a problem, Miss Fauster?” the teacher asked tartly.
    Marlo slunk back in her seat, plopping her doll on the desk. “No, ma’am. No problem.”
    â€œGood. Now, with your markers, give your darling bundles of joy a face. And be sure to name them. This will help you to establish a strong bond with your little one.”
    The girls, apart from the beaming Bordeaux, heaved a collective sigh and proceeded to scrawl features upon their flour babies.
    â€œDon’t forget the fangs, Vampira,” whispered Lyon through pursed, candy pink lips.
    Marlo seethed quietly as she drew a pony face on her doll. Whenever she was stressed, she found ponies strangely calming.
    â€œAnd for those of you who think this is silly,” Miss Borden announced, eyes trained on Marlo, “you’ve obviously never considered the financial advantages of babysitting.”
    The teacher took her ax and walked across the room toward the kitchenette.
    â€œNow while you’re getting acquainted with your babies, I’ll start preparing the ingredients for our class casserole.”
    She slid a stalk of celery across the counter, raised her ax above her head, and commenced chopping.
    â€œOne, two, three, four…”
    Marlo tranced out, doodling on her flour baby, adding long eyelashes to its wet pony eyes. She couldn’t stand this. She just had to score brownie points with the meanest girls she had ever met.
    â€œTwelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…”
    Before she knew it, Marlo found herself leaning across the aisle to Lyon.
    â€œHome ‘Ick’ with Miss
Boredom
more like, huh?”
    Lyon gawked back at Marlo as if a park statue had suddenly come to life and addressed her. Marlo realized she hadn’t earned so much as a brownie crumb.
    â€œTwenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty…”
    Lyon and Bordeaux exchanged looks. Then Lyon shot her perfectly manicured hand in the air.
    â€œMiss Borden,” she cooed in a skillfully sweet voice.
    â€œThirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine…” The teacher looked up as if awoken abruptly from a dream.
    â€œYes, Miss Sheraton. What is it?”
    Lyon smoothed her shining blond hair demurely. “Well, teacher, I was trying to concentrate on caring for my new baby when Miss Fester interrupted me, calling you a boring old witch…that smells like dusty farts.”
    Lyon smiled innocently as the class held its collective breath.
    Miss Borden’s pupils dilated until her eyes were completely, unfathomably black. The full force of her glare was aimed straight at Marlo. What little color Marlo had in her face drained away. She swallowed hard, though her mouth was as dry as a cotton ball.
    â€œI d-didn’t,” she stammered. “Well, not exactly.”
    Bordeaux murmured to Lyon behind her cupped hand. “Who’s the baby now?”
    Miss Borden whacked the ax into the table so hard that the oven door flung open.
    â€œForty!!”
    Her rage again chilled suddenly, giving Marlo goose bumps. Miss Borden curled her thin, creased lips. “Miss Fauster,” she said, overenunciating, “I’d like you to join me after school for a private tutoring session. I have an ax to grind with you.”

17 · CAGEY CRITTER
    LUCKY LICKED HIMSELF furiously while Bea “Elsa” Bubb squatted beside his cage, staring at him with revulsion.
    â€œDisgusting creature,” she grumbled. “As if something as repulsive as
you
could ever be