This is a story about a futuristic school where students cannot get away with as much as they do now. Because it is an imagined future school, anything is possible.
"Gotcha! You little rascal!" a metallic voice boomed out, causing Edward to stop what he was doing. He wasn't sure where the voice had come from. All he knew was that his right hand, which had been scribbling on the desk, was frozen in place.
He felt the colour drain from his face as he realised that the teacher was eyeing him intently while slowly making her way to his seat by the window. So far this month, he had managed to stay out of trouble and was looking forward to the reward his dad had promised if no letters were sent home all term.
Miss Terius (the students had long ago learned not to make fun of her name) allowed her words to reach him before she did. "Mr Tyme, I see you have decided to decorate one of my desks."
His stunned expression gave her a sense of satisfaction. "B...b...but how did you...?" he started.
The rather stooped old lady smiled a small smile as she moved her face closer to his until he could smell the coffee on her breath. "Just because I have been teaching for 37 years does not mean my classroom is outdated." She reached into a tiny cupboard under the window sill and pulled out some desk cleaner. Placing it on the desk next to his hand that was still unable to move, she whispered," Now clean it."
"But my hand is stuck!" he whined.
"Use the other one," she hissed as she ambled back to her usual position at the front of the room.
Tentatively, he reached for the bottle with his left hand and squirted brown citrus-scented foam onto the ink he had left there. He grabbed the cloth and rubbed vigorously until the drawing was only a memory. The metallic voice sounded again, "Thank you." His hand was freed and he realised it was the desk that had spoken and had held his hand captive.
Backing away slowly from the scary desk, Edward wondered what else the school had in store for him.