Hipteacher suddenly stops her mini-lecture about the beauties of the sestina when she looks back and sees Jimmy's desk. A white, powdery substance formed into mini-pyramids covers the top of the desk. Seeing that she is in an honors class and this substance is not, in fact, blow, she calms down and tells Jimmy that she'd be seeing him for detention that afternoon.
"Jimmy. What was that all over your desk?"
"Uh. It was, um, Altoids."
"Altoids? I'm sorry, you crushed up Altoids to look like cocaine?
"Oh, ok. That's totally normal." She says this a bit snarkily, but kid doesn't get it.
"I thought it would really hurt, and it did for about five seconds, but then it didn't feel so bad."
"Wait. You were snorting Altoids in the middle of my class?!"
"Well, only because Tim dared me too."
"And it wasn't really painful?" Because, hipteacher admits, she was sorta curious.
"Nope. After awhile it was kinda cool. When I did this (he inhales sharply through his nose like you would do if you were snotty and had no immediate access to a tissue) it felt really good! And tasted kind of sweet!"
"Ok. Get the cleaning stuff and paper towels. I want you to clean the tops of all the desks and sweep the room. And next time, use better judgment when dared to do something. You don't want to get falsely arrested on drug charges."
"Yes ma'am. And when I'm done, can I call Mr. hipteacher?!" (hipteacher's students are strangely fascinated with her husband. For a few of her male ninth graders, Mr. hipteacher has reached almost mythic status. They are obsessed. The phenomenon is an enigma.)
"No. He doesn't want to talk to you."
"C'mon, please? He likes me!"
"No. Jimmy, get to work."
"Ok, hipteacher. But he really likes me!"