A GUEST BLOG POST
By David Mathews
When Jason Wisniewski moves to Piggottsville, Arkansas, to start his teaching career, he never expected to find a town so much in need of a pick-me-up. Taking on the role of history teacher and football coach, Jason quickly realizes that he may have bitten off more than he can chew. Even the people in the community see the high school as a joke, and their attitude is rubbing off on the misfit students of Piggottsville High. But sometimes, it takes just one person to believe that a pig can fly before it will. Determined to turn things around for his new hometown, Jason decides to take on the impossible—with the help of the God of the impossible. As he sets about on changing things for the better, Jason will have to face his own fears and deal with an unlikely lot of football players, who may not be winners but can certainly tell you a thing or two about pigs! In a world focused on negative things, Pig-Sty High brings humor into some serious topics and helps the reader to lighten up a little bit when things get tough.
Here is an excerpt from Chapter 6: There's a Skunk in My Classroom!
“Does anyone else notice that?” I asked, sniffing again. “What’s that smell?”
“It’s Skunk!” someone blurted out.
“Skunk!” My adrenaline shot through the roof. “There’s a skunk in here? Everyone, stay calm! I wantyou all to slowly get up and walk quietly out of the room. Leave your books and backpacks where they are.” I waved them toward the door, but they weren’t budging. Instead, they were laughing. “Quickly now! I don’t want anyone to get sprayed or bitten. Wild animals can be dangerous!” They were rolling on the floor. I stopped and stared at my class. “What’s going on here? What’s so funny?”
“It’s not a wild animal, Mr. Wisniewski,” Jackson Pressley answered, laughing so hard he could barely form the words. “It’s Willard!”
That was just swell! First guns, then paint, then matches. Now a skunk named Willard. In my classroom, no less! I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever make it to graduation alive. “All right, then; so where’s the skunk?” I demanded firmly. “Would somebody please tell me where this Willard is?”
“He’s right there, teacher.” Jimmy Dean pointed to a scrawny boy slunk down in the corner desk, which had been pulled apart from the others. His hair was a tangled, sandy-brown mop, and his face and arms looked like he hadn’t bathed in years. He was dressed in a soiled T-shirt and filthy jeans full of holes that weren’t meant to be fashion statements. His formerly white tennis shoes were a grimy gray color, and his untied, frayed laces posed a major tripping hazard. He eased up his hand and waved at me.
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Author photo and book image: Courtesy of David Mathews
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