For Domino - a bit of an unconventional offering to the contest.  :) I wanted to enter it in the r/l category, but it went way over on word limit.

Peter didn't know that he wasn't really my friend.  He had a crush on me, and that skewed his perception.  I had even snitched on him once after a field trip, after he showed me a little figurine that he'd swiped from the gift shop of the museum.  But he still told me his secrets anyway.  I was happy to listen, until one day shortly before Christmas break.  While we were walking to school, Peter told me that he and that awful bully Dennis were going attack my brother, Mike, on the way home from school.

Peter and I were in the fifth grade; Dennis and Mike were in the sixth.  To get to and from school, we had to walk down a narrow pavement path that got as hot as hellfire in the summer.  The path was fenced with chain-link on both sides, except where it crossed the railroad tracks.  That path also took us right alongside Peter's house.  Peter told me that he and Dennis were going to run right to his house after school, and throw Molotov cocktails at Mike when he walked past.

I knew what Molotov cocktails were from watching Mannix on TV.  I was horrified.

My teacher, Mrs. Fuller, always told the class that if anything was bothering any of us, we could talk to her about it.  She had a chair for students right by her desk, in case anyone wanted to talk to her. Just the day before, she'd made a big speech about Christmas spirit and how we should all get along.  I decided to talk to her.

I told her what Peter had said and told her how afraid I was.  I expected that she would fix everything.  Instead, she got up, yelled angrily at the class and had a total conniption fit.  She went on and on, red-faced with anger, about Christmas Spirit!  Then she pulled her coat out of the closet, put it on, slammed the closet door shut and stormed out of the room.

I sat in shock at the front of the classroom in the chair beside her desk.  All my classmates stared at me, and I could see them wondering what on Earth I had done to make Mrs. Fuller so angry.  I started to cry.  I didn't know if I should just go back to my desk and pretend it never happened or what.  But as far as I knew, my brother was still in danger.

Through my tears, I wrote Mrs. Fuller a note - I don't remember exactly what it said, but it was an apology.  I remember thinking that she was acting a lot like my mother had lately.  My older sister told me that Mom was being spastic because she was in "mentalpause."  I thought that Mrs. Fuller must be in "mentalpause" too.

Then I went to the principal's office, tears still streaming down my face.  I had only been in the principal's office once, four years earlier during a tour of the school.  I noticed that the paddle still occupied the same corner of the desk - like it hadn't moved in four years.

The principal, Mr. Davis, took one look at me and said to the secretary, "She looks about as bad as I feel."  He told me to go wash my face and come back to talk to him.  I did.  I don't remember exactly what we said, but I told him everything Peter had said and what had happened in Mrs. Fuller's class.

He told me not to worry, that nobody was going to hurt my brother.  I felt much better.  He sent me back to class, but Mrs. Fuller was still not there.  I took the note off her desk, ripped it up and threw it in the trash.  My classmates were silent, still staring as if awestruck by my presence.  I picked up my Laura Ingalls Wilder book and pretended to read while feeling the heat of a deep scarlet blush, the kind that only peers can inflict.

Not long after, Mrs. Fuller came back to escort us to lunch.  She acted like nothing had happened, so the rest of the class followed her lead.

Later in the afternoon, Mr. Davis came to get me out of class.  Mrs. Fuller looked really ticked off again - only this time she looked ticked off squarely at me.  I went with Mr. Davis, and Mrs. Fuller followed us a little way down the hall.

Mr. Davis turned around and told her, "It's nothing for you to worry about.  I'll take care of it.  You go back to your class."  He sounded quite firm when he said it, using the tone of voice that he usually reserved for unruly students.  Mrs. Fuller glared at me once more before turning around, but she never said a word about it to me.

In Mr. Davis's office, he told me that he had talked to the boys involved, including my brother.  They were all friends now, and all three of them were going to escort me home that day.

Sure enough, when school let out, all three of them were waiting for me.  They were joking and laughing - being very nice to each other and to me.  All three walked me to my front door.

I often pondered that day and always thought that someone should have been spanked.  I decided that someone was Mrs. Fuller.  I imagined her bent over Mr. Davis's desk, her bright-colored polyester skirt pulled up, her nylons and panties pulled down.  Mr. Davis would scold her about what a naughty teacher she was to do what she did - leaving me alone like that.  He'd paddle her really hard, until her plump bottom was as red as her dyed hair, and he'd lecture on and on as he spanked about how she lacked Christmas Spirit!  Then he'd make her stand in the corner until she properly grasped the spirit of the holiday.