Math Class by T. S., New City, NY

I could just barely make out his face over the yellow and red plaid sweater of the little red-haired girl in front of me. Still, I could tell the signs of what was about to occur from a mile away. I had been there so many times before. His head was laid on the left arm facing me.

I could tell by the way the kid's lips were slightly opened and how dry his mouth was. He had a slightly green tint to his face that blended perfectly with the chalkboard in front of the class.

My math teacher was still ranting and raving about some quadratic formula he had just proved. He had chalk all over his blue slacks. He was so oblivious to what was about to happen as he sweated right through his tan sports jacket.

I could see the spaced-out look in the kid's vacant eyes. I knew he was feeling the whole room spinning, and just as his stomach began to churn, my teacher slammed home his point with his fist on the poor boy's desk. Then, like he had been waiting for this all period, the boy leaned over and vomited all the milk and vegetable medley from his lunch that he had eaten before he ran the mile last period.