Non-classifiable
"Cut it out!" the driver shouted. He might have said it again, but I couldn't tell for sure over all the noise.
In a weird way, I was having fun. When some of the kids around me started laughing, I laughed too. I reached for the ball of paper that had landed on the floor and threw it as hard as I could toward the back of the bus.
"Hey, new guy!" a voice called. "You pitch like a girl!"
I bristled. It was my own fault; I'd called attention to myself.
I knew whatever I did next was important. This was what my mom would call a defining moment. She says life is all about defining moments, only most people miss them. They're too busy doing other stuff.
For a couple of seconds, I bucked and danced at the end of my line. I was like a rag doll shaken by a giant.
Was it a great white shark, twisting and turning me from side to side, like a bulldog with a rat in its jaws?
I couldn't see what was happening. It was dark, and air bubbles kept exploding around my face mask.
Don't panic! I told myself. Don't panic!
I tried to think it through. I didn't feel razor-sharp teeth cutting through my wet suit. So it wasn't a shark.
Don't panic. Don't panic.
Mr. Eyepatch stepped out from behind an old truck. At full speed, I almost speared myself on the huge knife he held waist high in my direction. I managed to throw myself to the side and dodge the knife.
I stopped a few stumbling steps later, turned to face him, and gasped for breath.
He snarled something at me in Russian.
The skinny dude looked frightened. "I think my boot's stuck," he whimpered.
The bear took another swipe, this time catching the edge of the guy's jeans. They tore easily. The bear grunted deep in his chest. Now the terror stood out on the skinny dude's face.
It had only been seconds, but I glanced up and realized that I was alone in the office. The rest of the class had already reached the stairwell.
A pair of eyeballs peered over the edge of the desk. I froze in shock.
They were human eyeballs...that were still attached to a human head.
I suppressed the urge to yell as a guy popped up from behind a desk and started toward me. Something metal gleamed in one hand. He had a scruffy goatee, a nose ring and a tattoo on his upper arm.
The spit in my mouth dried instantly. My feet were moving before my brain gave the command to run. I sped out of the office and down the stairs, slamming the door behind me.