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Youth of Tomorrow, Shaping the Future	By : Gianni1968 Category: X-men Comics > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2433 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
“He’s So Shy!”

Chapter 02

{When I first saw him standin' there}

{He looked away but I did not care}

{Something inside whispered to me}

{You'd better move in carefully}
{And then he smiled and turned away}

{That told me all he could not say}

{That's when I knew}

{He wanted me too}

{But I had to do some breakin' through}
{He's so shy}

{So good lookin'}

{He's so shy}

{And he's really got me goin'}

{That sweet little boy who caught my eye}

{He's so shy}

{I'm so glad I got to know him}

{He's so shy}

{'Cos he's one in a million}

{And I'll love him 'til the day I die}

{Oh, yes I will}
{Now holding him gently through the night}

{Nothin' has ever felt so right}

{And I'm so glad I took the time}

{That I had to take to make him mine}
{He can still do things to my heart}

{Just like he could right from the start}

{Each time I see}

{That quality}

{That never stops attracting me}
{He's so shy}

{That's why I love my baby}

{He's so shy}

{You know he's drivin' me crazy}

{That sweet little boy who caught my eye}

{He's so shy}

{I'm so glad I got to know him}

{He's so shy}

{And I'm so glad I got to show him}

{That I'll love him until the day I die}

{Oh, yes I will}
{He's so shy}

{Oooh-wee, oooh-wee, baby}

{He's so shy}

{Oooh-wee, oooh-wee, baby}

{He's so shy}

{And that's why. . .}

Theme: ‘He’s So Shy!’

Performed by: The Pointer Sisters

Written by:

Lyrics reproduced without permission, and with no intent to defraud
Starring, in order of appearance or as they are mentioned:

Andrew Snelson (Drew)

Theron Nunley

Teri Boatman

Jon Rustin (Babe)

Lynn Stalks

Dani Boatman

Julie Boatman

Senior Assistant Principal Frank Jennings

Mrs. Vandoren (‘Flat Head’s’ mother)

Dr. Cecelia Reyes

Random Football Jock

Various Attendance Clerks/Secretaries

Pam Butler

James

Mrs. Barnes

Charles

Scott

Jean

Connie Haywood

‘DeeDee’ Johanson

Kelly Brown
*Marvel characters are used without permission, but as I have no way to make money from this, I'm not sure it can hurt them in any way.
Andrew 'Drew' Snelson

12:23 pm, Tuesday, August 15th, 1995

East Side Door, SouthSide Junior High School, Princely Avenue, Springville, AR
In 7th grade I aced the ASVAB, 100th percentile across the board. So you’d think I’d do great in school, right? Sorry, but I was plain bored to death! Couldn’t keep my mind on it no matter what, and I didn’t try for long. Made my teachers really angry that I only did enough to get by with straight Cs. And it didn’t help that I was always getting into fights.
So I talked mom into transferring me to the other junior high in town for 8th grade, so I could get away from all that griping and grumbling and hostility. Just like I promised I made solid Bs in a couple of classes, and during the first semester I only got into one fight.
My track record slipped the next semester, though; I got into three fights the third quarter, and went to a D in one of my C classes. And there were four more fights the last quarter. Dad was spluttering the day he picked me up from school after the last one. It’s probably a good thing that I couldn’t understand him.
As it was, if it hadn’t been for mom I’d have been grounded all summer, and I spent most of it working with dad in his shop.
So I was just as surprised as they were when the school counselors called last week and asked if I wanted to try for a special accelerated learning program. (I had to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming!)
Mom and dad were doubtful, but when it turned out to be federally funded and absolutely would not cost them a dime extra, they agreed to let me interview for it. I was interested at once; anything to make school more interesting, more of a challenge was good with me. At least, I hoped that’s how it would work out.
That four hour interview turned out to be the roughest time I’ve ever spent in a classroom. The four teachers who taught the core classes I’m enrolled in there this year worked me over in twenty-five minute shifts. They took turns asking me questions, which meant that they at least got some kind of breathing room, but I was on the spot for the whole time between my five minute breaks.
They were nice enough about it, but they were there to make sure I already had a solid understanding of the material covered in those courses. I was sweating at the end of the interview, and ready for lunch. I had no idea what they thought about my efforts, though; they didn’t say anything to me at all afterwards.
But two days later I walk into the school for the first day of the school year and the counselor calls me into her office before the first bell rings. By eight-fifteen I’ve got a new schedule of six classes in less than four hours, and after that one of the coaches drives me to the high school for the rest of my day.
You might think that this makes for a tough day, and I say maybe it would for you, but for me it was a relief. I wasn’t wasting time sitting in the classroom, bored, my mind wandering, already done with the assignment and trying to find something to do while the teacher answered the other students’ idiotic questions, or even the same question over and over. Of course, the teachers hated it, even though they’d certified that I knew enough that they would okay me for the program. In my opinion, it probably made them better teachers to not have a whole class period to mess around in to get me the data I needed.
In the middle of the hour the intercom quietly announced that the accelerated student was to change classes. And I took my things and left for my next class. I loved it, having people watch me leave in the middle of class. It never occurred to me to wonder about the other kids in the halls at just that time.
At eleven-fifteen I was waiting at the east side door for the coach.
And I was joined by two other guys. One of them is almost as tall as me, a little darker skinned, with short hair, and the other one is tiny, with glasses and medium-long red hair. The coach shows up before I can figure out some way to ask if they’re riding to the high school, too.
So we all climb into the coach's van, and off we go. I guess that answers my question, huh? I had not once thought that I might not be the only one. I don’t know why, but I’d just assumed that I was alone in the program.
At the high school the coach leads us to the attendance office, through a door into a back hall, and has the three of us sit on a bench there. He goes through a door and into the room behind the bench, and announces that he’s brought the ‘half-day’ students. What a downer; I’d at least thought that I … (I mean we, I guess) were going to be the ‘accelerated learning program participants,’ or something catchy like that.
The coach shuts the door behind him and walks away without a backward look. I lean back with my ear against the door jamb to see if I can hear what’s going on in the office. I got a good look at the assistant principal as I passed the door before and immediately dubbed him ‘baldy.’ Baldy is on the phone, barking at someone. There is instant dislike for him on my part. There is no purpose in talking to people that way, other than making them less likely to do what you want.
A few minutes later a woman who I figure is the counselor Baldy had called walks down the hall and right into his office. As she walks past us she gives us a quick once-over. And the short guy pipes right up with a ‘hi’ of the type that I reserve for my grammy, and she comes back with a ‘good morning’ in a voice that would melt butter. I’m freakin’ out. It stinks of preplanning. This is some kind of setup, right?
The other guys start talking to each other and me, and I sort of follow along while listening to baldy grumble and gripe at her in his office. Okay, so they’re both smart enough, but the little guy sounds way like a company stooge of some sort, and the other one is much too willing to go along with the dumbass stuff the first one says.
But a few minutes later the two of them begin to make some kind of bizarre sense, and eventually, despite my resolve to the contrary, they get me caught up in their idiot plans. That’s when they call us into Baldy’s office.

I walk out of the office shaking my head in disbelief. Well, that settles it; Theron’s a kook. I don’t know how I let them talk me into such a goofy plan. There is no way he, I, and Radar O’Reilly junior are going to be able to take on this whole school full of adults. Jennings and Reyes are going to be on our cases every minute they can spare, and then there’ll be the other faculty even when they’re busy. It’s just impossible.
Despite all his professed enthusiasm, and his self-implied experience, the little guy is just twelve. He’d admitted it himself. I don’t see how he’s going to be of any help in an actual field operation. Too short, too weak, too young for what he’s getting into, damn it!
Well anyway, Theron obviously thinks he has something more to offer on the practical side, but I don’t see it. Maybe he has some uses as a spy or someone to hand things off to in case of imminent discovery. He shows signs of a decent sense of humor, so maybe he can be a sidekick. But that’s it as far as I can see.
I mean, yeah he’s smart enough. His brain plus ours will make us a serious three plus force in planning the war on complacency and oppression (and Baldy), but can he contribute anything away from the drawing board? I don’t think so.
He looks way too much like a little boy.
Wait a minute! I’m acting like this thing is actually going to happen! How did I get here from there? I’m going to have to think about this again later.
At least there’s one good thing: lunch! I’ve been smelling it since we got here; the high school’s a-la-carte lunch! Mini-pizzas, burritos, french fries, corn dogs. And I’m hungry enough to eat it all. My stomach overrides the rest of my brain and starts what I call the autopilot, and I let the smell lead me toward it all.
On autopilot, I barely notice the girls coming around the corner in a crowd; they’re just another group of obstacles for me to avoid, and the girl in the front of them all only just jumps to my left as I step to my right, and we miss each other by a few quarters of an inch.
It’s not until we’re several yards apart that my eyes supply my brain a good picture of her. My body slows and stops on its own; in the one glance I can see that the girl is incredibly beautiful! I turn on one foot, without thinking, without even trying, and stare back the way I’ve come.
She’s perfect. That’s as far as I get, but it’s really all I can say. I’ve never seen a girl who’s so close to my ideal in every way. She’s fumbling with her books and stuff and at the same time also trying to keep from falling because of a broken shoe, and even in her distracted hurry to regain control her movements are sure and graceful. I realize to my shame that I’m the cause of her troubles. I know I should go help her, but I don’t have even a second to try before I my brain locks up. I don’t have a clue how long I’m standing there staring at her.
When I make it back to reality the little guy is holding most of her stuff in one hand and handing it back to her while standing up from the floor at her feet. My chin is cold, which tells me that my mouth has been open for a while. There are some people watching me watch her.
Across the room Theron is watching what I’ve been watching, but at least his mouth isn’t open. I walk around the edge of the lobby to him, wiping my mouth dry behind his back.
That’s when Theron and I have our first of many disagreements.

“Whatever.” He can think the Babe has a chance with that girl if he wants to; I know better. I head for the small dining room, as it seems the bell has rung and the regular lunch lines have stopped serving. Damn all long-winded assistant principals.
The ladies in the small dining area, where the al-a-carte lunch is served have started shutting down. I talk them into selling me a handful of burritos, though, and there’s just enough time to eat them on the way to class.
Oh well, I’ve started a new school with worse welcomes.
Tenth grade Biology is going to be a fun class, the teacher, Miss Fanning, is at least cool about the whole teaching thing. This is loads more interesting than the so-called ‘Life Science’ I have to take back at the junior high. Maybe doubling up on the core classes isn’t such a bad idea after all; I’m not bored at all, although quite a bit of that is thanks to the better looking (and older) girls here at the high school.
The only downer is the mouthy little idiot across the aisle from me. He’s seen the BattleTech (my favorite pencile and paper RPG) patches sewn on my backpack and asks me about them, so I tell him what they are, and he starts deriding me as a role-player, and intimating that I’m not hetero oriented. I grit my teeth and ignore him; the last thing I need the first day of class is to break one of Baldy’s precious rules about fighting.
Even Coach Brian in study hall can’t ruin my good mood. Heck, its more science books to read, even if I do have to teach the stuff to other kids. When it comes to school I don’t think it gets better than science textbooks. Except maybe for wrestling.
Theron pulls a bunch of history books, and seems thrilled about it, so that explains how come he’s so calm and collected all the time; there’s not much to get excited about when everything you consider important is in the past.
The little guy gets a bunch of math books, which kinda surprises me. I thought English, considering the way he talks. And then he gloms on to almost all the foreign language textbooks, too. Is he going to have time to tutor in all maths and several languages? Does he even know any of them? Who is he trying to impress here?
Computer science, my last class, is the real high point of the day. The teacher is so cool, and he shows us some really neat tricks. I’m gonna love this!

Right off, first thing, as soon as I get home I let my parents know that the assistant principal I have to answer to at the high school is already beginning to lecture, and I haven’t done anything. Dad looks at me with that ‘yet’ look of his. That’s my sign; I drop it. Mom talks to him for me while she cooks dinner.
During dinner I tell them about the high points of my day, like the guys I ride there with (well, one of them, anyway), and how big the school is, and the gorgeous girl I saw, and how much I like my teachers and my classes, and becoming a tutor during study hall. Dad is quiet, and mom makes almost all of the comments.
He comes to my room later, and stands in the door and watches me studying the science books I’d been given to tutor from. I wait for him to say something, still working with the books. The syllabi are pretty straightforward, and besides doing my own homework, I’m doing all the work from these other classes, and the study questions at the ends of the chapters.

