This Edition of Thursday Stories Features Fantasy Adventure!
Happy March, Friends and Neighbors, and welcome to Thursday Stories. Looking back over my herd of short stories, I realize that more than three dozen of the little rascals have appeared only in print. Some of you may have forked over the dough for this or that literary review, but I don’t expect everyone to buy all of the reviews all of the time. And so, drumroll please, I give you Thursday Stories. I’m not guaranteeing a new story every Thursday, but I will do my best until all the print-only tales have been set free.
You can find all of my stories and more at the Marco Etheridge Fiction Website:
This week’s edition of Thursday Stories features Mullets, the tale of one brave teacher, a class of forgotten students, and the dystopian rules that would keep them in their place. The genre is literary fiction. This story first appeared in Constellations: A Journal of Poetry and Fiction, published in 2026. Now, without further ado, I give you another edition of Thursday Stories. I hope you enjoy it.
Mullets
by Marco Etheridge
The dank basement ranks as the worst classroom in Kate Lehrer’s teaching career, worse than any of the underfunded city schools she taught in to offset her student loans. So many years ago, now. Those blighted schools were a paradise of higher education compared to this underground community center, hiding from the authorities, trying to teach kids desperate to learn.
So much gone wrong in a decade, and yet these are the bravest students she has ever known. They endure seven hours of federally mandated curricula, go home for dinner, and then attend voluntary after-hours classes. Science, mathematics, history, all the traditional subjects now ignored or banned outright.
The feds call it Standardized Compulsory Education, a homogeneous school system for those children excluded from the fast-track of private schools and insider university positions. SCE is the new nationwide standard, its curricula enforced by law. Evolution is scorned, replaced by creationism. Math and science classes are few. Bible study is mandatory, with an enforced minimum of four hours per day.
Teachers deviating from the standardized texts are subject to prosecution and prison. Kate is one of the lucky survivors. She was fired early on, and her teaching certificate revoked. An exile instead of a prisoner. The feds don’t play so nice anymore.
Kate comes out of her dark reverie. She’s staring at a horrible mold stain on the basement wall, which forms a distorted map of Florida. She shakes her head and pulls her attention back to the classroom.
Come on, Kate, you’ve got a class to teach. Twenty-one students, good kids, serious.Be here now. Algebra one.
“Miz Lehrer?”
“Yes, Betty?”
“I’m a little stuck with this one. I get that numbers are the terms, but are they also the constants?”
“Numbers are the terms, yes. Three and seven are the constants with x as the variable. So, we need to solve for x in such a way that the equation is balanced.”
“Like on the math teeter-totter.”
“Exactly like our teeter-totter. So, what plus three equals seven?”
“Four.”
“Then all you have to do is solve 2x. Two multiplied by what equals four?”
“Hey, that’s easy. Two times two is four, plus three equals seven. Hah!”
“There you go, whiz kid. You’re going to love geometry.”
The lesson is interrupted by running footsteps in the hallway and then shouting from beyond the door.
“Mullets, mullets!”
The classroom door flies open. A boy bursts into the room.
“They’re here, Miz Lehrer!”
“Right, Clay, thank you.”
Kate’s reaction is automatic, like an active shooter drill. She claps her hands twice, forcing the kids to focus on her.
“Thank you, Clay. Shut the door and take an empty desk. Betty, get Clay a textbook. Okay, everyone, you all know what to do.”
Kate turns away from the door, marches to the front of the room, and faces her class.
“Remember the rules. If the inspector speaks to you, call him sir, keep your answers short, and do not lie. Everyone understand?”
A silent chorus of nodding heads.
“Inspector or not, we’ve got lots of ground to cover. Please open your textbooks to chapter three, working with units. Read the introduction, pages one through three.”
The kids read. Kate faces the door. A man in a black uniform swaggers in without knocking. A few students look up at their teacher’s face, then quickly dive back into their books.
The man navigates around the clustered desks. He holds a clipboard under one arm. A holstered pistol rides on the man’s hip. His free arm extends like a battering ram. A badge wallet dangles from his fingers.
Kate experiences the mental image of a mannequin being towed about by a badge until the very same badge is waved in her face.
“James Craven. SCE Enforcement.”
Kate reaches for reserves of patience she does not have.
“You’ve brought a weapon into my classroom. Weapons are not allowed inside the community center.”
“I’m an SCE Enforcement Officer. I am required to carry a sidearm at all times. That’s federal law.”
Kate chokes back the words boiling in her throat. She wants to scream. Another thug puffed up like a rooster because he has a clipboard and a gun.
Think of the kids, Kate. Keep it together.
“I see. Why are you here, Mister Craven?”
“Curriculum inspection. Standard SCE check.”
