Cold Blooded

Cold Blooded Miss Kincaid begins instructing her fourth grade class on
the formation of the cursive 'G' with her teeth outlined in blood.
She'd been to the dentist earlier in the day, and had neglected to
check in a mirror. Emma is one of the first to see it. She's been
trained to look people in the eyes, but finds the process disconcerting
- when she does this people always glower back at her coldly as though
they expect something from her, as though they expect her to do
something - and so she allows her gaze to droop like a wilting daisy to
their noses or lips or teeth. Today is one of those days when it seems
best to turn her sharp little eyes on everyone's incisors. For the
first few minutes everyone is too shocked to do anything, and Miss
Kincaid illustrates letters on the blackboard, smiling a wide scarlet
grin. Emma wishes she could run up and hand her a Kleenex. She likes
Miss Kincaid, she really does. Miss Kincaid sometimes tells her about
books she ought to read, and she appreciates that, providing it doesn't
mean she's singled out in front of her friends. If she is, then they'll
watch, and later, after Miss Kincaid had departed, tell her she's a
geek and a nerd and a brown-noser. They'll say it teasingly, but
they'll say it all the same. Last week, Justin Fletcher (who wears his
baseball cap at a rakish angle and who all the teachers seem to feel is
going to be a football hero or important company executive) dumped a
pile of worms onto her desk. He said it's because she's such a
bookworm. Ha. Ha. Ha. Her mother tells her that this means that Justin
probably has a crush on her, and while the notion is comforting, she
suspects that it just means that he dislikes her nearly as much as she
dislikes him. But all the same, she doesn't want, she really doesn't
want, to be relegated to the corner of the playground where Alan Fox
and Ben Goldberg sit, picking ponderously at their pimples. They
discuss in loud, monotonous voices, like those of patients who have
just undergone an ice-pick lobotomy, the clouds in the sky, or what
they ate for dinner last night. They're the kind of children whose
failure to reproduce seems to be a foregone conclusion. Not like Laura
McGivern, who sits next to her and who she sometimes splits her peanut
butter and jelly sandwich with. Laura has a tiny frilled skirt, which
she blows about in in a torrent of exaggerated self assurance. She also
has sandy blonde hair which she wears up in pigtails, and is said to
have kissed a boy on the baseball diamond behind the school. It's a
tidbit which establishes her as an eight year old woman with a past.
There was a period after the incident where girls who viewed themselves
as respectable wouldn't even talk to her, which only added to her
appeal, later. "Oh, eew," whispers Laura, "her teeth are all bloody.
That is, like, so totally gross." "Mmm," Emma replies. "Hey everybody!"
Cries Justin, "Miss Kincaid is a vampire!" It's a stupid joke, and Emma
knows it's a stupid joke. She thinks it's impressive that Miss. Kincaid
would show up at all - her mother always lets her take a day off when
she has to go to the dentist. She doesn't want to laugh, but already
Laura's pigtails are swinging about in giddy hilarity, and that
throbbing melody of giggles and guffaws and chortles is beginning to
pulsate like a heartbeat around the room. Alan and Ben aren't laughing,
but that doesn't count, after all, they're barely people. Still, she
wonders whether it's the kind of thing that could happen to anyone. Her
own teeth may be bleeding and she might not even know it. If she opens
her mouth, the room could explode in blood. Emma flicks the tip of her
tongue over her front teeth. She doesn't taste any blood. "It's okay,
then," She thinks, "everything is perfectly fine. Perfectly, perfectly
fine." And then, she allows her head to loll back infinitesimally, and
lets forth one long trill of laughter.