Eventually I reach the point I’d been dreading. Frustration. I slam the books closed, and toss my pen down.
“What’s wrong, son?” He asks quietly from the doorway. I turn to him.
“Sometimes these books contradict each other. In the biology books they call the cell the building block of life, but in the chemistry book they say pretty much the same thing about the carbon atom. Why can’t they get together and agree on nomenclature?” He shakes his head.
“They’re all scientists. All convinced that theirs is the only truth. That’s all I can say. I ran into a like situation when I began studying electronics and electrical engineering. Both books used the same terms for different things.” He stands there for a few seconds, getting red in the face.
“Your mother and I … well, she gave me a good talking to while I helped her with the dinner dishes.” He grins wryly. “My attitude wasn’t helpful, and I may be remembering my own high school career a bit too well.” I smile, but keep my mouth shut tight. It is a strain.
“I don’t know what’s done it, but I see that you’re serious about this tutoring thing, and high school in general.”
“Actually, I am, Dad. Even though the counselor pushed me into it, it’s going to be the only real challenge I have.” Academically, I amend myself. There’s no reason for him to know what I and the other two stooges plan to do, if we do it at all, and if we do it right. “I’m basically taking all the science courses at one time, without an instructor, and turning around and teaching them to other students that are having trouble with it.”
“Well, you always have loved science of any kind. Say, are you getting credit for all this?” I look back in shock; I’d never even thought about it.
“I will be after tomorrow! Thanks for reminding me.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. It’s close to a hug for him.
“Go easy on that counselor, son. Your mother tells me that the woman jumped through hoops, threw her weight around, and left some people sitting very carefully to get you this chance.” She did all that, for me? Well, okay, maybe she isn’t out to get me after all. And maybe she isn’t playing backup for Baldy. And in that case maybe shortie … I mean Babe, isn’t their shill. Maybe he’s just a nice guy who doesn’t automatically distrust all educators. Maybe. We’ll see. I wonder what they’re both up to? I go back to my work, finishing everything before eight, and getting in some TV time before my shower and bed. Really, it was a good day, and I learned more than I expected.

I wake up in the middle of the night and wipe my face, flip my pillow over so my hair isn’t in the drool puddle, and go back to sleep. It doesn’t really help, though; I have to wash my hair when I wake up anyway. That takes more time than I want to put into my morning schedule, which is annoying. I’m beginning to think about a chin strap or something.
Dad is at the kitchen table when I get there, which is unusual, and he pours me a cup of coffee, which is unheard-of, given my metabolism. I’m never allowed coffee. I can tell it's decaf when I taste it, but still. We eat breakfast together, and after that he offers to drive me to school. On the ride to school, we talk about what I might like for my birthday, which is several months off. He smiles and suggests several different expensive things, and tells me to think about it.
Now all this is really weird. My dad hasn’t gotten out of bed before 9:00 am for several years, I’m not normally allowed coffee because even decaf makes me hyper, and If I miss the school bus I get punished. Talk about birthday gifts usually comes the week before, and can’t be over a hundred dollars.

The morning goes by without incident. I turn in all my homework, write all my assignments down in my notebook, and really concentrate on what the teachers say. At regular passing periods I talk a little with the few people I like enough to talk to. They all want to know what the high school is like.
Once during passing period I see Theron, and then I see Babe at the far end of the hall between half classes. He’s walking along, reading a paperback book, and doesn’t see me.
All too soon I’m back here at the east side door waiting for the coach and the other guys. And thinking. What if the guys are right, and we can do something to help the other kids at the high school? Baldy seems a little too fixated on in-school violence, and way too fast deciding he doesn’t like us, or want us in his school. Is there something more to it than having too much to do?
There’s too much I don’t know about the situation yet, so for now my decision is to not make any decision, and just wait to see what develops.
Sometime during the morning I did come to one conclusion; the conclusion that maybe Theron was right, and I’d missed a great opportunity there in the high school lobby yesterday.
Okay, I screwed up, and big-time. I froze up completely, but it’s not my fault; the girl is absolutely stunning. Anyone would have done it. Well, anyone normal. Okay, fine, I get it; I’m in no position to talk about normal. Can we drop it?!
So anyway, what can I do about it now? No answer? Some help you are.

Theron gets me to talking about yesterday’s biology class, even though I don’t really want to talk about it. I start venting, and before I know it I’ve told them everything.
Shortie is back there reading a book, and I was sure he was ignoring me until he speaks up and asks about role-playing. I’m still a little miffed about how he got so much attention from those girls just because he caught that one’s stuff yesterday, so I start to blow him off.
Until he compares role-players with video-gamers. So I let him have a little piece of my mind on the subject, and he suddenly shows a serious interest in gaming. Well, there’s never enough decent role-players around, and I could have done something to help that girl myself if I hadn’t froze at the wrong time, so I don’t really have a good reason to be angry at him, so I make a mental note to see if I can invite both of them to stay over for the weekend.
As soon as the coach drops us off, Theron has to open his big mouth and ask Babe about the girls, like he has a chance with any of them, and that gets me mad again. As the little guy walks away I pull Theron aside and give him some heck for encouraging it.
“Cut the little guy some slack, okay?” Well, I’ll say this for Theron, he doesn’t intimidate easy.
“Why should I? He’s too … good to be true.” He looks me up and down, and slams me hard.
“No, he’s not. But he might be too good for you to like him, though. He’s a threat to your ego. But he’s the real deal. Remember, I told you that I'd read both your academic files? Yesterday I checked him out in the school counselor’s files. This is his third jump, and three years ago he went from being passive to being what they called a ‘bully-baiter’ at Southside.” Something about that term ‘bully-baiter’ caught my attention. As I track it down in my head I watch Babe buy a package of cookies.
Wait, I remember where I’ve overheard that.
"He's the one the teacher’s called David?"
"As in 'and Goliath.' Yeah, that's him." Oh Jesus! I shake my head. He’s the one who … I look around, and find him. Babe’s moved over to the tea table. No. There is just no way the he backed down a junior high varsity football fullback. “Whatever you want to think, then.” Theron begins to brush past me, but past his head I see something very bad happen, and I grab him by the arm to stop him walking away.
“I-I think the Pharoah has just pre-empted David the Giant-killer’s previously scheduled programming.”
“Huh?” He looks at me, and I point behind him.
“Baldy has Babe.” He goes pale, and turns quickly to look. If I hadn’t had my hand around his arm, I think he might have stumbled. “And isn’t he being a little rough on the guy?” Baldy shoves Babe hard right then, and he trips and barely keeps himself from falling. Maybe more than a little rough! That’s storm-trooper tactics; Bad-cop shit.
“So what do we do about it?” Theron is looking at me like I should know what to do about this.
“Us? What do we do?” Oh, wait, it’s that damn three musketeers thing of theirs.
“Yeah, us!” He yanks his arm away from me, and I look back at him with a smile.
“What else? Counselor!” I turn and jog straight across the lobby to the Counseling Services Office.
Theron Nunley

12:24 am, Tuesday, August 15th, 1995

Main Lobby, Springville High School, Emmons Street, Springville, AR
I zipped through the weeks’ homework, both from the ninth grade classes and the tenth, in about an hour, and the tutoring stuff in just a bit longer than that. I need to ask Miss Reyes if I can get credit for these classes, as well as the ones I’m actually taking.
Getting ready for bed was tough; I’m wondering how soon I’ll be able to meet Pam’s parents. Should I go introduce myself at Temple? Or is that too forward? Better not, though; she told me to let her talk them around, to let her introduce us. I want to trust her, and I do, really, but the waiting, well, I’m almost sure it’ll drive me loopy.
It’s almost bedtime before I began to wonder why she’s become so important to me so quickly, when we’d only spent a little over an hour together. Why am I so serious about her?
I slept on it. Granpa is a firm believer in sleeping on a problem if it can’t be solved. He says the subconscious always has an answer if there’s any answer to have. It may come out in a dream, or in the first waking moments, or later that day. It goes hand in hand with being precognitive.
This time it doesn’t work; I’m as blank when I wake up for the next few days as I was at bedtime.

One thing that my new school schedule hasn’t changed is school mornings; they’re still hectic. Mom and Dad still rush around as much as they did last year, my sister is still out the door before anyone, and I still have to get my own breakfast. My parents still leave before I do, and I still ride the bus to the junior high.
Changing classes after just twenty-some minutes is interesting, and the fact that the teacher HAS to have a syllabus doesn’t just help me; I see some of the other students using theirs, so all in all, the program seems to be helping the other kids, too. On the other hand, I think it frustrates the less organized teachers to have a bell ring in what they think of as the middle of the class, and they have to watch me get up and walk out.
I see the other guys in the halls a couple of times, but never close enough to talk to. Drew seems in a bit of a hurry, but Babe is as relaxed as he can be.
Finally it’s time to meet the coach again. I’m only a little surprised to learn that I’m not the only one who’s already met someone who doesn’t like me. Drew is playing it cool, trying not to be hot under the collar about someone named; an ‘arrogant half-wit piss-ant’ who apparently thinks that all role-players should be lined up and shot for being ‘flaming faggots,’ and says so out loud purposely to make Drew angry.
“Role-players?” Babe says from the seat beside me. He looks puzzled.
“You know, gamers.” Drew says from the front seat, as if that’s an explanation. He’s been reluctant to speak to the Babe ever since watching him walk off with that social clique of popular girls, and how they flirted with him all down the sidewalk.
“Oh, video games. I don’t really care for those.” The little guy reopens his ragged copy of the Hitchhiker’s Trilogy. He’s flipping pages after a single glance at each one. I like his taste in light reading material. But he’s poked Drew in a tender spot.
“Those don’t even qualify as real games. I mean real role-playing, where you make it up as you go along, all by yourself.” The little guy looks up at the back of Drew’s head, with obvious interest in his eyes.
“Extemporaneous acting?” Drew does a double-take over his shoulder, takes two seconds to check a definition, and then nods, grinning. He’s already forgotten what he’s miffed at the kid about.
“Exactly. With a director, a vague plan of action and set in a somewhat detailed fantastic setting, but mostly in the player’s heads.”
“I like the sound of that.” Babe slaps his paperback shut. “Tell me more.”
In five minutes he’s got the fever, and he’s making a list of the basic stuff necessary to start playing. I think we may have unwittingly created a monster. This should be fun!
Teri Boatman

11:46 am, Tuesday, August 15th, 1995

Cafeteria, Springville High School, Emmons Street, Springville, AR
The alarm woke me suddenly this morning. I’d been having this great dream about the boy from yesterday, and I feel like I slept better than I should have for the night before the second day of school.
I can still feel his warm skin on my palm, under my fingertips. My body still feels his pressing close, making me feel good. Oh god, my mind can't get over the fact that his hip was bare! No underwear?! I can feel my nipples tighten at the thought.
In my fading dream I’m hugging him again, feeling his tight body press to my side, his warmth making me feel sexy things.
Jumping from bed I turn off the alarm and wrap my robe around me as I dash for the bathroom and the shower. Yes! I get there before Dani today. Hmmm! I wonder what’s made me so energetic this morning?
Closing my eyes while I wash my hair, my mind drifts away from that and back to yesterday.

