18
In the eighth grade classroom of a Central school, all hell had broken loose. It was a commotion so profound that calling it a fish market would be an understatement. In the midst of the futile screams of the class-monitor were flying cloth dusters, pencil pouches, and a black shoe. While some were seen hopping over the desks, others crawled underneath them for reasons unknown. Vigorous pen-fights and matches of odd-or-even were being played over multiple groups. A few we...
