The Humdrum Life of a Hero

Chapter 2.

What do I need from the grocery? I think to myself in my seventh period English class. My teacher Mr. Kaufman has droned on for the last forty minutes about poetry techniques, and I honestly couldn't care less. They're the same techniques we've been talking about since the third grade, and they certainly haven't changed in the last eight years.

Bread, eggs, cupcake mix, lasagna noodles, laundry detergent, hamburger meat and buns... I write all of this down on the list I've been working on all period. I put the pencil between my teeth thinking about what else I need for us to survive for another week.

Apparently, I was so deep in thought I didn't hear Mr. Kaufman stop the entire lesson and angrily spout my name. "Miss O'Henry, is my class so mundane that you feel the need to write notes in it to entertain yourself?

I look up to find him standing with his hands behind his back and the entire class staring at me. I slowly set my pencil down and meet Mr. Kaufman's tense eyes. "I, um, actually wasn't-"

He cuts me off when he walks up the row to my desk and snatches the list from the corner of my desk and begins to read out loud, "Laundry detergent, hamburger meat, Connor and Nick's prescriptions, ice cream, frozen pizza..."

He looks down at me, embarrassed. Suddenly the final bell of the day rings and the rest of the class flees the room, but I stay planted in my seat. "It's actually my grocery list."

He gingerly hands it back to me and says, "Sarah, I'm sorry to have embarrassed you like that, but you should know better. You know how strict I am about notes and such being worked on during my time."

"I'm sorry. I forgot to do it earlier."

He wears a sad smile when he states, "I know you and your family have had a hard time lately, but remember that your education is as important as everything else, okay?"

"Thanks, Mr. Kaufman." I grab my books and head out of the classroom. The halls are practically empty and it's only 2:32, only two minutes after the final bell rang. I make my way to my locker and deposit my stuff. I lug my backpack and purse on my body and go out to the parking lot. I hike all the way out to my car and blast the air conditioning once I start the engine.

I travel back to the elementary school to find my brothers waiting on the curb, obviously the last to be picked up today.

"You're late," they simultaneously mutter as they climb in the backseat.

"By like five minutes." I start the trek home, which turns out to be relatively silent. When I pull into the driveway, I remind them to quickly put on their practice attire so we can get to soccer practice on time.

My mom signed the boys up for soccer when they were in the second grade as an attempt to get them to branch out and find new friends. It kind of worked.

Nick excelled in the athletic portion of it, scoring goals and running up and down the field. He's one of the team's top scorers and can be an evil little shit. He's also cost the team a few penalty kicks.

Connor on the other hand made a few friends warming the bench. Connor's a klutz; he really is. The boy can't make it down the stairs, but he can make friends just by mentioning a comic book character.

The boys come back out a few minutes later. Shockingly, they both remembered shin guards and cleats. Last week, Connor refused to wear anything other than these sandals I had to buy him for a school project, but after I threatened to call Dad, he relented.

Threatening to call my dad works on everyone, especially Tony. My dad has told me to only call if it's an emergency or if one of the boys is giving me trouble. I haven't had to call him in a month, and I'd really hate to break that record.