I’m walking along with the group of girls from my 4th hour Sophomore English, and down the steps from the English wing, talking to my sister and my cousin Julie, not paying much attention. We walk around a corner and into the lobby and this guy with dark shaggy hair comes toward us, walking along like a zombie against the crowd, and almost collides with my friend Lynn, who’s out in front and basically daydreaming about the Junior guy who asked her out this morning.
At the last second they sidestep each other, and it looks like everything is okay, until Lynn stumbles, and bumps into me. She doesn’t quite fall, but her school stuff starts to slide off her books, falling one at a time to the floor. Almost.
Out of nowhere this guy appears, beside her knees. One second he’s not there, and the next he’s there, on one knee, just picking things out of the air, faster than I can follow clearly. It even looks a bit like some of them actually move into his waiting hands. He looks fit, what with the clearly well-toned muscles in his arms and shoulders and legs sliding around under his perfect tan, and too cute for words, almost girl-pretty, what with that blond braid hanging down his forehead, cute nose and chin, strong features and dimples in his cheeks, and the long red hair curling down around his shoulders. Then I see his eyes.
I mumble something and he gives me a split-second smile. I feel my face go warm. His eyes are bright green and sparkling behind his little silver glasses. All I can do is stand there and stare. In less than a couple of seconds he catches everything that falls from Lynn’s arms and stacks them up on his knee. As he places the last one, he looks up at her, and smiles, and hands them back to her one-handed. The muscles in his toned arm are sharply defined when he does. This is the closest to the perfect boy I’ve ever found.
Lynn starts to say something, and then can’t finish. She sees what I’m seeing. Good, that means I’m not crazy. And bad, because that means that according to the girl rules developed at Centralia Junior High, she has first choice since he's helping her.
“You’re very welcome,” he tells her. Now I know someone is reading my diary; his voice is a smooth, low, mellow baritone, and I just shiver. He stands, and at the same time picks up a cup from the floor behind him without looking back at it. Lynn is watching closely as he does it, and it’s easy to see that she’s disappointed that he isn’t taller. Okay, so he’s five foot nothin’, ten inches shorter than me and two more shorter than her, he’s still the cutest thing I’ve seen since I started Junior High!
“How-how …” Lynn stops and takes a breath. “How did you do that?”
“I left my higher cerebral functions out of the loop, and connected my hands directly to my eyes through the motor controls in the medulla oblongata.” Lynn stares at him, and I smile. That’s two more things from the list in my diary; he’s smart, and he’s not self-conscious about it, and he doesn't sound like he's showing off, either.
Ooooh! I’m sure I can feel his voice vibrating through the floor and into my feet and up my legs.
“Huh?” One of the other girls mutters, shaking her head. She looks like she’s just waking up. Oh well, she wasn’t ever what we’d call brainy. He turns to look at her as he explains.
“Thinking slows things down, so I didn’t think about it, I just did it.” Cool, he knows how to talk in plain English, too. Lynn is smiling at him, just a bit more than enough to be polite.
“I’m Lynn. Thanks for helping me with this stuff.” He nods and smiles at her.
“My name is Jon, but my friends call me Babe.” Some of the others give him a quick once over, but I just nod. It may just be a cute nickname to some, but as far as I’m concerned, he’s the real thing; a true babe standing within arm’s reach. I see my sister staring at him, as she and several others nod along with me. He’s looking at Lynn with interest, and she’s looking back. I wish he was looking at me that way; I know Lynn has a certain thing for tall guys, and there’s already one on her mind. I’m not that picky.
But we all know that look, and know that there’s not really any reason to hang around; he’s hooked. We start to drift toward the door, those of us behind them working our way around them. I have to pull Dani along. We walk out the door, across the deep porch, and down the steps to the front walk, where we turn to wait for them, almost as a group.
Oh wow! I’m waiting for them. Not her plus the guy, but them. From the look on most of the other girl’s faces, without even asking questions they’ve included him into the group, too. That’s never happened before; usually when a guy starts hanging around because of a girl, we just tune him out, or him and her sometimes, until it he gets the idea.
When I see what’s happened I just want to kick myself for leaving them alone for the few seconds they were together. Now he’s carrying her books! All stacked up in a tower balanced on one of his hands like they don’t weigh anything at all. He’s even opening the door for her. And Lynn seems confused by it! She’s hiding her boobs behind her stuff. As they walk over to where we’re waiting, she opens her mouth and asks the silliest question imaginable.
“Why?” She says. I can’t help but stare. Who cares why, he’s a mini-hunk! Run with it, girl!
“Why what?” He asks. She starts to lift her supplies toward him, but stops with a nervous smile. I think she’s afraid she’s going to drop it all again.
“Why do it? You show up out of nowhere, and do that … that … do a thing I still think is impossible, just to help me? Why?” He looks up at her, and smiles. God, there’s just something about that smile. I wish he was smiling like that at me.
“I could tell you several reasons, all true. You might even believe one of them.” His eyes pull me, make me want to be closer to him.
“Tell me one.” Everyone looks at him, waiting to hear him tell her why.
“Okay. I was bored, and I wanted to meet someone nice. I looked around, and saw you having trouble. That kind of stuff almost never happens to someone who isn’t nice. So I helped.” He’s right, of course, and I get that part he doesn’t say immediately. He saw an opportunity to meet a beautiful girl, and impress her right off the bat. He’s a smart one. And smooth. And still sincere to the core. I can see it in his face; he means every word.
“So you do impossible things to meet and/or help nice people?” She asks. She’s used to guys doing things for her and expecting something in return for it. He shrugs.
“It breaks the ice. And it wasn’t impossible, just very … unlikely.” He clearly reaches for the right word for this situation, and picks that one. Something makes me think he’s used to doing stuff like that, choosing words to fit the people who he’s talking to.
“Tell me another.” He smiles at her. He knows she doesn’t want to believe him.
“Okay. I’m a superhero in training, and I can’t resist a challenge. A race with gravity is a pretty good challenge, I think.” He smiles like it’s a joke, and I can tell that I’m not the only one who laughs to herself. It sounds so dorky, and at the same time, he sounds absolutely serious and completely aware of how it sounds. He doesn’t seem to mind that we’re laughing at him. And just a few minutes ago his hands were moving so fast that all I could see were deeply tanned blurs. I think. Weren’t they?
“Tell me one more.” He grins, turns, and begins to walk slowly backward down the walk away from the building, motioning us to follow him. As we follow he tells us another story, about himself and some others who intend to take over the school and stop the school board and the administrators from using all sorts of propaganda and subliminals and stuff from changing the students subconsciously.
He stops talking and walking, and so does everyone else. He turns to look at each and every one of us in turn. Something in his voice, in his eyes, makes me want this to be true. I know it sounds crazy, just like that super hero thing he said, but he says it with such a straight face, and obvious conviction in his voice. I almost think he believes it.
“We call what I just did for Lynn ‘Random Acts of Kindness and Compassion.’ We’re an underground resistance group, fighting the oppression of the students by the administrators.” He explains, as if it’s a real thing and he’s serious. I really think he means it. I’m kind of shocked; this is the first time a boy ever didn’t talk down to me. And then I get it!
“A teenage freedom fighter, fighting for teenage freedom? That’s sooooo cool! I luv it!” I blurt out. The others sigh, and then they’re laughing, and smiling. They get the joke, too. I have to admit, he’d had me going there for a few seconds. He smiles at me, looking me in the eye, and that deep green gaze pulls me toward him again, makes me want to hug him and hold him close. On impulse I decide to do it.
I step toward him and reach out to put my arms around him, as he’s turning back the other way. I can’t see his eyes anymore, and I’m not sure why I’m about to grab him.
I’ve moved forward eagerly, but now I’m slowing down, stopping my movement. Then I’m suddenly close enough to feel the warmth of his body on my hands and arms.
And that’s enough. I have to touch him, to see if he’s really that warm, if he feels as good as he looks, as good as I think he will. But I don’t really know him well enough to hug him as I’d first meant to. So I slip an arm around his back and waist, bend my knees a bit and brace him against my hip, then lift and spin with him, his legs flying out as I twirl the two of us like I would a little kid. He instantly tips Lynn’s books into his chest and holds them tight.
He’s heavier than I expected, and he starts to slip out of my grip immediately. I don’t want to drop him (god, wouldn’t that make me look dumb) so I scrabble with my fingers at his shorts, trying to get the waistband. What I get is my fingers inside his shorts and holding tight to his bare (bare!) hip. He's gone commando to the first day of high school?! Oh! My! God! His skin is so soft and smooth, his hip just like the rest of him, muscled and firm.
Oh, he’s so warm! His other hip is pressed hard against mine, and his back is hard-muscled against my arm. My hand tingles as I hold him to me, and his head brushes against my shoulder and the side of my boob and I feel tingles there as well. I love the way he feels, and touching him is even better than I imagined it would be.
I can feel my boobs lifting and my nips perking up. My face is getting warm, my lips hot and heavy. Yeah, those other lips, too.
Finishing the first twirl I set him down quickly, almost dropping him.
“Go Babe! I’m Teri, and I’ve got yer back. See ya later, cutie.” I almost run across the street toward the new science building. I look back once, and see him watching me, his hand on his hip just where mine had been, a funny looking smile on his face. Had he felt the tingles too? Oh please, let him feel it! I wave and hurry on.
Right into the building, and immediately into the girls’ restroom I went. I ran cold water over my hands, patted some on my face, trying to think thoughts that would calm my body before I had to be in class. It wouldn’t do at all to get to biology with my nips showing, my shorts and panties damp, and my eyelids drooping.
Unfortunately, that’s exactly how I got there. I can’t forget how warm, how good he felt against me, or get it out of my head that he was just wearing shorts and a tee-shirt. And it didn’t get better for over an hour. Until I saw Dani on the bus after school. Her nips were showing hard and sharp through her t-shirt!
Of course I had to tease her about it; she’s my sister! She knows I’m laughing with her, not at her. But that got me to thinking about him again, his warmth, his voice, his eyes. Before we get home I’m just as bad as she is, at least where it shows, and Dani begins giggling smugly at me when I’m trying to adjust my bra and panties without anyone knowing.
Over dinner we told mom and dad about meeting him; they’d asked about meeting new people and neither of us could keep it in. Dad was still stuck in the news, so he hardly saw half of it, but mom was interested. She didn’t know what to make of his explanations of how and why he’d helped Lynn, or been able to catch her stuff any more than we did.

‘He's so shy, and so good lookin'!’

‘He's so shy, and he's really got me goin'!’
‘That sweet little boy who caught my eye!’

‘He's so shy!’

‘I'm so glad I got to know him!’

‘He's so shy!’
‘'Cuz he's one in a million,’

‘And I'll love him 'til the day I die!’

‘Oh, yes I will.’
Familiar giggling outside the shower just after I’ve turned off the water tells me I’ve been overheard singing in the shower by my sister.
“Ha-ha! Go ahead and laugh it up.” She starts laughing harder. “And hand me my robe, just to be useful.”
“Anything to get you and that dying sea lion out of the shower!” She hands the robe in around the shower curtain.
The laugh is on Dani when the exact same song comes on the radio just a few minutes later while we’re eating breakfast!

