“You took my cheese.”

“I did NOT take your cheese.”

“SOMEONE took my cheese.”

“…”

“What?”

“No one took your cheese, Margaret.”

“Some of my cheese is gone.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, I had a stack of cheese, and now some of it’s gone.”

“Well, did you COUNT the cheese?”

            Margaret and Iris, my two humanities teachers, were arguing again.  All signs pointed to a normal day at my middle school, but the sky was the deep blue color that made it feel like anything could happen.

            Apparently, the sky was right.  Because something extraordinary did happen that day.  It all started with the odd smell issuing forth from behind the radiator in the hall. 

            We first noticed it during third period as we watched a video on the ancient Mayans of South America, and their complex engineering work on flushing toilets.  At first, we thought the smell was just Mystery Soy Polymer Surprise brewing in the cafeteria.  However, as the day wore on, it slowly dawned on us that it was something much, much more ominous.

            At first, we ignored the smell, hoping it might go away by the end of lunch.  But, although no one mentioned it, one could not help but notice the green-and-blue river of plaid-clad students parting at the radiator like so many small bits of blue-green algae.  We began to hear teachers whispering furtively behind the faculty room door. 

“What IS it?” 

“I don’t know; what are we going to do?”

“It’s not a…biohazard or anything, is it?”

“Well, we can’t ignore it forever.”

“Should we send them home early?”

After P.E., Louisa tapped my shoulder and glanced secretively around.  “What?” I asked impatiently, in a hurry to get to my locker.  “SHHH,” she hissed, flapping her hands like some sort of indigenous wood duck. 

“Gosh, calm down.  You look like an indigenous wood duck.”

“What?” 

“Never mind.”

“…”

“Okay, what were you going to say?”

            Louisa pulled me into the janitor’s closet and began whispering feverishly, her eyes wide and fearful.  “Remember last year, when my mom packed those biscuits in my lunch every day?”

“Yeah…”

“And remember that one time when I got really sick of all those stupid biscuits, and I threw one behind the radiator?”

“Yeah…”

Then it dawned on me.  “Uh-oh.  You don’t think…”

“I’m afraid so.”

            Louisa and I took off in the direction of the radiator.  We had to stop this thing before it took over our entire school.  As we reached the hall of doom, the smell accosted us with all the fury of an overworked, underpaid lunch lady.  We held our breath and approached ground zero.  I wasn’t sure if it was just my imagination, but the air near the radiator appeared slightly green.

            Louisa and I exchanged glances.  I could from the look Louisa gave me that there was no way she was looking under there.  Cringing, I took a peek. 

            Nothing could have prepared me for the horrific sight that met my eyes.  I mean, I knew this would be a nasty, disgusting, rotten biscuit, but I hadn’t counted on this.  The small, greenish, and vaguely biscuit-shaped man looked up at me with an expression of pure loathing, shaking a tiny spear and clutching—could it be—a stack of cheese?

            “Excuse me,” it intoned.  “I’m trying to relax here.”

            “Uh, um…I’m sorry,” I stammered, my powers of reasoning incapacitated by sheer shock.

            “I think this is a job for Ms. Margaret,” said Louisa.  “I mean, it is her cheese.”

Duh, I thought to myself.  Of course such an inspiring and effective educator would be able to quell the fury brewing within this tiny, malodorous being, much as Alexander the Great had the unruly Persians. 

            So, we called our trusty old history teacher.  And as Ms. Margaret squashed the biscuit man with her boot, the school let out a collective sigh of relief.  We were finally safe, and we had to thank Ms. Margaret for her role as a courageous, inspiring teacher—and biscuit-murderess.