When we walk into our History class, Mr. Hittler instructs Kieran in his clipped words to, "Please wait. Here. Young Mr. Fitzgerald."
As I walk past Kieran on my way to my desk, I glance at him sideways, amused.
Mr. Hittler is not related to the Hitler from Germany, although my history teacher did adopt some of the historical tyrant's mannerisms and fashion sense. Mr. Hittler combs his short black hair in a severe middle path and he has a moustache. I surmise he is not brave enough to have only the little square to underline his nose, so his is a little bit longer.
Usually when we take too long to settle down, he knocks his heels together and I always have the urge to jump up and point my fingers, palm face-down, into the distant horizon and exclaim, "Yawhol," but I never have enough courage. If I ever did it though, I am positive that Mr. Hittler will confine me to life detention without parole.
I can see Mr. Hittler is starting to get itchy and then he brings his heels together with a loud knocking sound. Often I wonder if this hurts, but if it did, he never shows the pain.
The class falls silent immediately and all eyes are focused on Mr. Hittler. He swishes his leather whip through the air like a magic wand. This is where his power lies. Although all hell will break loose if he ever did hit any of us with it, we are too scared to push him over the edge. Even if he is fired and our parents came to school, threatening to sue every living person associated with the school for every penny they own or ever will own, it just is not worth the pain we would have to endure first to set this chain of events into motion.
Mr. Hittler turns to Kieran. "Mr. Fitzgerald. Tell us. A little. About your history."
Kieran raises his eyebrows amused. He looks across the faces of the students seated in front of him and he shrugs. "I don't really know what to say." He adds unsure, "My history?"
Mr. Hittler looks agitated. "Yes. What is. Your Christian Name?" He looks down at a piece of paper in his hand. When he looks up, he says, "Kieran?"
Kieran looks at Mr. Hittler questioningly.
Mr. Hittler continues, "For instance. Your history. Are you perhaps. Related to the Fitzgerald's. From Kildare?"
Kieran shakes his head in denial. "I don't think so."
" You are not. Irish?"
" No," Kieran says unsure.
Mr. Hittler mutters impatiently and then tell him, "Take a seat. Lad."