School is okay up until lunch; track and history and algebra all just fine. Sitting in the cafeteria, listening to the others talking about Lynn and the guy who’d asked her out two days in a row (and who she’s sitting with right now, over at a different table) isn’t.
I know it’s not her fault; she saw James first, and he’s tall like she likes boys to be. But I wonder if she’s thought about Babe and how he’s going to feel when he finds out she’s already got a boyfriend. It’s obvious he’s attracted to her, but has there been enough time for him to become infatuated?
Please, I hope not. I’ve seen it happen in extreme cases, but I really don’t think he’s the obsessive type; he’s just too sweet and relaxed to be a potential stalker.
And … on the other hand that does leave him without even a prospective girlfriend! And no one to be upset if he spends a little time with another girl, like me. Maybe there’s something good about this after all.
I down a cup of grape kool-aid and a couple of oatmeal cookies, and head off to sophomore English. It drags, but unsurprisingly I’m looking forward to seeing Babe again, so I sort of expected that.
The bell rings and I’m out of my seat and out the door in a flash; I’ve been ready for the last three minutes. Walking as quickly as I can along the hallway toward the cafeteria seems to take forever. I don’t know why I expect to be able to find him so easily, but as I hurry up to the place where the hall becomes the lobby I see him right in front of me, sitting between two other guys (and a girl on the outside) at the closest of the three benches, eating stuff from a tray.
Well, the other guys are eating. I stop short, seeing the other girl there. I give her a fast once-over; she’s pretty, too plump to be a jock (not that everybody can be, and that's okay) but in nice proportion, and fashionably dressed.
Babe draws my eyes away from her. There’s something about the way he looks that tells me that he needs a hug. No, honestly, I’m not making it up just because I want to see if I get that tingle again from touching him like I did yesterday. Even though I do. He’s got his knees pulled close to his chest with one arm, his head is down and his shoulders are hunched … on second thought he’s clearly in some sort of pain.
Something big, football big, in exercise shorts and a weight club tank is standing next to the bench, and I get the idea he’s giving them a hard time. One of the taller two, looking suspiciously like the guy from yesterday that nearly ran into Lynn, stands up, but just doesn’t quite come up to the football player type.
The guy on the bench starts saying something, then the one standing joins in, and then Babe leans his head back against the bench post and he’s saying something, too.
The football type listens for a few seconds, and then turns around and walks toward me. His eyes are blank as he passes me, and weaves slowly down the hall. He bumps a few people, stumbles up the steps, and bounces off lockers until I can't see him anymore. For a second I wonder what they said to him. Oops, the rest of the gang have seen me, and are catching up.
The four of them are laughing together when I look back at them. The girl is sitting with the taller boy that didn’t stand up, and holding his hand, which is a relief to me. I didn’t even want to think about the cutie meeting someone else just since yesterday. I walk over, just a bit nervous.
“Hey, Babe, how’s the resistance going?” He looks up at me, surprised, and bounces up from the bench. His face clears and he grins at me. If that isn’t happiness, I don’t know what it is. And it makes my day in a split second.
“Hi Teri. It’s … going.” He glances to the bench, and back at me. “I think the first order of business for the resistance is to give Baldy an ulcer just as fast as I can.” I can see he wants to step closer, but he’s afraid to do it. He really is shy! Laughing, delighted at the look in his eyes, I put my arm around his neck and pull him close to me. He melts into my arm, one hand coming to my wrist, and presses against me. God he feels good!
“I was just about to tell these guys; somehow I got fingered for starting a fight after school yesterday.” The other girls have arrived, and he introduces the other guys and the girls whose names he knows, and most of the rest, including my cousin Julie, chime in with their names.
“Who do they say you were fighting with?” Pam, the girl on the bench asks quietly.
“Some football player more than twice my size named Vandoren.” The tall guy with the blue eyes stares at him, and some of my friends nod knowingly. We know about Rick Vandoren and how much he likes to start fights from Centralia. Dani has crept up on Babe’s other side, slowly forcing space enough for herself just by pushing into the spot.
“But you weren’t fighting?” Someone asks, and the tall one with the messy hair points at Babe.
“He looks a little under-equipped for fighting, maybe?” He asks no one in particular, and several girls giggle. Dani is looking at me behind his back, and I know she wants me to give way so she can get closer to him. I don’t blame her, but I’m not backing off. With a nod I tell her to barge in if she’s got the guts.
“So you made old sourpuss’s list already? That might be a record.” I whisper to him, and he nods.
“How do you plan on giving him the ulcer?” Dani asks, as she slips an arm around his waist from the other side. I don’t mind that she wiggles it in between him and me; she has the guts, and that’s a good thing. He still feels good in a way I just don’t know how to explain.
“I figured on a pointed advertising campaign as a good start.” His hand is softly stroking my arm, and his other arm has come up and snuggled around Dani’s waist, and I don’t mind a bit; it just feels all the better.
“Do you mean with slogans and stuff? Handbills and flyers?” My sister asks. The girls have tightened in like a wall between Babe and the attendance office. Babe looks at the other guys, and they both nod slowly at him.
“Yeah, that kind of thing.” He nods at everyone.
“I’ll help.” Dani and I say together, and we both laugh when we realize it. He looks from her to me and back.
“We’ll all help. What can we do?” One of our friends asks, and suddenly they’re all agreeing. Theron shrugs and Drew nods, but I can tell Babe doesn’t like the idea.
“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. If this goes wrong someone or everyone can get suspended.” He says slowly. I look around at all the serious girl faces.
“You let us worry about that.” I tell him. “We want to help the resistance.”
“Are you all sure?” He asks us all. I just squeeze him, and I can feel Dani nodding against his shoulder. All the others nod or tell him yes. “Okay. We’ll have to work up a plan. We’ll have something ready by this time tomorrow.”
Talk about timing; that’s when the warning bell rings, and Babe and Theron (?) walk with us out the lobby doors, Dani and I still on either side of him. At the turn to the math wing my sister wraps both arms around him and hugs him hard for a few seconds before she hurries away blushing. I let him go so she can get a full hug.
Some of the others hug him too, and leave blushing just as hard as Dani. The rest touch his arm or hair before going on. I see it in their faces; they feel what I feel when I touch him! It’s real! I pull him back to me, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, and hug him tight, spoon-fashion. God, he feels so good! I can feel it happening again, but better this time; a full-body flush and a tingle everywhere we touch. Already my panties are uncomfortable, and I can feel the material of my sports bra pressing hard to my suddenly sensitive nips.
His head falls back to my boobs, and I see his eyes are closed. Rocking him back and forth, I whisper to him. “It’s going to be okay, Babe. You’re going to be okay. I’m here to help.”
The guy with the weird name shakes his head and walks on. He has an odd look on his face, but he doesn’t say anything.
I run across the street in exactly the same state I was in yesterday, but I’m not nearly as bothered by it this time. Really, it's a good feeling.
Pam Butler

12:40 pm, Tuesday, August 15th, 1995

Cafeteria, Springville High School, Emmons St., Springville, AR

Yesterday had been amazing. Nothing like it had ever happened to me before.
At breakfast mom informed dad that he was taking the day off, and we would all be going to the junior high school to straighten out my ascending to sophomore right now, or I would be spending another year at the junior high.
Right before Christmas Break my math teacher suddenly got married and moved, with very short notice. Like none. The first we knew of it was the first day back after the holidays, and no one could find the attendance/grade book, and our emergency substitute was in a tizzy for several weeks while someone in the attendance office drug their feet on making her a new attendance book.
By the time they got it to her she had a two foot stack of graded papers waiting to be input, and the administrators had given up looking for the older one. Basically, this made me one of a couple of dozen kids who are affectively short a half credit because we’ve officially flunked the first half of our 9th grade math class.
At the attendance office we join a crowd of unhappy parents. The principal comes out to explain the problem and why they’ve had to do what they did. At the first opportunity Dad starts in with his polite requests and questions, while mom gets the big guns ready behind him, specifically all of my last semester’s graded and returned tests, quizzes and homework, and my syllabus showing how each of these things are the assigned work for a particular day of that semester.
This did NOT make the principal’s day any better! She shook her head and came back that while the work was commendable, the grades were not official until they were in the grade book. The missing grade book.
Dad excused himself to make a phone call while mom continued to discuss (argue) things with the principal, much to mine and the other kids’ amusement.
The other parents got into the act, and mom let them push her back a bit as she waited for dad to come back from his phone call. We waited about fifteen minutes for that, and when he did come back he just pulled mom to the side and told us to wait, with a smile.
Just a few minutes later one of the attendance clerks comes from the office and whispers to the principal. Almost immediately after that the attendance office erupts as every adult available begins ransacking the office to find the missing grade book.
I’m not going to say where it was found, but it never should have been there to begin with, and no one admitted to having put it there, or putting that other stuff on top of it. But just an hour after the principal got that phone message I had my corrected grades, and my transcript, which let me go on to 10th grade. And they called ahead to make sure someone was expecting me!

Mom and Dad walked in to the attendance office with me, and then to the counselor’s office, where they left me with Virginia (surprise, surprise), one of the Adult Leaders of the teen girls’ groups at temple. They left me there with her assurance that everything would be taken care of.
I’d been sitting there for thirty minutes, waiting for the head counselor to help me with my class schedule because for some reason only she could do it, when the phone rang, and Miss Virginia asked me to go across the lobby with a telephone message for Dr. Reyes in the Senior Vice-Principal’s office.
So I did. It’s not like I was doing anything really important; in fact, I was rather bored, and besides, the temple teaches us to be helpful and cheerful. I think I’m going to like public school, there are a lot of cute boys here; lots better than being home-schooled by the temple mother’s group until I was twelve.
Going in the door of the office, I caught the eye of the lady at the attendance desk and after I explained why I was there, she told me which door was the right one. I knocked and waited, and after just a few seconds, the door opened. A short black woman with braided dread-locks and glasses was standing there looking up at me. The name on the door was Frank Jennings, which seemed highly unlikely to be her name, so I took a small chance.
“Miss Cecelia? Miss Virginia asked me to give you this message.” I held out the message slip, and she took it from my hand. Turning away, she opened and read it, and I took a half step into the doorway, and looked around. The room really wasn’t very impressive for a principal’s office. Kinda generic, really. On the other hand, there were three really cute guys sitting on folding chairs across from the door. Well, two and a half, really. But they were all pretty cute. ‘Hey, wait!’ I thought to myself. I recognized one of them!
I’d watched the one with the blue-blue eyes, the one that was smiling at me right then, at temple for several months now. I smiled back. I’d never let him see me looking at him at temple. Father wouldn’t have stood for me flirting with a boy I hadn’t even been introduced to, and he seldom introduces me to boys my own age.
Ooooo! He smiled even wider at me, and his eyes sparkle when he does. I may be new to this flirting thing, but I know what to do now; I waved and grinned. And he turned pink when he was sure I was waving at him. I looked at Miss Cecelia as she turned back to me.
“Please ask Virginia to let them know that I will call them back as soon as I can, if they should call again, but that I’m in an important meeting orienting new students, and cannot leave until I’m done.”
“Yes, Miss Cecelia. I’ll tell her exactly what you said.” I took a backward step out the door, and started to shut it, and then I caught his eye, waved and smiled at him again, and quietly closed the door. I hurried back to the Counselor’s Office.
Miss Virginia looked up as I shut the door. “Well?”
“She said just what you thought she would.” She smiled at me, just like she always does at Temple in study group. Then she looked at me again.
“You’re not smiling like ‘Oh wow, you were right,’ you’re smiling like ‘Oh wow, I just saw the cutest guy, and he soooo smiled at me.’ Am I right?” I nodded.
“Is he cute?” She asked me.
“Very.” I smiled.
“Is he one of the ones Miss Cecelia is working with right now?” I nodded again, and she smiled. “I always liked the smart ones, too!” She laughed, and I giggled with her. She held up some file folders, and grinned.
“If you’re interested, I … might know where their cover folders are?” I nodded and leaned over the counter. “So, what’s he look like?”
“Dark tan, blue eyes, short dark hair, really big smile.” She looked up at me as she dropped two folders.
“That makes it easy; the other two have longer hair.” She opened the third folder, and held it so I could see his picture.
“That’s him!” I told her. She told me a few things from his file, nothing personal, but a few easily guessed vital statistics.

Just a few minutes before Cecelia came back Virginia gave me the racing form, some copies of the blank schedule, showed me which classes were completely full, and told me how to rough out a class schedule.
Cecelia had only been helping me for a few minutes when Virginia motioned me toward the hallway door. I scooted over to it, and saw the boy walking toward the hall from the lobby.
“Miss Butler? Where are you going?” Miss Cecelia asked.
“Please, I’ll be right back.” I opened the door and slipped out, standing in the doorway as he walked toward me across the lobby.

The rest of the day, especially the time I get to spend with him, flies by.

