Note From The Editor: The writer of this very nice story sent it to me and asked to remain anonymous. However, I have his e-mail address, so if you want to tell him what you think about his story you can email me ([email protected]) and I will make sure he gets your comments.
Upon entering Mrs. Wilkerson's class my mood swung from elated to irritated. I was still peeved at her for her ultimatum about never coming to her class stoned again. And I still had the feeling that my troubles of yesterday were really her fault. (They couldn't have been MINE.)
After all, she gave the ultimatum to me on Monday afternoon after school, and the next day I don't show up at all. Now, surely, she notices that I am sitting down rather gingerly.
I didn't even look at her during class.
After class she called to me as I was leaving, "Jeremy . . . is there something you want to say to me?"
I looked back at her, blankly, for a few moments before saying, "No." And then waited for her to indicate that I was dismissed.
In my 13-year-old mind I was never going to look her in the face again, unless she spoke to me directly, and then I'd only answer as briefly as I could, never showing the slightest bit of emotion. As far as I was concerned I was a tough little fucker. I could keep this up forever.
Later, in gym class, I asked Coach Grant if I could speak with him for a minute. This was in my professional demeanor. I told him about the challenge we had received from Glenn Oaks High to a chess match. He was the athletic director, so I thought it appropriate to bring him in on this. I told him that if I accepted this offer I expected to need his help getting ready, and that I did not want to proceed unless I knew that I could count on it. He assured me that I would have his full support with anything I needed.
I would need the help of his people, also. By this I meant the athletes who played for him.
Without batting an eye he told me, "Jeremy, if you represent Southerton High in this match, then you ARE one of my people. You may be a team of one, but you will receive the full support of this department, just as much as any other team. And I can promise you that there will be plenty of other athletes willing and eager to help you prepare for this in any way they can. You can count on that, son."
That made me feel pretty good, hearing him say that. I wouldn't be quite so all alone in this. I asked him if he would be willing to join Mr. Donaldson and me the next afternoon after school to work out some of the details. He said that of course he would. I told him that I had not mentioned my inviting him to Mr. Donaldson, and he said that he would speak with the principal himself.
That was great. I started to go outside to jog around the track, which was almost as good as riding my bike. And in walked Miss. Andrews. She smiled sweetly at me, and I wanted to slip her panties down, but just smiled.
"Hi, Miss. Andrews." I must have looked rather goofy. (You're so pretty.) "I was just leaving."
"Hi, Jeremy." she smiled.
I thanked Coach Grant and left.
I could easily guess why she was there. She was going to take my advice and get herself a cane or three. And Coach Grant, if I pegged him right, was going to give her instructions on how to use them.
Coach Grant was in his late 20s. He had played football in college while on a Naval ROTC scholarship. After school he had served a stint as an officer in the Navy before teaching. Like Miss. Andrews, this was his first year here. He had been an assistant coach with some successful football programs at larger high schools, but this was his first head coaching job.
In college he played quarterback and studied to get his teaching degree. He did not have the mentality or physique of a lineman. He was slim, strong, and intelligent. And he was single. If I were in his shoes I would be trying to get into Miss. Andrews' pants.
I would love to be a fly on the wall watching him show her the proper way to blister a boy's fanny with a cane.
So, pretty little Miss. Andrews was going to take up caning. This would be interesting. I had made a giant step in being on her good side this morning and I intended to stay there. I would never want to give her any trouble. (She's so cute.) But what a shock it would be to the first boy on whose butt she laid that cane. I envisioned that pretty little girl slashing away on a big boy's behind, drawing howls from a guy a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than her.
I could certainly fantasize about her taking me to the teachers' lounge and tickling my naked ass with a cane, but I knew that a fantasy was as close as I ever really wanted to get to that.
I was dreaming about that off and on for the rest of the day. When I got to Mrs. McConnal's class I was in a pretty good mood. She spoke to me as I entered class. "I've talked with two of your teachers today," she said.
"Miss. Andrews?' I asked.
"I was nice to her, you know." I pointed out.
She grinned. "Yes you were. I'm proud of you."
"I think she was about to cry." I was serious.
She just looked at me with a smirk.
"I didn't want her to cry."
"I like her. I don't want her to be hurt." I said. "I like her."
Still no response.
"I also suggested she whip some of those guys giving her the most trouble." I finally got around to saying.
Mrs. McConnal grinned. "I know. She spoke very highly of you."
"She said I'm not nearly as bad as everybody says I am." I added.
Mrs. McConnal laughed at this. "And sometimes you're not." she laughed.
"Who else?" I asked. Coach Grant wouldn't have felt the need to talk with her about me.
"Mrs. Wilkerson." she said. "You were curt with her."
"No I wasn't."
"Yes you were."
"No I wasn't. She asked if I had anything to say to her and I told her, 'No'."
"She said you wouldn't look at her the whole class."
I was exasperated. "OK, I'm not happy with her threatening to paddle me. Can't I even not like being threatened without it getting reported back to you like I had done something wrong?" I couldn't believe this.
"But she was within her rights to tell you that." Mrs. McConnal said pointedly.
"And I'm within my rights not to like it!" I added.
She thought for a moment. "Yes . . . yes you are." she admitted. "Would you like to stay with us until your father comes home?"
"You bet." I smiled. "I need to get some stuff form the house, but I'll be by later, OK?"
"Sure," she smiled. And class got under way.
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