White Space Season 1

late.”
    “Dunno hvnt sn him. He left early. shld b thr.”

    Mr. Heller was Alex’s dad, and he was never this late. Usually, he was in class an hour before the school doors opened, which was why Alex usually walked to school or caught a ride with Katie on the days her mom let her drive the car they shared. At least that’s the reason Alex gave for not coming in with his dad.
    Milo suspected something else, however; that Alex was embarrassed by his dad. As cool and laid back as Alex was, Mr. Heller was nerdy, straight-laced, and talked like someone from one of those old TV shows with the big happy, and thoroughly unrealistic, families. The girls flirted with Mr. Heller and the guys pretended to care about his lectures, and Mr. Heller was too oblivious to see they were messing with him. Despite the heckling, students generally seemed to like him, though. He was lenient, not prone to mood swings like many of the teachers, and you’d have to be an idiot to get anything less than a “B” in his class.
    Mr. Heller was dorky, clueless, and wore clothes about 15 years out of style.
    But Mr. Heller was never late.
    Milo hoped they didn’t have a substitute. Subs always gave them busy work. One of the cool things about Mr. Heller, and the reason the kids probably liked him most, was that Mr. Heller spent at least half the class talking. And it was the kind of talking which he never quizzed students on, so you could catch a few Z’s, which made the class Milo’s favorite first period since Home Economics in 8th Grade.
    The door to the classroom squeaked opened behind them, and the class fell silent, except for the sound of students rushing back to their desks and cracking open their books as if they were earnestly attempting to unlock the finer points of grammar.
    Manny had his book open, but it was upside down. Milo laughed at his idiot friend and made a face, then gestured toward the book.
    Manny looked down, eyes widened, then laughed and turned the book right side up.
    Idiot.
    Katie took her seat behind Manny, and gave Milo a suspicious look. Milo turned away quickly, feeling his face turn red again.
    Alex did tell her! Or maybe she heard Manny Big Mouth.
    Milo looked to his right to see if Jessica was also looking at him. But her eyes were up front, as was the attention of the rest of the class.
    Mr. Heller sat his briefcase on the desk, then straightened his shirt, which was uncharacteristically wrinkled and half untucked, with one tail spilling down below his waist. He looked nervous, or … scared.
    Milo turned to see if Manny had noticed. He had, making a face at Milo as if to say, “What’s up with Mr. Heller?”
    Katie wore the same expression, as did the rest of the class.
    Mr. Heller stood behind his desk, hands on either side of his closed briefcase, as though exhausted, too tired even to lift his head and look his students in their eyes. His hair, usually precisely combed in the exact same old-fashioned style, was all messed up; a sweaty mop atop his head.
    Class with Mr. Heller began exactly the same way every day. He’d wait for the students to settle down, giving them a full minute after the final bell before he stood up, turned to the whiteboard, and then neatly wrote the topic of the day’s conversation. Once the topic was recorded in neat black lines on the whiteboard, he’d turn to the class, and say something like, “Good morning, class. Today we’re going to discuss foreshadowing,” or whatever subject he’d written. Most days, he’d also throw in a terrible pun to kick things off.
    Mr. Heller was such a stickler for routine that Milo could easily imagine the man starting his weekend mornings the same way at home, in front of a whiteboard with the words “bacon and eggs” written on it. “Good morning, family. Today we’re going to have bacon and eggs. Here’s a little joke I heard. This one will crack you up.”
    Seeing Mr. Heller just standing there, staring down at his desk, was unsettling enough to send a shiver down Milo’s spine.
    “Are you okay?” Stephanie Blankencamp said from her front row desk.
    Mr. Heller said nothing.
    Instead, he turned around, grabbed a black dry erase marker, and started to scribble on the whiteboard. His handwriting, normally block-perfect and in a straight line, was wild and erratic, like he was writing in an angry rush.

    The whiteboard read: “Eleven”

    Eleven? What the hell? Is that how many beers he drank before class?
    Milo turned