As soon as I’m home I run to my mom to tell her all about him. Well, not everything; certainly not about me trying to pull his eyes down into my blouse! While she’s progressive as latter day saints go, I think that might be more than even she could excuse, so I leave that part out. But the plan that I’d outlined to Theron was the one Mom and I had worked out together over the summer, and agreed upon to shift Dad’s thinking from ‘little girl’ to ‘young woman’ to ‘dating young woman.’
As for the rest mom just laughs at me; she’s seen me spying on the boy at temple. She holds my hands and tells me she’d been wondering when I’d talk to her about him.
She’s surprised that he’s at the high school because she knows from his parents that he’s a year younger than I am.
Surprised until I tell her what Miss Virginia had told me about Miss Cecelia’s special student project. And that his parents are teachers right there at the high school.
We talk for a while, mostly her asking questions and me answering while I help her get dinner ready for the table. Just before I call Dad to the table Mom agrees to talk to him about Theron.
During dinner I stick to safe subjects, like the school food, and the teachers, and the subjects and stuff like that. Oh, and the class changes. I leave bringing up the subject of boys to Mom. It’s not ‘dating’, never that, just knowing boys socially. In fact she never even mentions that I’ve met a nice boy at all, just that I’m at the age where girls should be meeting boys and beginning to think about relationships with boys.
Mom works it carefully around to the point where Dad is the one to suggest it might be time for him to think about letting me meet some boys my own age in a social setting, from the temple of course, and completely parent or temple supervised.
I keep my head down while they talk about it unless one of them mentions my name or asks me a question, which I answer with what I hope is the right amount of embarrassment. Of course, I never actually admit to having made friends with a boy yet.
By the time dinner ends Mom has coaxed Dad one small step toward allowing me to date. Which is fine, really: I hadn’t expected as much as this for the first night. Later she follows me to my room after I wish them goodnight, and with my door shut she whispers that we’ll do tonight over again tomorrow, so as not to seem to push too hard, or try to get too far too fast.
Breakfast this morning was interesting; Mom was cheery and completely oblivious to Dad’s mood, which changed from ominously forbidding to curiously proud and back every few minutes. I kept my head down, and was astounded when Mom winked at me like we knew a big secret that we were keeping from Dad. Which we did, and were.
I daydream about having a boyfriend all during the bus ride to school. My friends who’d seen us from the bus yesterday kept pestering me with questions about him.
Classes go by fast while I’m waiting for lunch time, which is nice.
I hurry to the cafeteria as soon as the bell rings, but Theron isn’t there. I’m sure he told me that he arrived just before the beginning of second lunch, but I can’t find him. Well, maybe something happened to keep him from meeting me.
After waiting a few minutes for him to show up I go get my lunch. Or something that passes for lunch. I’ve just finished eating it when I see him, with the other two boys from the office yesterday.
He’s walking slightly sideways, and at first I think he’s talking to the two of them until they turn the corner as a group, and I see he’s helping the other tall boy carry the shortest one by his elbows. 'That's silly,' I think to myself.
They turn away from the cafeteria and move out into the lobby and, with a mumbled apology to the food service workers, I jump up and follow them, leaving my tray right there on the table.
Okay, I’ve heard about this: guy meets girl, they connect for several hours, everything clicking in an incredible way, and then go their ways for the night, meaning to meet again the next day and go on from there. But the next morning he wakes up scared to death of how real it seemed, and hides from the girl. Standard boy behavior, or so I'm told.
Well it isn’t going to happen to me. Nope. Not today. Not if I can help it. I follow them as quickly as I can without running, and I get to the bench right after they get sat down.
Theron looks surprised, but happy to see me. He quickly whispers his apology for not being in the cafeteria when I got there. I ask what kept him, and his answer is so shocking I can't think of anything to say for several minutes.
"We were saving Babe from Assistant Principal Jennings." He indicates the short one he was helping carry. The other tall one nods seriously. I don't understand at first.
Why would anyone need to be saved from an assistant principal? Aren't they here to see that we're safe? They're serious. Their friend had been in some kind of danger from Mr. Jennings. And he looks like he's been through something serious. He's sitting with his knees drawn up close to his chest, one arm hugging his legs tight, and his face down.
Theron and Drew are telling him stories about some sort of game they've both played, a video game, I think. Funny things that happened to them in the game, or things they'd said. Sometimes he laughs with them, just a bit, or lifts his head for a second or two. Maybe he isn't paying a lot of attention to me, but I like Theron even more for being there when his friend needs him.
An obvious football player walks up and stands beside the bench. He leans over us, and he's frowning.
“That’s the senior bench. Get offa there.” Drew, Theron, and I all look up at the same time. He has bully written all over him. The little guy never moves a muscle. He's so far gone in shock he doesn't look around.
“Who are you, the bouncer?” Drew speaks before I can, but he's got most of what I was gonna say said. The bully blinks.
“I’m the guy telling you to get out of here.” He tries harder, growling at us, his throat working hard to stay that low.
Babe's(?) head twitches a little, like he's nodding. Theron looks at Drew, and Drew stands up in front of the football player. It doesn't look good from here, but it's better than not doing anything.
“We are the tutors, and we are above such petty concerns. Leave us alone, and you might graduate with your team-mates.” My Theron speaks clearly and carefully, and looks the guy right in the eyes as he says it. Then a deep voice comes from beside us.
"Pi is a mathematical term, describing the relationship between the diameter of a circle and the circumference of the same circle. When expressed as a fraction, pi is elegant and simple: twenty-two sevenths. When expressed as a decimal, it is anything but elegant. It has been computed to over two million places with no hint of a pattern or end. Three point one four one seven -" It's the short one with the unlikely voice, and he begins rattling it off. He's resting his head against the post now, his eyes shut, speaking evenly and loudly.
"The first President of the United States was George Washington, and his Vice President was John Quincy Adams. Washington was born February 22nd of 1732 in Westmoreland County in Virginia, and died December 14th of 1799. He served two four year terms, beginning April 30th of 1789 at the age of 57, and ending March 4th of 1797." Theron begins before the word 'fraction' comes out of his friends' mouth. By the time Theron has said 'Washington' Drew begins speaking also.
"The periodic table of elements is arranged by weight and by association. This means by element types, such as metals, gases, and trans-metals, as well as by levels of inertness, and excitability. The first element on the table is Hydrogen. It is unique in that it belongs to no grouping. It is colorless and odorless. It's symbol is 'H', it's atomic number is '1', and it's atomic weight is one point zero zero seven nine four, while it's rest or standard state is gaseous, beginning at negative two five three degrees Celsius. Its configuration is also unique, being the only element with no neutrons, just one proton in the nucleus and one electron in the innermost ring."
He meant it! Theron and his friends really are tutors! I'm so glad I picked him out of all the boys at temple. Mom will be able to use this on my behalf.
I don't even notice the football player walking off. I'm just so thrilled that the boy I'm soon going to date is so smart, and he's friends with other smart boys. Okay, I knew yesterday that they were smart: that's how they could jump from junior high to the high school for half the day. But this is a different level of smart, and they all know it. And somehow I know something else, in a way I can't explain.
Here's what I think it is: being near the three of them is always going to be interesting. For example: Drew shoves a business card into Theron's hand. I look at it over his shoulder, and smile: I know exactly what it is.
Drew takes out his wallet and pulls out another card, which he hands to Babe, who's eyes are open and now has a cup in his hand and suddenly looks like he's about to spit out whatever he's drinking. He passes that card to Theron, and it's nearly identical. My guy hands them both to me, and takes a card from his backpack, and shows it to me, and then to his friends. I laugh when I see them all together. Whoever said that brilliant minds think alike knew what he was talking about.
I'm already giggling when the three of the simultaneously say 'Super Genius!' just like the coyote in the Bugs Bunny cartoon. They begin laughing almost before they're done saying it, and I know Theron doesn't stop until tears run down his face. And that seals it. My man has to be able and willing to take large bites of life, and enjoy it to the limit. This proves he does, and is.
I'm still hanging on his arm and giggling, blinking my damp eyes when a girl speaks right next to us.
"Hey, Babe, how's the resistance going?" He jumps up from the bench like he's been jabbed in the butt with a pin. The rest of us jump a bit, too. For me, I'm as startled by him jumping like that as I am that she snuck up on us while we were laughing. Wait. Resistance? What does that mean?
"Hi Teri. It's ... going." She has this really happy look on her face at first, and her dark eyes are shining with it, but it fades to concern when he answers her. He looks back at us, nods to the guys, and goes on. "I think the first order of business is to give Baldy an ulcer just as fast as I can." Baldy? Could he mean ... Assistant Principal Jennings?
She laughs, wraps an arm around his neck, and pulls him into a close hug. He's standing as tall as he can, and still looking up to her, so she's got to be about a foot taller than he is. And her loose tee shirt and baggy shorts don't really hide her more than medium-sized boobs, or the muscles in her arms and legs: she's a girl jock of some kind. And she's obviously into a particular little junior high guy, if the smile on her face and the definite bumps in her shirt mean anything.
Ooookay. I didn't realize what she was doing until I see her purposely (and blushingly pleased with herself for doing it) holding the side of his head not quite pressed to the side of her boob.
That's ... kinda wierd. I mean, okay, yes, I have touched my own boobs and I like how it feels when I do, I've wondered about how it would feel to hold a boy close to my boobs, like maybe in the back of the movie theatre or in the back of his car, and I mean to try it with Theron sometime before Christmas (sorry mom, and please, no one tell my dad), but she's doing it ... right here in school, in front of people!
Then he turns back toward the bench, pink and smiling just like she is. I hope Theron has the grace to blush and smile and leave it at that in public when we know each other well enough to kiss or hug in front of people.
"I was just about to tell these guys. Somehow I got fingered for starting a fight after school yesterday." I guess I haven't been paying attention to anything around me: about ten more girls have come up and surrounded this side of the bench. Babe introduces us three still sitting there. They're all sizes and shapes, hair from dark to light, eyes too, and basically dressed like the first, except for a couple in sundresses. And they all look like girl jocks, just like ... Teri?
"Who do they say you were fighting with?" A different girl asks.
"Some football player more than twice my size. His name is Vandoren." Theron reacts with a start.
"But you weren't fighting?" Another girl, this one a cute blonde, asks him.
"He's under equipped for fighting, maybe?" Drew asks, and a few of them laugh, and most of the others smile.
"So you made old sourpuss's list already? That might be a record." Teri says, her arm still around his neck.
“How do you plan on giving him the ulcer?” A tiny blond girl, several inches shorter than he is, asks, as she pokes her hand between him and Teri and hugs his waist. His arms come around both of them, his hands resting lightly on both their waists, not holding on or grabbing to my eyes. The tall girl grins down at the shorter one, and she grins back as they both pink up. And the littler girls’ shirt begins showing bumps, too! That's even weirder than Teri 'boobing' his face in public. Well, almost.
“I figured on a pointed advertising campaign as a good start.” There's a look of relief and happiness on his face now, that wasn't there before. Like the last few minutes have helped him get over whatever happened with 'Baldy.'
"Do you mean like with slogans and stuff? Handbills and flyers?" The bunch of them has moved in tighter. I look around again: they're scooting in closer to Babe. Drew has a funny look on his face.
"Yeah, that kind of thing."
"I'll help." The girls on either side of him say it at the same time, glance at each other, and laugh. And they mean it.
"We'll all help." One of them says.
"What can we do?" Another asks, and he looks back at us. Neither of the guys answers, and he stays carefully blank.
"I don't want to get anyone in trouble." He looks around at them. "If this goes wrong, someone or everyone can get suspended."
"You let us worry about that." Teri tells him firmly. "We want to help the resistance." Every one of them is smiling. And there's that word again. What is the resistance? Is it really about the assistant principal?
"Are you all sure?" He asks, and looks at each and every one there, even me. Every one of us nods when he does. Even me! "Okay. We'll have to work up a plan. We'll have something ready by this time tomorrow."
The warning bell rings before anyone can say anything else. Drew goes to the right, and everyone else goes out the lobby doors. At the turn off to the math building Teri lets go of his neck and the little girl gives him a last fierce hug, then she lets go. They've held on to him all the way from the bench. Some of the others hug him, too. I touch his arm to get his attention for a second, and it looks to me like he's gotten over the worst of whatever was bothering him.
The rest touch his arm, or his hair, and they all come away with a smile, especially Teri, who gives him a last hug, arms around him from behind and pulling him back hard so the back of his head presses to her boobs again, and whispering something to him, right before he walks away.
Theron gives me such a forlorn look as we cross the street that I laugh and take his hand.
"I think he's going to be okay. You guys, plus them, was the medicine he needed."
"You weren't ... flirting with him?" Oh wow, he's already afraid he's losing me, and we haven't even dated yet.
"Responding to his babyface charm and nice guy way? I was, but only like a sister. I was just checking on him. He's cute, but you're the best fit for me." A sigh, a smile.
"Good." He whispers. I pretend not to hear.
"But when we get to 7th hour you have to explain what this resistance is that I've just joined."
Cecelia Reyes

12:39 pm, Tuesday, August 15th, 1995

Senior Counselor’s office, Springville High School, Emmons St., Springville, AR
I’m surprised when I recognize the two raised voices out in the outer office. This is only their second day; they shouldn’t all be having problems so soon. Then the larger two burst into my office, with Virginia following them in.
“Cecelia, I couldn’t stop them …” She tells me worriedly, at the same time that both boys are speaking excitedly.
“You’ve got to come quickly. The little guy is in some sort of trouble with the senior assistant principal.” One tells me earnestly.
“It’s heinous, I say! Baldy just swooped in, glommed onto his arm, and dragged him away!” The other boy is almost dancing in his efforts to speak intelligibly. I slam my stapler on my desk.
“Quiet!” Everyone stares at me in the sudden silence.
“Thank you, Virginia. I’ll take things from here.” She turns and leaves, hurt in her eyes, shutting the door behind her. I’ll have to apologize to her later.
“You.” I point at the blue-eyed one. “Mr. Jennings laid hands on Jon?” He nods emphatically. That idiot. I should have known.
“And you.” I turn to the taller one. “He was angry?”
“Steamed. And he was rough about it.” The boy pantomimes clawed hands descending quickly, and then violent shoving.
“Any idea what it’s about?” They both deny knowing why Frank has taken their friend from the lobby. I lock my PC.
“Follow me.” I tell them, and they do. Closely. Despite the fact they are only fourteen years old, I'm glad of their physical presence: Frank is only borderline rational at the best of times.
Across the hall, through the lobby, and into the attendance office we hurry. The student helpers are manning all the desks, and the adults who should be doing those jobs are all standing in the door to the back hallway, listening to Franks’ loud voice coming through the door. My worst fears are already coming true.
[Well … don’t you have anything to say?] Frank's voice is audible through the shut office door. I touch the shoulder of the office manager. She jumps and turns toward me.
[So you admit you were fighting with this other boy?] She tries to smile, but her worry turns it into a grimace. She leans close and whispers in my ear.
"The door is locked, and the only other key is with the safety officer. He's at the far end of campus. We called him, but he's several minutes away. Frank just yells louder if we ring the office phone."
[How did his hand get broken, then? Do you expect me to believe that he did it to himself, and is lying about it?]
"I'll handle it." I whisper back, and motion her and the others back into the outer office. No one moves. I'm racking my brains for something I can do.
[Well, I don’t believe it! Mumblemumblemumble …] Suddenly the door lock clicks loudly in the concentrated silence, startling the office manager and several others. I put my hand on the doorknob, then turn to the others, and hold a finger in front of my lips. The boys are standing there, looking worried. I beckon them closer, and the office women part to let them through. I face the door again, and slowly begin to turn the knob, ready to ease it open so it doesn’t make a sound.
[Nothing to say? We’ll see about that. I don’t have to put up with you and your friends breaking school rules. Mrs. Vandoren wants me to suspend you, and I think I will.] I creep the door open, a quarter-inch at a time. As I do, the office noises behind me diminish. Glancing back, I see that one of the boys has nearly shut the door from the attendance office to this hallway. The other gestures worriedly that I should continue. Smart boys.
[That doesn’t bother you? Maybe I can think of something that you are afraid of. Maybe I should call your mother?] I open the door farther, still moving it just a few millimeters at a time. Jennings voice is much louder with the door open; he’s almost shouting at the boy. I hear indrawn breath behind me as the women from the outer office realize that this is much more than the usual Frank becoming overzealous while dressing down a student.
[Or maybe I should let Mrs. Vandoren call the police. It’s what she wanted in the first place.] Suddenly he’s much quieter. Does he suspect someone can hear him?

