My arm was red. Wonder why? Irma. Ms. Irma. One of the meanest teachers in Children Studio School. She had brown, spikey, knotted hair with tomato red tips, like little volcanoes. She was tall and skinny, like a weak tree and always wore old vintage clothes. She had long, thorny, nails that were as sharp as a thumbtack. These were her weapons. She used these against the unfortunate children. And I just happened to be one of her victims.

It was the first day of school when it all toppled on top of me. The hallways were full of desperation, as everyone buzzed around, anxious to find out what class they will be in for the rest of the year. And then it hit me.

“Ira Lindsay. Room 308” said the muffled intercom.

Before I could even think about what had been said, my heart stopped. Room 308 was a legend. It was the cave of Ms. Irma. Why Me, Ms. Tracy? Why Me? Ms. Tracy was the lady who decided what classes the students took. At first I thought she was cordial, but not anymore. I slowly grabbed my lunch box and backpack and moved along the hallways, like a lost slug. The first day was usual. We introduced ourselves, and then played some icebreakers. For the first week of school, it was ok. None of the myths about Ms. Irma were true. She wasn’t as mean as people said she was.

But I was wrong. The second week was when it started. She dug her dirty little finger shovels into my skin. Did she really just touch me? Is this lady crazy? As soon as I got home, I ran upstairs and show my mom my red arm. She was furious. I never saw this expression on my moms face. It was twisted like a pretzel. Regardless of her facial expression, she told me, in a calm tone, to not do anything and tell her if it happens again.

Two days went by and then it all repeated. She stuck her ten corkscrews into my arm. I started to wonder why no one ever told on her. But that was going to change. She was the Wicked Witch of the school, and so I was going to take on the role of Dorothy. I was going to stop her. After my Mom found out about the second time, she immediately scheduled a meeting with Ms. Irma. On the day of the meeting, I entered the office proudly, with my mom and dad behind me. As soon as I opened the door to the meeting room, I felt the heat smack me in the face. There sat Ms. Irma, with a smug look on her face, Ms. Tracy, looking disappointed, and the principal, Mr. Doug. I couldn’t sit in, so I had to wait outside of the office. The whole time, I had my ear pressed against the wall, eavesdropping. I couldn’t really hear anything so I moved my ear along the wall like a stethoscope looking for a heart beat. Then I heard the screaming and yelling and some curse words. It ended up with my mom coming out crying and my dad comforting her. I stayed home about a week while the school fixed my schedule and when I came back all of my stuff was in a new cubbyhole. In a new room. This was probably the best choice because I never had to talk to Ms. Irma ever again.