Agatha Agnes McFearson McMervey stood silhouetted in the doorway, a cloud of green-sponge-rollered rage. She opened her mouth again to repeat her thundered question.
“I said, WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?” the window behind were Mr. Smapps usually sat, shattered and pieces of glass covered the ground. A hand clutching a bent scalpel appeared on top of the desk and the science teacher appeared looking like he had been suddenly hit by a passing freight train. He straightened himself, adjusted his glasses, and cleared his throat.