[What does it take to get through to you?] Something in his voice tells me that this is the moment, and I swing the door wide open, not worried a bit about the consequences. I’m not sure I can’t be fired, but there won’t be just a single faculty parking space left unfilled if it does happen; I’ll make sure Frank loses his license, and rots in a jail for a while. And maybe a few others.
The boy stands next to his bag, which is spilled across the floor, an arm upraised in a protective gesture. Frank has drawn back his arm, behind and above his head, clearly out of control and ready to assault the boy. I’m struck momentarily speechless: he really is that stupid!? A breeze pulls at my hair and clothes, and I catch sight of a blur with dark shaggy hair.
The Snelson boy is suddenly standing in the barely large enough space between Jon and Frank, his arms spread wide, hands open and upraised, his face raised to the ceiling. A second one? For the first time since I arrived I begin to have some confidence that I might be able to pull this whole thing off, and I find my voice.
“Frank, don’t touch that boy.” My voice sounds loud in my ears; this is the first time I’ve really confronted him from an oppositional stand-point. To add strength to my voice I point directly at his face. Then I realize what I’ve said, and amend it. “Those boys. Don’t even think about it.” I step forward as I talk, standing just an arm’s length from Jon, almost in the center of the office. All of these things together work: the man backs away and lowers his arm. I'm still ready to protect them both, but I'm itching to smack Frank through the window behind him.
"Jon, are you okay?" I ask the boy beside me without taking my eyes from Frank for more than a split second or two. He turns and moves away from the confrontation.
"Nothing that a hot shower, a PB&J, and some chocolate milk wouldn't fix." Well that sounds like he's okay, but the look in his eye when I next glance at him says he has the same basic urge that I'm fighting right now: violence on Frank's person.
"Pick up your things and wait for me in my office." I tell him, my eyes on Frank. I intend this to be short and satisfying. Behind me I hear a scuffling sound. The other boy lowers his arms and turns away without at second look at Frank. As if he was never concerned by him in the first place.
"Dr. Reyes, if you don't mind, I really am hungry, and I've got to get something to eat. Can I meet with you during study hall?" Okay, now that voice sounds rattled and shaky. Frank starts to open his mouth, so I take a quick step forward.
"Frank-" I say in a low tone. "Yes Jon, that will be fine." Three seconds later the door shuts firmly. He starts just the way I expect him to: On the offensive and at the top of his lungs.
"Who the hell do you think you are? To come barging into my private office? Unannounced?" This must be how he keeps the secretaries and other assistant principles in their little boxes where he wants them. To bad the effect is marred by his shortness of breath. And that I'm a psychologist and understand this tactic.
"What kind of stupid, fucking, moronic question is that? I got here just in time to keep you out of prison! If we’re lucky!" I'm not proud to say that I'm screaming past my still extended finger. But it's working, and I go with it. I say it again. “You. In prison.” He slowly sits in a chair.
“Me? Prison?” He’s clueless. I wish I could put him in one of those house arrest leg cuffs so I would know if he left his office. I point, and he sits.
“Prison, Frank. Didn’t you just have your hand raised to strike a student?” He looks at his hand, opening and closing it. He looks up quickly.
“But he pushed me to it. He wouldn’t do anything I told him to.” I have to roll my eyes, it’s impossible to keep from doing it. Why hasn’t anyone seen through the fool before now? I lean against the door.
“Bullshit. He didn’t respond to your bullying, and you lost control. And you should have known that it wouldn’t work.” He begins to rally.
"What do you mean I 'should have known'?" I have to snort at him.
"Read the files, Frank. I mean it. It's all in there for you." He turns away.
"You owe me, Frank." He grunts, but otherwise ignores me. "First and foremost, no more one on one between you and students in this office, always public or in my office." He glares at me. “With me present.”
"I mean it. I'm covering for your criminal acts, and you owe me more than you can imagine. Second, I'm getting you into an anger management group starting this week. Today, if I can manage it." He jumps up, angry.
"I don't have time for -" The safety officer comes in the door.
"I came as fast as I could when I heard there was a problem. What can I do?" I smile.
"We've got it sorted out, Officer, but thank you for your concern. Just an excitable student inquiring about team tryouts. He managed to jam the door for a minute or two without knowing it." He didn't really look as if he believed me, but the office crew had agreed this summer to leave Frank to me, and would back me up as long as none of the students were injured.
Ushering the officer out, I call back to Frank.
"Be ready to clear you schedule, in case I can set up that appointment!"
Frank drives out of the lot slowly, angry that I've forced him to go to an Anger Management group, and especially that I've gotten him signed up for two sessions a week on twenty minutes notice. I can hardly wait until he finds out how much it’s costing him! Smiling, I walk back across the lobby to the counseling office, thinking back to the events of yesterday.
The boy showed up in my doorway just fifteen minutes into his first class, and only twenty-five minutes since I’d seen him last. I sighed and closed the file folder I’d been studying. Jean and Scott had warned me that he's an over-achiever, with concrete ideas about right and wrong, and he's going to be incredibly exasperating. I’d been warned, but I didn't expect him to start quite so soon.
Silly me. I soon began to understand why Charles had been so cautionary about my taking this job.
"Come in, Jon. What can I do for you?" He came in, dropped his satchel on the floor next to my desk, flopped down in the chair across from me, leaned forward, and handed me a folded and taped hall pass slip. I looked at it, and at him. The expression on his face was completely noncommittal. "What's this?" He smiled.
"The hall pass Mrs. Barnes wrote for me when I refused to let her count me tardy." He scooted back in the chair. I find my envelope opener, and cut the tape. Opening the folded paper, I read what the instructor had written. I look at the boy, calm and smiling in my office.
“It says here that you refuse to be civil.” He’s sitting cross-legged in the chair, with his fingers interlaced behind his head. I'm not sure how she could find him uncivil. He’s uncommonly polite. In-your-face cheerful and self-confident, too. Maybe even (yes, Jean) exasperatingly so.
“Yes, I suppose it would say something to that effect.” He grinned, and I had to suppress my own smile. He’s infectious. And he waits me out.
“Well?” I asked him slowly, unhappy that he already had the upper hand in this conversation.
“Well what, Miss Reyes?” He leaned forward and put his hands on his knees.
“What do you think about that?” He frowned and leaned back, arms across his chest.
“I think she had to look it up.” He makes the statement so matter-of-factly that I don’t even try to hide my confusion.
“Look what up?” He shakes his head before he answers my question.
“The word ‘civil.’ I think she had to look it up. She wanted to spell it with an ‘s’ but wasn’t sure, and decided to look it up.” I can’t help the look I give him. Unless he can read minds, which I’m sure Charles would have warned me about, he can’t know that.
“She opened the dictionary to the S’s first, then the C’s.” He tells me. “I was watching her do it.” I frown my frowniest frown. Is he that observant? I’ll have to watch myself from now on. I hope it isn’t too late to keep my secret a secret from him.
“That, true or not, is beside the point. Are you refusing to be civil?” He shakes his head.
“No. Not necessarily.” I wait for him to go on, but he doesn’t. Instead, he puts his hands back behind his head.
“What does that mean, Jon?” He answers without hesitation. This is what Scott had warned me about; he’ll answer all my questions completely, but he won’t volunteer things.
“I’ve been civil to everyone in the class who is civil to me. Most of them haven’t had a chance to speak for Mrs. Barnes talking, of course, so I don’t know how civil they are. I wasn’t rude, and I didn’t interrupt anyone. I smiled back at the ones who smiled at me. I’m just refusing to let the teacher be uncivil alone.” And he stops right there. I wait, and so does he. I’m too busy to play the game, so I give in.
"Are you saying Mrs. Barnes isn't being civil?" He shakes his head.
"Worse. I'm saying she's being quite rude, and overbearing. And she’s refusing to grant me the leeway that the administration promised." He uses an even tone, no accusation or anger. Charles had told me that he wouldn’t lie. If he didn’t want to tell me something, he just wouldn’t be talking to me.
“So you were late to class?” He nods. No excuse, no explanation. Just agreement.
“Yes. Very.”
“Were you the only one?” He grins at me, and shakes his head. My fingers tremble as he does. Odd.
“No. There was another.” I watch him closely. I get the impression he might have made a new friend. Or at least hoped he had.
“And where is this other tardy person?” I ask him. He shakes his head slowly.
“She’s still in class. I think she’s so concerned about appearances that she’d rather accept the illegal tardy than make waves about it; probably from a socially climbing family.” He frowns. Ah, a girl. And he likes the girl, whoever she is, but this thing he suspects about her doesn’t please him.
“And she reacted strongly to the word ‘nun’. I believe she transferred here from Shiloh Christian Academy, or some Catholic school from out in the county.” I realize we’ve wandered rather far afield from his tardy in math class.
“Jon, I’m really busy here. Could you maybe tell me what you want me to do?” I ask slowly and calmly.
“Yes. I want to be transferred to another AP Algebra III class.” I shake my head.
“I can’t. There aren’t any others. That’s the only one offered this year.” He nodded slowly.
“I expected as much. In that case I want you to explain to Mrs. Barnes what options she has regarding the moratorium on tardy’s, for the first few days of the school year, specifically for sophomores unfamiliar with the buildings.” I nod.
“I can do that, first thing tomorrow.” He smiles. Again I experience a slight hand tremor. “Also, I have a syllabus and textbook for that course right here; let’s go out in the waiting area and copy it so you have something to work from.” If anything he smiles even wider. I get up, and he follows me, his bag on his shoulder, and watches as I copy the papers for him. I leave him sitting in the outer office comparing the syllabus to the pages from the book. For some reason I almost reach out to smooth his hair. Almost.
Back in the office with the door locked and the blinds drawn I dig into my bag and start re-reading the file on him from Charles. He’s going to be even more of an annoyance than I first thought.

