Shaking is from one of my most produced plays, After Math, in which a student is mysteriously pulled out of a math class in the middle of a test. Every student has a different idea about what happened, but why is it that they've only noticed him now that he's gone? This monologue opens the play.  After Math is published by Playscripts.  Click here to order a copy.

(Warning: Using this monologue without permission is illegal, as is reproducing it on a website or in print in any way.)

STUDENT

Mrs. Parks has this thing about tests. Well, she has this thing about everything, but when it comes to tests... If she’s giving a test, you don’t knock on the door, you don’t call the room, you don’t even look in the window. And not just the students--the other teachers, even Mr. Bobell, the principal.
(beat)
One time, he knocks and comes in during a quiz--not even a test--a quiz on solving simple equations. You know, like x squared equals nine, or three x plus x equals eight. That’s algebra. You should see how she looks at him. Her eyes get all narrow, and I’m not crazy so I know I’m not really seeing it, but I swear there’s these flames shooting from her eyes. Or maybe it’s lasers. I think it’s flames, though, ‘cause if I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s smoke comin’ from her ears. And Mr. Bobell starts to say something, only nothing comes out. His jaw flaps in slow-mo, then flaps again. He takes one step back, two steps back--and he’s gone.
(beat)
But today, we’re in the middle of a major test--not just some quiz. This is an all-out unit test. Points, lines, slopes--we’re graphing ‘til we can’t graph no more.
(like a rapper)
Graph those lines in the air--graph ‘em like you just don’t care.
(beat)
Anyway, this man in a dark gray suit walks in, and you can see there’s a woman--also wearing a dark gray suit--at the door, and I watch Mrs. Parks’s eyes start to ignite, only the man doesn’t flinch--and her eyes, they sink back into her head, like they’re in retreat.
(beat)
He whispers to her, and her eyes...her eyes totally wash out, and her face wipes blank. “Emmett,” she says, “bring your books.” And Emmett packs his books into his backpack and goes with the suits--the man inside and the woman at the door.
(beat)
And when the door closes and Emmett is gone and the suits are gone, it’s “back to your tests. Ten minutes.” But I don’t believe her. Yeah, I believe we’ve got ten minutes of class. I can see the clock, but I don’t believe Mrs. Parks cares if we finish, and as she picks up Emmett’s test, her hands--I’m not crazy, so I know my head’s just making it up--I swear her hands are shaking.