The Tale of Horace 3

"I require your presence at lunch."

Beltran turned around, expecting to see his friend Horace. No one else would talk like that, after all. But all he saw was Horace's backside as it loped around the corner. Not being a man of much vim, nor vigor, Beltran contented himself to let his furtive friend escape without questioning. "Why must he always be so melodramatic?" was on his short list, however. Beltran offered a tepid "Whatever" just to finish the aborted conversation. He finished changing out his books and headed to class.

"Beltran!"

Wishing not to be pestered, but unable to ignore the commanding tone, Beltran turned.

"Beltran, what in the world is up with your friend? Horace stood up on his desk first period and started ranting and raving. Something about Gandhi and Chay somebody or other. I have no idea. Anyways, then he sat down and refused to talk to anybody. Mr. Penwhistle-Frist didn't know what to do. He started huffing about making Horace taking a time-out. Then he realized that Horace was already taking one. Weird."

"I don't know what to tell you Ricardo. Horace is just weird I guess."

"Well duh. I was just wondering why. Did he get dropped or something? Did his mom make him sniff glue? No, wait a second. Horace never does anything; he just talks all the time. Something is definitely up."

"Nah. I mean, he reads books and stuff. He was probably just acting out Shakespeare or something."

"Yeah, weird. Well I gotta get to geometry."

Ricardo turned on his heel and walked off, leaving a suddenly pensive Beltran in the hallway. Just what was Horace's deal anyway? Acting different was normal, but standing up on desks? He'd known Horace for a long time, but he'd never troubled himself to act; he just talked incessantly. It was all vaguely disquieting and Beltran really didn't want to think too hard about it. He reassured himself with a "Whatever." Leastwise, he tried.

Drrrrriiiiiiiinnnnnnggggg

"Dang, I'm gonna get a tardy slip" Beltran whined to himself. "Oh, whatever."