There's a knock on the door jamb of my little office, and I look up to see … the last thing in the world I want to see right now. There's an uncomfortable sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I bet I know what this is about. I take a last sip of my Camomile tea. It's almost too cool.
I close the file folder and glance at my clock. Less than twenty minutes since he asked if he could see me during his study hall. He’s even come back at the same exact time as on Monday. He comes in without an invitation, drops the folded and taped slip in the middle of my desk, and slides into the chair opposite mine. He slides so far down that I’m waiting for him to slide into the floor.
“What is it this time, Jon?”
“It seems that someone unthinkingly gave Mrs. Barnes the idea that I was to be her student helper. Without, I might add, checking with me to see if I might have a problem with that.” His eyes are closed. Yeah, I was right, there goes tomorrow's coffee break while I fix this again.
“And you … do?” He pops out of the chair to lean on my desk in a bare second.
“Darn right I do! As her student helper, I’ll be teaching the class for her in two to three weeks. Except she won’t like the way I teach, and she’ll gripe and complain, and I’ll speak sharply to her, and she’ll go to Mr. Jennings to complain, and he’ll call my mother, and mother and her lawyer will go to Dr. Rawllings on the school board, and everybody will be unhappy, and why can’t the rude little woman do her own teaching? If I may ask?” He stands and waits. I think he may feel somewhat strongly on this matter.
From what I've learned about her, he's right: she'll do just what he says she will. Frank, on the other hand, had better call me before he does anything on his own, but the boy is again correct, that's what he would do if left to his own devices.
"Obviously Mrs. Barnes has misunderstood what I suggested to her. I did not tell her you would be her student helper: I suggested that she might discuss the possibility of it with you, after she publicly corrects herself on the issue of first week of school tardy policy." He has no expression. "Did any of this happen?"
"She did mention something about the tardies. Unfortunately, she didn't follow the directions on the box. And now she has an inedible cake." I sigh.
"Jon, I'm quite well aware of your intelligence, but I've just had a bad time. Would you please speak plainly and in a forthright manner?" He colors slightly.
"I'm sorry. Mrs. Barnes made it sound as if the policy was changed after I was late: that because of me the administrators forced her to fix my attendance record and covered it up by making it school wide, without actually saying so. I let that slide because everyone knew better. But then she declared me to be her student helper, without any questions either way. I had to decline in front of the class, several times, and she forced me to be sharp with her" he rolls his eyes "to get it across."
"Decline how?" I ask slowly.
"I explained that no one had asked me if I wanted what is technically a voluntary position. So it wasn't true, and I wasn't interested. She said I was being rude, I disagreed. She used your name, and implied you told her you could speak for me in this matter, which all three of us know isn't true, and at least you and I know isn't legal." I pick up the slip.
"What does this say?" I ask, and he smiles. I almost drop the paper as my fingers tremble. The file Charles sent mentions nothing about this. And forewarned is definitely not forearmed.
"Probably that I was purposely tardy again today, and rude to her in front of the class."
"Were you?" He smiles again.
"Tardy? Yes. Rude? Definitely not. I gave her all the deference her position is due. Much more than I think she deserves, really." I can't find fault with his assessment. Even teachers should earn the respect of their students, not demand it.
"I'll see to it, Jon. There won't be another problem from Mrs. Barnes as long as you show up for class on time, don't disrupt it, and hand in the work. Can you do that?"
"If she's polite, everything else is incidental." He pulls a sheet of paper from his bag. "I'll be on time. But I never got a chance to hand in my homework from yesterday, and I doubt she's going to be lenient on the turn-in policy." That makes two of us. I take the paper from him, and glance at it. Then squint. He's written out everything by hand in a nice block print, and he's done all the problems, not just those assigned. And in approximately 4 point type, ruler straight on blank copy paper. Barnes will love this, and I'll love knowing it.
"I'll take care of this, too." That vain, posturing bitch is going to get the rough side of me just as soon as she parks her car tomorrow. She's here to teach and prepare these kids for life, and hopefully college, not grind them down and satisfy her control issues. And I'll see she remembers it for a long time. I press a function button on my computer.
"John, I need your help understanding Frank's problem today." He nods, and sits back down. "May I record our conversation so that I can reference it with the statements of others?"
"Sure, anything I can do." He smiles, and my fingers twitch. Damn it! I'm going to have to call Jean about that. I press the return key to start the recording.
"Tuesday, August 16th, 1995. Recording a conversation with Jon Rustin, sophomore, regarding an incident occuring Monday, August 15th."
“Jon, was there a fight yesterday after school? Between you and James Vandoren?” I ask slowly.
“Is that his name? James? No, not as such.” He answers easily. And shuts up. He's back in that mode, I see.
“Does that mean yes, but you didn’t start it?” He frowns and shakes his head.
“Hardly. Unless the dictionary definition of fighting has changed.”
“Go on, and tell me about it.” Hopefully he understands the open-endedness of the invitation.
“I never touched him. I never tried to touch him. He started it, he ended it, and it wasn't even about a real issue.” He doesn't go on.
“Tell me what happened.” I prompt him again.
“Okay. Class ended, and I walked out with a girl. We were standing in the hall, talking. A guy from the class came up to me. He was unhappy about something I’d said in class."
"Did he have reason to be upset?" I ask.
"I don't see how. At least, not at first. DeeDee had asked me a question, and I answered it. It wasn't negative in any way, and it wasn't about anyone alive this century, just art history."
"Who is DeeDee?"
"Miss Johanson, the instructor. She told us to call her DeeDee."
"Okay. And then?"
"He attempted to intimidate me, but that hasn't worked since I was nine. Actually, I was in really a good mood, and tried to make a little joke of it, so the moment could pass, but he wasn’t going to let it go. He was determined to force me to not speak up in class." I thought that outcome improbable.
"What did you do then?"
“So, in the interest of getting it over with, I simply egged him on. He responded true to the bully type, that is, in anger, trying to strike me, but he was slow, and I stepped out of the way. He hit the brick wall with his clenched fist, and I suppose broke several knuckles. That isn't a fight. I walked away, without ever making physical contact.” I believe him.
"I see. You didn't break any rules." At least, not the letter of the rules; and the bully got what he deserved, anyway. "Are there any witnesses I should speak to?"
"Miss Johanson saw it all, as well as several of the girls from her 7th hour art class, along with students and possibly other teachers from nearby classrooms." I'll investigate this afternoon, and in the morning, so I have evidence for the school board. I know Frank is going to push this matter.
"I understand from Mr. Snelson and Mr. Nunley that Assistant Principal Jennings wasn't gentle when he asked you into his office earlier today?"
"It bordered on physical assault. If I'd seen it happen to another student I'd have called 911 and used exactly the right vague words describing the actions of the adult male involved to make them suspect controlled substances were involved, and they would have rushed more officers here."
"You sound awfully sure of yourself, Jon." I comment, just to hear his answer. Charles has assured me that he is quite capable of lying, in a good cause.
"I never leave anything to chance if I don't have to. That way, when I need it, I haven't used up my luck."
"Can you tell me about what happened in his office after he locked the door?" With surprisingly little prompting he gives me details which match well with what I'd overheard. I press escape, and type in a description of the audio file. He waits patiently while I save it to a folder. Then he speaks again.
“You have to understand something, Dr. Reyes. I know exactly what it says about me in my file. I know my reputation with the administration at the junior high. I worked hard for it.
“I went into Mr. Jennings office knowing full well that he’s just a bully, older than I've seen before, but still a bully, and would probably attempt to strike me. I even went willingly, with the intention of ‘educating’ him about the application of the new anti-bullying laws. If I had wanted, I could have kept him from touching me at all. I'm not in the least helpless.
“If Mr. Jennings ever touches a student again, or so much as threatens to, I’ll be hard-pressed not to injure him. Severely. Regardless of my success or failure in that endeavor, or my legal status viš-a-viš adulthood, I’m a registered student in his care, just twelve years old, so my lawyer will see to it that I'm never charged, and at the same time make sure that Mr. Jennings never works in education in this state for the rest of his life.” He has his facts right, legal and otherwise, though I wonder what he means about his status regarding adulthood.
I send him to the outer office to work on something so I have time to think. Even without what Charles' file says, this boy scares me. He's much too obviously self-assured for a twelve-year-old. He's used to doing things his way, gray area things, and getting away with it.

Not five minutes into the next class period I get another visitor. Thankfully I've finished recording my own observations from this morning. A hand knocks on the door jamb, and a blushing face surrounded by a shaggy brown mop of hair peeks in.
“Andrew? What can I do for you?” He steps in and takes a seat where I indicate.
“Drew, please. Andrew gets punished.” He grinned ruefully. “A lot. I guess I want to thank you.” I'm shocked. No one ever thanks me.
“For what?” I ask warily.
“For getting me here. For throwing me into a snake pit, and for giving me decent company there. For believing me without checking out my story first, and for helping me help a friend.”
“You're welcome, for what it's worth. But my advice is don’t thank me until the end of the semester, Drew. That’s when you become a sophomore. Before that there will be some nasty things happen around this place. You don’t know how apt a description ‘snake pit’ really is.” He keeps smiling.
"Yeah, well, so far it's better than any other school I've been to, even counting this thing with Baldy. That's really messed up, by the way. How soon are you gonna get rid of him?" I sigh.
"I'm trying really hard to not have to, actually."
"Huh? Why the hell not?" He waits for a second, then grins sheepishly. "Sorry. I forget my manners sometimes, usually when I get excited. One of the reasons Andrew gets punished." I smile.
"Understandable. But you see, if I report him, I'll have to do most of his work until he can be replaced, and I've got all I can handle plus ten percent right now. I'm working on something huge and extremely nasty. Sometime before Christmas this 'snakepit' is going to explode, and he's not the only administrator who's going to be part of that if everything I suspect turns out to be true."
"So we have to put up with him? Picking on Babe and all the other stuff?" I nod slowly.
"I'll get someone to keep an eye on him very soon. Until then your driver will call me as soon as you three arrive, so I can have an emergency meeting with Mr. Jennings right then. I'm having the lock on his office door replaced with one that doesn't lock from the inside, just the outside, and warning all the other administrators not to let him use their offices for any reason. Also, I've enrolled him in Anger Management Training two days each week, for two hour sessions during school hours."
He's not happy with my promised arrangements or my reasons, and I don't blame him. He agrees to let me record his statement about the mornings encounter. I finish up before he can leave.
"Drew?" He stops with his hand on the doorknob.
"Yes?"
"Why did you step between Jon and Mr. Jennings?" I ask. He looks at me over his shoulder.
"Because he's my friend and he needed me." He starts out the door, but turns back. "By the way, do I get credit for tutoring in subjects I haven't taken yet?"
Huh? He's tutoring in subjects he's not been taught? It takes several minutes, and a conference with Coach Brian to figure it out, but he is indeed preparing to teach subjects he hasn't formally taken yet. As are the other two boys. Damn! Can I square that with the department heads, let alone the school board? I know I’m going to have to try.
“I’ll have an answer to Coach Brian for you boys before sixth hour tomorrow. The best I can do.” He nods and walks away.
Lynn Stalks

1:21 pm. Tuesday, August 15th, 1995

Math Building, 2nd floor, Mrs. Barnes classroom, Springville High School, Emmons St., Springville, AR

For the rest of Algebra III I’m not quite sure if I’m glad Babe’s gone or sorry I didn’t go with him. On one hand he’s terribly confusing and frighteningly unlike anything I know, but on the other hand he’s totally cute, and really sweet and polite, and I feel that exciting things happen around him.
Mrs. Barnes, unfortunately, never does get in a better mood, and I get the impression that maybe that’s as good as her mood ever gets. I’m not positive, but she probably took out her frustration with him on the rest of the class.
I hope Babe doesn’t get in too much trouble, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to cross her. At least, I know I wouldn’t do it.
By the time the bell rings and the passing period begins she’s given us several pages of practice problems, assigned the first chapter for us to read, demonstrated the types of problems in our homework assignment on the board as fast as she possibly could, and immediately erased them again, and he’s slipped my mind completely. Now I’m worrying about my science instructor, and hoping he’s not as grumpy as Mrs. Barnes.
James doesn’t cross my mind again until I’m walking in the door at home. Up in my room I change clothes and hang my silk shirt-dress in its bag in the closet, and go down to do my chores.
My homework takes about an hour, and most of it is from Mrs. Barnes. All the other teachers assigned reading only, and for a few seconds I wonder if it’s really all that important to take AP Algebra III this year. I know that I shouldn’t doubt myself or my plan for the future, but she’s the worst possible role-model for a future teacher I can imagine.
My parents ask the question all parents ask: ‘How was your first day of high school, Hun?’ And I’m excited enough to oblige them.
They listen interestedly as I tell about my teachers, my friends, my locker troubles, how far apart my classes are, and the cafeteria food. Oh, and James asking me out.

We’ve gone to the same church for years, our parents are friends, and when I tell them he’s asked me out, they actually smile. When I tell them I told him I wasn’t sure if I could, they smile even more. They want to talk about it before giving me an answer. Fair enough.
I love my parents; they always think things out, and give me honest reasons for their decisions, even the ones I like, so I won’t think they’re push-overs.

I was right! James did ask me out again this morning! Just like yesterday, he walked up to me between 2nd and 3rd hours, and asked me if I’d go out with him.
I said yes, on the condition that my parents had to approve. So he thinks I’m going to ask my mom and dad today after school. Of course, they’d already told me it was okay, but I want him to have to wait just a day or so, and then I’ll tell him they say it’s alright, and they want him to come over and meet them Friday, and then we’ll go to a movie.

