‘The Rat In English Class’

John Zheng's photobook, Mississippi Delta, is to be released in September 2025. He teaches at Mississippi Valley State University and has published hundreds of photographs or photoku in journals, including The Southern Quarterly, Arkansas Review, Under the Basho, and Integrite.

The Rat In English Class

“--I have never let my schooling interfere with my education.”

--Grant Allen

Dr. Faunce learned of the rat in Ms. Davis’s room while eavesdropping on students between classes. He kept his desk close to his office window. With the blinds drawn, no one knew their principal listened in.

“Honest. To. God,” one student swore to another. 

Dr. Faunce was not surprised, sorry to say. Ms. Davis was a twenty-eight-year vet of Maya Angelou Middle Years Academy, yet she knew nothing about wielding the barbed wire baseball bat of authority. The woman didn’t teach! She asked questions and applauded (literally) every answer, even when it was wrong. She kept her desks in a circle, despite his memos. When he scooted by her room for covert observations, she heard her students laughing…during class! The Test Prep teachers complained that students read books for her class rather than do their drills. And apparently, instead of growing student vocabulary memorization, she allowed (encouraged?) the presence of flea-bitten vermin in her room.

A hopeless case. Whenever Dr. Faunce reviewed with her (again) his data-driven classroom management practices proven to raise test scores, she nodded her round, bun-capped head and cooed in marmic obsequiousness, “Thank you, Mr. Faunce,” emphasis on the Mr.

Excuse me, Ms. Davis: a lawyer can’t go by Dr.? Isn’t the degree called a Juris Doctor, you married woman who still insists on Ms.? And who cares about credentials when scores are up 18.7%?

At least, this would have been his retort if her smiley demeanor didn’t always disarm him.

When the next period began and students no longer choked the hallways, Dr. Faunce hightailed it to the English wing to see this rat for himself. He typically paraded along when out of his office so faculty and the student body could see he had his eye on them. But Ms. Davis was a sneaky one, like those POWs in movies who kept their fancy kitchens on swivels so they could restore their barracks to squalor when guards strolled by. If he didn’t catch her unawares, students would be stooped over fresh, unused practice manuals when he checked on her. So Dr. Faunce dipped to the floor and scurried along on his hands and toes to keep out of sight. When he reached Ms. Davis’s room, he squatted by the rear door and poked up his nose until he could peek inside.

And there, at the apogee of the oblong, unsanctioned desk-circle, sat a rat! Eating a Cheet-O! And not some pet store rat, but an honest-to-god, hole-in-the-wall, pizza-rolling rat! As though a member of class! Matriculated!

The kids closest to the rat looked on with big smiles. It was all Dr. Faunce could do to keep from bursting into the room. What does a rat have to do with English class?!? He saw the unmistakable shadow of Ms. Davis, her wide shoulders and thick trunk, hands flitting about. Then her child-like voice, full of a beginner’s enthusiasm:

“Quick, Templeton needs more words of praise to bring back to Charlotte! They’ve already used terrific and radiant. What are other words to praise Wilbur with?”

Kids didn’t raise their hands but blurted out answers: tremendous, formidable, marvelous. Fantabulous (is that even a real word?). Wicked, mega, badass (to a teacher, a boy yelled this last word!). And Ms. Davis didn’t correct him, or any other student for that matter. Nor did she direct them to the official vocab manuals authorized and promoted by the testing corporation. Quite an expense, those manuals. The room was in utter chaos. Three kids stood at the board, transcribing every shout with neither filter nor answer key.

Ms. Davis applauded. “What a fine word bank for Charlotte!” The rat finished its Cheet-O. “Go, Templeton.” She shooed him with flabby hands. “Go save Wilbur from becoming bacon!”

“Good luck, Templeton,” the kids cheered as the rat receded behind the shelf of novels Dr. Faunce had told her time and time again to move into storage.

Dr. Faunce had seen enough. Also, the passing bell was three minutes from sounding. He scuttled back to his office, and just in time. His blinds were still unsettled, chiming like cymbals against his door, when the hallway bedlam of undisciplined children got underway. Screaming and squealing sneakers. Shadows skipping along his blinds. Teachers called students by name, even the names he found alien and unpronounceable. He huddled at his desk and nibbled at his cheese sandwich.

This chaos would pass. Once it did, he could get back to fixing this lousy place.

Richard Weems is the author of three short story collections, one of which was a finalist for the Eric Hoffer Book Prize. His work has appeared in North American Review, The Gettysburg Review, Beloit Fiction Journal and elsewhere. He just recently retired from teaching.