Eclectic

The boy was considered eclectic, although Mr. Torrence had yet to understand why. On this his first day at Collington Academy as a substitute for Mrs. Brody's third-grade class, he had already been warned about the flirtatious lunch lady, the tricky toilet in the teacher's lounge, and Elroy Scott.

"He's eight years old. How strange can he be?"

The principal did not reply. Instead he drew his thin lips into a thin smile and smoothed his combover. "Have a good day, Raymond."

Mr. Torrence nodded. The principal's shoes clicked against the marble as he walked away, leaving Torrence alone in the hallway. Torrence straightened his tie and turned to the door. His hand paused on the knob.

"Come on, Ray," he said. "The boy is eight years old. How strange can he be?"

Later that day, he knew.