Mrs. Bilbrey: A Short Story

My hands shook harder than an earthquake as I walked down the fourth grade wing to the office. My fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Bilbrey, never believed a word I said. As I walked into the counselor's office, my knees felt like jelly. “Welcome, Dana.” Mrs. Ridge boomed. I looked right at her, seeing hate and unwelcome in her eyes. As I looked around the room, I saw some guidance posters, and then I saw Mrs. Powell, my science and math teacher, and Mrs. Bilbrey, my social studies and language arts teacher. My mouth tasted bile as I looked into Mrs. Bilbrey's blue eyes, her greasy gray hair flowing over her shoulder. “ Sit down in the chair beside me.” Mrs. Bilbrey barked. “Do you know why you are here on this gelid December day?” Mrs. Ridge questioned, waiting for a response.
“You liar!” Mrs. Bilbrey bursted “ And this is why I wonder how I used to have ‘POSITIVE’ feelings for you.” I replied as unflappably as possible. The other teacher, Mrs. Powell, allowed her glaring blue eyes to look past her blonde hair to the ceiling. “ You are here because of some rumors you have spread about your being ‘persecuted’” Mrs. Ridge said, ignoring Mrs. Bilbrey’s and my exclamations. “I believe you mean the true savagery of Morgan.” I say defiantly “No, I mean fake rumors and lies about your witty harassment after you stole the money. This was your own fault.” Mrs. Ridge remarked. That was past the line, and I could feel the lid to my temper fall off. “No comment.” I try to say flatly, but it sounded hoarse. “ So you admit that you are a liar?” Mrs. Powell said monotonically. “I admit that you are giving, um, falsified information.” “So you are calling us liars?” Mrs. Ridge quirked “I sure am not calling you