Floyd Kelly

Our Psych 101 class was mostly empty space, a few people creating little islands of gossip in a sea of desks. Our teacher, Mr. Matthews, usually ran a tight ship—he’d already called out Jeffrey in the past for being, well, Jeffrey—but today was different.

It was Jeffrey’s turn to give his book report. He rose slowly. Ever so slowly. Everybody knows he’s a big time stoner, big time, and the ten minutes he’d just spent behind the library had him fully marinated. He was nonchalant, wearing a Don’t Do Drugs t-shirt, bell-bottom jeans, his absurdly gigantic head of hair—a wild, unruly explosion of bright red—seeming to defy gravity. His hair bouncing and moving to his stride. I could see a trail of meandering dandruff. He reached the front of the room, crumpled papers in hand, and leaned against the teacher’s desk.

“Okay, so, like…” he began, his voice a slow, meandering drawl. “Today, I’m like … giving this book report on… Boiling Water for Dummies.”

A few people snickered. Mr. Matthews, however, just nodded encouragingly.

“So, like, this book… whoa. It’s deep,” Jeffrey continued. “It’s about changing water into like … steam. Oh wait …”, he fumbled through his papers, “That’s the ChatGPT stuff, sorry about that folks.” He then read from another paper, “It’s like little water ghosts, you know? Going on an adventure. Led Zeppelin was like totally cool. Anyway, it made me think about last night, for a little snack you know.”

His report became convoluted, detailing a battle with the donuts he ate, a pint of ice cream, and last year’s fruitcake from the garage. “It was, like, a little brick of heaven, you know? So heavy.”

He blinked slowly, a bit of drool visible. “So yeah. Like, I’m not doing so well in Intro to Algebra, so like, I may be a stoner but honesty always wins … and I really hope everyone dances on National Get Funky Day. It’s important.” He looked really tired. “In conclusion, it was a water journey. But, like, now I just really want to get back to my mom’s basement to play Final Fantasy.”

Mr. Matthews looked out at the class window with a thoughtful expression as Jeffrey shuffled back to his seat. “Well, Jeffrey,” he said, “That was a great exploration of how one’s… appetites… can lead to very convoluted justifications. A valuable lesson for us all.”

At that exact moment, he glanced out the small window in the classroom door, saw Mrs. Adrienne walk past, and I noticed a wave of visible relief washed over his face.

“Excellent report, Jeffrey,” he said quickly. “Class dismissed.”

As we all filed out, I saw it sitting in the trash can by his desk: the wrapper for a tuna sandwich, Mrs. Adrienne’s name written on it in sharpie. I realized then Mr. Matthews wasn’t interested in the metaphysics of boiling water; he was just a thief, hiding from his crime.