“But we’re not in a federal classroom, are we? This is voluntary tutoring in a community center.”
Instead of responding, Craven consults his clipboard.
“Says here Katherine Lehrer, is that correct?”
“That is my name.”
“Hmmm… Lehrer. Foreign name? Says we yanked your teaching four years ago.”
“As far as I am aware, no certificate is required for tutoring.”
Craven looks up from his clipboard.
“For now. Might have to look into that. But you get paid for this so-called tutoring, right?”
“No. The center provides me with room and board. That’s all.”
“That’s compensation nonetheless, Miss Lehrer. Look, I see you’re not aware of the new SCE guidelines. Our mandate has been widened to include all subject matter, both public and private. That would include this tutoring session.”
Kate’s hand begs permission to slap the smug look off this goon’s face. Instead, her brain digs sharp fingernails into her palm.
“These students are here with the approval of their parents.”
“All the more reason to ensure that the lessons are standardized per SCE guidelines. We intend to apply those guidelines to homeschooling as well. For the good of the children, of course.”
Kate holds her tongue. Craven watches her face.
Don’t let him bait you, Kate. Remember the rules, just like the kids.
“Right. I’m going to ask the kids a few questions. Any objections?”
So many it would take days to recite them all, you pompous little prick.
Every eye is on Kate. She waves her hand to indicate the classroom.
“As you wish.”
Craven looks down the row of desks and points to the smallest boy in the class.
“You. What’s your name, son?”
“Jay, sir.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m twelve, sir.”
“And what are you studying, Jay?”
“Algebra 101, sir. Working with units.”
Kate keeps her face blank. Behind her mask, she beams with pride. Craven turns back to her. She sees confusion in his eyes. The man has no idea what twelve-year-old Jay is talking about.
“Why are you teaching these kids algebra?”
“Why? That should be obvious. Algebra is the starting point for college prep mathematics. You, of all people, should be aware of that.”
Craven’s response is a low hiss.
“These kids aren’t going to college. They don’t need algebra. What they need is a firm moral grounding and an understanding of how to follow the rules. That’s all.”
“There are still scholarships available.”
“A needle in a haystack. You need to be more realistic.”
“Do I, Mister Craven? I think I prefer to set reality aside and concentrate on helping these students find the needle.”
Kate watches the man’s face, sees a twitch under his left eye. If looks could kill, he wouldn’t need that stupid pistol.
“One question, Miss. As I came down the hall, I heard someone shouting the word mullets. Would you care to explain?”
“I believe it’s a type of small fish. Or a haircut.”
A pause, then a curt nod.
“I think we’re done here, Miss. I’ll file my report. The center will get a copy.”
Craven walks away without another word. He doesn’t bother to close the door on his way out. Kate forces a smile onto her face.
“Sorry for the interruption, class. Now then, let’s discuss what we’ve just read, shall we?”
* * *
The next evening, Kate finds a knot of students on the sidewalk outside the community center. The double doors are chained and secured with a heavy padlock. Above the chains, a printed notice is taped across the doors.
Community Center Closed by SCE Enforcement
Entry Prohibited by Federal Law
Trespassers Subject to Severe Penalty
Max. Five Years imprisonment and/or $50,000 fines.
The students part to let Kate through. She reads the notice, then drops her gaze to the chain coiled through the door handles. Fingers reach out to cold steel. Tears pool in her eyes.
Always the same with these bastards. Chains and locks. Barriers, walls, and fences. Push the kids outside and keep them down.
Anger courses through Kate, pushing away her sadness. She swipes the tears from her eyes and turns to her students.
“I’m sorry, kids. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have shamed that inspector.”
A chorus breaks from the gathered students.
“No way!”
“Not your fault, Miz Lehrer.”
“Fuck that guy!”
“Jessie!”
“Sorry…”
* * *
While the commotion rages, a girl named Tiff sidles to the edge of the crowd and nudges Betty, the algebra whiz kid.
“What’s taking them so long?”
Betty rolls her eyes.
“What do you expect, Tiff? They’re boys.”
“I’ll keep things stirred up out here. Get back there and kick those idiots, okay?”
Betty spins away and dashes down an alley beside the community center. Tiff turns back to the knot of students and begins shouting.
Halfway down the alley, two boys crouch at the junction of wall and pavement. At first glance, it looks as though a basement window has swallowed one of the boys. His head and shoulders have disappeared into a narrow basement window. A muffled argument leaks out into the alley.
“Why don’t you come down here instead of bossing me?”
“You’re the littlest, Jay. No one else can fit through the window.”
“Whatever, fat ass. This sucks. I can’t carry all these books.”
“Dump ‘em in the wastebasket and drag ‘em over.”
