0630 Hours – First Light 

Thick fog clings to the freshly watered fields. The jungle gym loom like a crashed helo in the half-light. I’ve been staring at my credential badge for twenty minutes in the car, wondering if I’ve made a terrible mistake. Did I really sign up for another tour? The phone crackles with the morning mission report– another substitute down in the Science department. They’re dropping like flies out here.

0700 Hours – Insertion Point

The fluorescent lights buzz, for a moment they feel like a pair of Hueys flying low overhead. The front office secretary – let’s call her Command – has the vacant stare of someone who’s seen too many subs walk through those doors. “Anderson’s class? We lost three good subs in there last month. Clean hits. They never stood a chance.”

0730 Hours – First Contact 

It’s always the same. Teaching…Teaching never changes. A girl in the front row immediately starts unpacking nine different mechanical pencils, arranging them like artillery. The boy behind her is already mixing energy drink with what appears to be pixie sticks. His pupils are dilated.

0745 Hours – The Incident

 First casualty of the day. Kid in the back – we’ll call him Zero Hour – decides to test if his pen is flammable. It is. The smell of burnt plastic fills the air like napalm. I reach for the fire extinguisher, but three students are already there with Stanley bottles. They’ve done this before. They’re too prepared. This was a test.

0900 Hours – The Lab

 Command never prepared us for this. Thirty teenagers with access to Bunsen burners and chemicals. The safety goggles fog up from the humidity of their collective excitement. Someone starts humming the theme from Breaking Bad. I catch two of them trying to recreate a TikTok experiment involving sodium and water.

1045 Hours – Tactical Retreat

 Third period brings reinforcements – a student teacher observer. Poor soul looks fresh out of college, clipboard clutched like a shield. She’s taking notes about “classroom management techniques.” I want to tell her the truth: there is no management, only containment.

1200 Hours – Lunch Duty/The Horror

 The cafeteria is like a jungle, the smell of despair lingers in the room. Two hundred students, all hopped up on chocolate milk, half burnt/half frozen chicken nuggets, and freedom. A food fight breaks out in sector 7. I radio for backup, but command says there are no fire teams they can deploy in the area. We’re on our own out here.

1330 Hours – Breaking Point 

Returning to the Lab for 5th period, I lose control of the east corner of the room. They’ve established a fortified encampment there, complete with a flag made from safety goggles and rubber gloves. Their only demand: early release.

1500 Hours – The Reckoning 

Final bell approaches. The room looks like a war zone – scattered worksheets, mysterious stains on the ceiling, a single shoe by the emergency exit. Some questions are better left unanswered.

1515 Hours – Extraction 

As they file out, one student pauses. “You’re coming back tomorrow, right?” There’s something in his eyes – respect? Fear? No, it was just the energy drink kid with the dilated pupils.

I nod solemnly.

1530 Hours – After Action Report 

Sitting in the empty lab, writing my report for my superior. How do you describe a day where you prevented three potential chemical reactions that violated both school policy and possibly the Geneva Convention? 

Sometimes I still hear the squeaking of dry erase markers in my dreams…