“I’ll get in trouble.”
“Jeez, Jay. The wastebasket don’t matter. C’mon! We get caught, we’re gonna end up in juvie.”
“At least we’ll know everyone.”
“Just hurry up, will ya?”
Jay’s answer is a curse followed by a crash and the sound of books plopping into a stack. Then the lookout leans in on top of Clay and pokes him.
“Betty wants to know what’s taking so long?”
Clay yells over his shoulder.
“Get off me, Jake, you’re smothering me.”
“Hurry up!”
“Shut up and get ready. Here they come.”
A jerky chain begins passing textbooks from the basement classroom to the alley. Handfuls of Algebra 101 move from Jay to Clay, then over his shoulder to Jake and Betty.
When the last book is handed outside, Clay reaches down as far as he can.
“Grab on, Jay. Okay, you guys, start pulling!”
Betty and Jake haul Clay backward by his ankles. Jay’s head appears in the window.
“I got ya, Jay.”
“Yeah, great.”
Jay slithers out onto the pavement.
“Don’t forget to close the window.”
“Shit, Betty, you want it closed, you do it. You guys yanked my arms out of their sockets.”
“Shut up. Grab the books, and let’s go.”
* * *
Kate has just succeeded in calming the group down when a new uproar erupts. A scrum pushes through the group as four smiling faces appear. Betty, Jay, Jake, and Clay appear, each clutching an armload of textbooks. Tiff steps up to act as spokesperson.
“Um, Miz Lehrer? Probably better if we don’t hang around.”
Clay nods and steals a glance over his shoulder.
“Yeah, we should get going.”
Kate stares at the quartet and their load of textbooks. Then she turns to the chained doors and the threatening notice. A few heartbeats pass before the penny drops.
“I see. Right. Any suggestions on where we might go?
Clay jerks his head to indicate a likely direction.
“How about the park, Miz Lehrer? We’ve got an hour of daylight left. We could still have a lesson if you were willing.”
Kate feels her tears threatening to make another embarrassing appearance. She fights for control, overwhelmed with gratitude.
What did I do to deserve these kids? Everyone treats them like lumps of coal, but they’re diamonds, every one of them. And that’s your job, Kate. You polish the diamonds and send them out into the world. So, get to work.
“That is a very good idea. All right, everyone, grab a textbook and form a line. Quickly, now. Clay, lead the way, please.”
That’s it for this week’s edition of Thursday Stories. More stories are coming your way. How will you know when a new story breaks? Glad you asked, Friends. Read On! Drumroll and… Meanwhile, don’t miss any upcoming stories. You can stay tuned for all the latest by following the MEF blog:
And… if you desire more literary fiction, look no further than my collection Power Tools:
Power Tools
There are moments in life when having the right tool makes all the difference.
An elderly woman sets out alone on a journey into a new life. Two soldiers in a bunker share candy and memories. A widower takes on the Supreme Court with a robot. Grief is sung over the cobbled streets of Valletta. Two old heroes question their purpose. These stories tell tales of love lost and found, of the fight for justice, and the glimmering flame of hope that keeps us afloat. Unforgettable characters push back against the crushing weight of the world and shoulder the burdens they carry within. Love, laugh, dance, weep; these are the stories of Power Tools.
Marco Etheridge is a writer of fiction, an occasional playwright, and a part-time poet. He lives and writes in Vienna, Austria. His stories have been published in more than eighty reviews, journals, and magazines in Canada, Australia, the UK, and the USA. Power Tools gathers twenty-one of his best short stories into one collection. An elderly woman sets out alone on a journey into a new life. Two soldiers in a bunker share candy and memories. A widower takes on the Supreme Court with a robot. Grief is sung over the cobbled streets of Valletta. Two old heroes question their purpose. These stories tell tales of love lost and found, of the fight for justice, and the glimmering flame of hope that keeps us afloat. Unforgettable characters push back against the crushing weight of the world and shoulder the burdens they carry within. Love, laugh, dance, weep; these are the stories of Power Tools.
Disclosure of Material Connection: Some of the links in the page above are "affiliate links." This means if you click on the link and purchase the item, I will receive an affiliate commission. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."
Marco Etheridge is a writer of prose, an occasional playwright, and a part-time poet. He lives and writes in Vienna, Austria. His work has been featured in over one hundred reviews and journals across Canada, Australia, the UK, and the USA. His story “Power Tools” has been nominated for Best of the Web for 2023. “Power Tools” is Marco’s latest collection of short fiction. When he isn’t crafting stories, Marco is a contributing editor for a new ‘Zine called Hotch Potch. In his other life, Marco travels the world with his lovely wife Sabine. Website: https://bro.uxw.mybluehost.me/