I walk out of English today, and there’s James standing just out of the way near the end of the hall, waiting for me out of the crowd. He grins, and walks against the flow to me. I never even notice if the other girls are there or not in the throng.
I don't really remember much about lunch.
James leaves me at the door to math class just half a minute before the bell rings, half-running down the stairs to get to his class on time. I find a seat, and lay out my things for class. For a second I consider ear-plugs.
She calls roll quietly today, and I never actually hear her call Babe’s name. She closes her grade-book and is about to stand up when Babe strolls slowly through the door, and I can tell from the look in his eyes that he’s purposely waited for a few seconds after the bell rings.
He smiles at everyone, waves at me, and finds a desk. Mrs. Barnes looks ready to have a fit for a few seconds, and then she slowly smiles and walks to the black board at the front of the room. I don’t know her at all, and I’m quite happy to keep it that way, but I’m sure that I don’t like what that smile implies, and I don’t think Babe will either.
“Class, I have an announcement. According to recent administrative decree, no one who was in the correct class within ten minutes of the tardy bell for any period yesterday will be counted tardy. I’ve changed all pertinent tardies in my grade book.
“Also,” she walks over to his desk, and smiles humorlessly at Babe. “This is Jon Rustin. He’s my student helper for the year. Jon has maintained a perfect one hundred plus percent mathematics grade for his entire academic career. He will be demonstrating problems on the board, and grading your daily assignments.” She turns to walk back toward her desk. I can’t help but stare. Babe? Her Student Helper? Grading my homework? Is that legal? He stands up when she says ‘demonstrating.’ He has an unhappy look in his eyes. Oh no! He’s going to make her angry again!
“Excuse me?” He asks loudly. His face is carefully blank.
“Yes, Jon?” She slowly turns around to face him.
“I decline.” She stares at him.
“What did you say?” She begins to get red in the face again.
“As the subject of your last statement, I feel I have a responsibility to let you know that it is false. I never asked to be a student helper. I was never asked if I wanted to be a student helper. Ergo, I am not your student helper.” If she gets any redder, she’ll be purple.
“What?” I don’t think anyone has ever talked to her like this before.
“Do you not understand simple English Mrs. Barnes? I said ‘no.’” He tells her again.
“Miss Reyes told me –“
“Please excuse me for interrupting you, but that’s irrelevant, Mrs. Barnes. Miss Reyes isn’t legally entitled to speak for me. In fact, no one at this school is, other than myself. And I say I’m not your student helper.”
“You are being very rude, Mr. Rustin.”
“I apologize to anyone who truly thinks so, but I must continue to insist that you are being equally rude, you are misinformed, that I am not your student helper, and that I am simply correcting the situation.”
“Mr. Rustin, you are walking on thin ice.” She tells him warningly. He just nods.
“We’ll see about that. Hall Pass please, Mrs. Barnes.” He replies with a smile. She stands there bug-eyed for a few seconds, then runs to her desk, to grab a pen and the green pad and savagely scribble a note. She folds and tapes it, and hands it to him.
Just like yesterday, he leaves with a smile and a wave.
Jon ‘Babe’ Rustin

12:38 am, Tuesday, August 15th, 1995

Cafeteria, Springville High School, Emmons St., Springville, AR
I’m not going to say that the hour had been wasted, but I can think of things that I could have been doing that would have been more productive, and more important. To me, anyway. But I’d made friends, I think. Maybe not Drew so much, but definitely Theron.
It had been a long morning, and lunch was about to end, but I hadn’t had any. Miss Reyes’ points were all important and informative, and there are hints and clues in her words and tones and expressions that I found intriguing, making me think she had more compelling reasons to be here than just taking some time off from her practice.
Unfortunately Baldy had begun to repeat himself after only a few moments, almost like a recording loop. All he seemed to be concerned about is violence, and his preoccupation with it made me nervous.
I walked over to the kool-aid stand (unsurprisingly they’d run out of tea this late in the lunch period) and get a cup of fruit punch, just so I have something on my stomach (certainly not because I enjoy the taste). I took a sip … no surprises there. Nothing can make fruit punch taste good.
Sipping slowly from my cup, I sort out my feelings about high school thus far; other than meeting the other guys, this place hasn’t been very impressive, except maybe for Reyes; she’s a mystery I want to solve. Jennings is … well, I’m not sure what he is, but he shouldn’t be in education. He has issues of some sort, and a lot of negative emotions toward teenagers.
‘Pop, pop, pop.’ The faint sounds of heavy duty stitches breaking came to my ears, punctuating the sounds of the sort of foot scuffle I know so well, the kind where someone almost runs me down because they don’t see me in front of them. Closely following is a girlish exclamation. Is it consternation? Exasperation? It definitely isn’t pain or fear.
Immediately the infallible math thing in my head tells me where it’s coming from; distance, direction, angle from the plane of the ecliptic relative to me. I know right where those stitches gave way without even looking. Normally I’d ignore this incident and the inadvertent information I have about it as none of my business; drawing unnecessary attention to myself is dangerous, and I well know it. It’s gotten me into trouble, and gained me a reputation I don’t really want. I hope to leave it behind me just like I’ve left junior high.
I turn around anyway, out of curiosity. Expecting someone’s year old backpack or book bag to be giving way, or possibly part of last year’s summer wardrobe to be adjusting to the recent summer growth, I lose a heartbeat in reaction time when I see what’s happening.
Back across the room, not ten feet from the door I’d only just exited, was a group of attractive girls. They weren’t there when I’d passed the spot, but they are now, and they’re all either looking back at someone behind them, or watching what’s happening in the middle of the group. They all look athletic in some way; solid calves and muscled thighs, trim waists, or wide shoulders and toned arms, something that says regular organized exercise. I take them for a sports clique, though they don’t have a defining across-the-group feature. Some are obviously runners, and some are obvious gymnasts. Others seem more rounded, more all-over fit. Cheerleaders, maybe?
Most are dressed for the heat in baggy shorts and T-shirts, showing a lot of taut tanned skin under the loose comfortable clothing, though a few are in sundresses (which still show their forms almost as well). One, right in the middle, is going all out in a white shirt-dress with accessories, and she’s standing exactly where I’m looking for the broken stitches. Her back is toward me, but directly across from her is a glass-fronted display for whatever flyers and announcements the office decides to post there, and I can see her reflected there perfectly; she’s absolutely gorgeous, with wonderfully styled long dark hair, superbly tanned and toned legs and arms, and she’s at least six feet tall even without the two inch heels she’s struggling with. In the glass I see her dark eyes, bright teeth, and what might be a fairly deep swell of breasts behind the things she’s carrying.
She’s where the sound that got me curious had come from; she has snapped a heel strap on one of her obviously expensive black leather sling-back high heels, and it’s hanging loose around her instep.
At the same time that she’s standing on one foot trying to keep from turning an ankle or loosing her broken shoe, she’s also struggling to keep her tall stack of books and supplies from slipping out of her hands, and not having any luck; her books are doing okay, but everything else, such as folders, packages of pens and pencils, paper packets, erasers, and calculator, are all slipping farther and farther out of their neat stack.
Drew is maybe a dozen steps to the right, and stopped smack in the middle of the area where two hallways intersect the lobby. He’s … well … balancing on one foot, almost mimicking the girl in white, his hands partly raised, and staring at her, his mouth hanging open much further than I thought humanly possible. I think he’s awestruck.
He’s standing absolutely still; barely even breathing, to my senses. The girls looking that way could be looking at him; did he somehow cause this?
Theron is twice as far away on the left, still clutching his class assignments and map in his hand, and he’s watching the girl in white try to regain control of her things. His blue eyes are abnormally bright (I’m going to have to check on that), but quickly dim to normal. She’s going to lose the struggle soon, and neither of the others seems to realize that this is a perfect chance to make a great first impression.
Helping this girl, part of a clique of some kind, will let us influence the opinions of at least this dozen, and possibly a hundred or more others. But only if someone gets there in time. Only, neither of them is moving!
There’s not much time left, and I guess it’s up to me to take this first step in getting our plan in motion. Doot-de-doo! ‘There’s no need to fear, Underdog is here!’ Or something to that effect; I’ve got to work on a better tagline if I’m going to be serious about this super-hero thing.
There isn’t any way I can get there from here in time to really make an impression by normal means, which means I have to bend the rules, and the space between us.
Teleporting would be easy, as would sliding on a gravity vector, or moving as fast as my strength allows. But they leave me visible and obvious, drawing attention to my powers.
But no one seems to be looking at me; all of the fifty or sixty people in this end of the lobby/cafeteria are looking somewhere else as far as I can tell. And that leaves me the option of using another way to move quickly that I’ve worked out. It won’t attract any attention because it affects the shape of the normal fabric of space as I skim it, effectively making me invisible, and that seems to be what this situation calls for. Without my senses and my math thing it would be too risky to do near people, but because I’m able to compare and extrapolate courses and speeds, for short times and distances such as six feet and two seconds, it’s doable, even easy.
I fold the space between me and where I want to go in a non-linear, completely mathematical way, bringing ‘there’ absolutely closer to ‘here.’ Doing this, I’m close enough that I only have to take one step to traverse the distance and I’m beside the girl in white, and then return the fabric of space in the area to what it was before. No one notices, because they are all anchored to the fabric of that space, and the world they inhabit conforms to its new shape with the old laws for the short time I bend it to my wants.
With the next step I turn to the left and smoothly drop down to my left knee, setting my drink behind me out of the way with one hand, and reaching out to catch the first of her things to fall that far. A simple rearrangement of the local gravity vectors slows their fall, and her stuff begins to slowly move right into my hands. With a little tweaking from instant to instant, I can pick what to catch next from the mass of slowly falling objects. I trigger an adrenal rush and several other endorphins.
I’m aware of the girl just inches away, facing to my right, while I’m kneeling almost under her hands. Her scent is quiet, reserved, and works well for her. She isn’t even aware of me yet.
The first thing I take is a pen. Plucking it out of the air with my left hand, I pass it to my right, and I see that I’m already moving so quickly that my hands are beginning to blur, even to me. The pen is followed closely by a post-it pad clipped to an identical pen. This is followed by a small pack of pencil top erasers, and a bottle of white-out still in its display pack. I find that I’m enjoying myself; this is almost as much fun as juggling.
Someone to my right sighs “Oh, wow.” I glance up, and find myself looking directly in the eyes of another tall brunette, this one kind of elfin or pixieish. Her blue eyes are bright. I have to grin. She blushes, and continues to watch me. On my left I hear the other girl gasp slightly; I guess she’s noticed me now.
I place the things in a small area of freefall, just over where my right hand hovers, which was formed when I manipulated the local gravity to slow the rate of descent of the things to the left of that spot. The last unstable thing, one of her text books, falls, and I pull it into my hand, and bring it down to balance on my right knee.
My hands are moving so fast that I’m barely able to follow them myself, so I know that none of them can see what I’m doing except as a blur.
Gathering her folders with a flick of my fingers, I open her 3-ring binder and clip them in. Her package of loose leaf paper falls into my hand and goes in on top of them, followed by her thick wire-bound notebook, and her big package of colored pencils clips to the middle ring neatly. Opening her pencil box, I empty the box of no. 2’s into it, along with her protractor, erasers, white-out, pens, post-its and class schedule. Interesting coincidence: we have the same class coming up.
On top of everything goes her brand new TI-80-something calculator. I slip the trash into my bag and finally slow my hands, as I relax my hold on the local gravity vectors and they revert to normal.
Ha! Less than two point six seconds elapsed time since I heard the sound, and eight tenths of a second since I touched the first pen. I balance the stack with my left hand and lift it up to her, as I look up to her face and smile. Just like the girl on my right, the girl on my left is staring at me. Her eyes are just as dark as I saw in the reflection, and quite lovely.
She slips the stuff from my hand on top of the stuff in her arms, and begins to speak. “Thanks …” and trails off, still staring at me.
“You’re very welcome,” I tell her. She introduces herself as Lynn, and after that we engage in the teenage version of a ritual known as ‘Greeting and Socialization.’ In which I happen to excel, at least with adults. With teens there seems to be a bit more suspicion, requiring more give and take than with adults, but I suppose that’s to be expected. Adults have had more time in which to gain experience and self-confidence.
Sometime in the next few minutes, and without any input from the other members of the conspiracy I just joined, I am taken with the idea to try recruiting this group.

“We call what I just did for Lynn ‘Random Acts Of Kindness And Compassion.’ We’re an underground resistance group, fighting the oppression of the students by the administrators.” I summarize my previous statements carefully, minutely gauging their understanding. And I’m successful!
They laugh, they smile, some even nod thoughtfully. I think that I may have made converts already, and as I soon find out, I’ve made more than one. The whole demeanor of the group has changed again; at first I was puzzling and slightly amusing, then I was cheerfully tolerated, and now I’m happily welcome. I don't understand why the changes happened, though I'm sure it's a long-standing social dynamic in this group.
“A teenage freedom fighter, fighting for teenage freedom? That’s sooooo cool! I luv it!” The other tall girl, almost as tall as Lynn, the elfin one with a runner’s physique, speaks up with a grin. She has short-bobbed dark hair and wears glasses, and it’s only now that I see she’s quite lovely, nearly as attractive as Lynn is.
I turn back to Lynn, to see how she’s reacted to my statement. As I do a toned firm arm circles my back and pulls me firmly against a warm solid female hip. I glance up to see the runner grinning down at me. She lifts my feet from the ground with her arm, drawing me in against her soft body, and begins to spin with me. I pull Lynn’s books in to my chest, hoping no one notices them not sliding around.
My legs fly outward a bit as we turn in a complete circle. I’m heavier than she expects, and I start to slip as soon as she begins turning. Before I can do more than let my hold over the books relax, her fingers scramble to get hold of my waist band, fumbling in her hurry, and dip into my cutoffs. Her fingers are warm and soft, and tingle on my bare hip.
I feel her gasp as she realizes where her fingers are, and she turns a bit faster. She stops and begins to set me back on my feet, but my body has just a bit more mass than it looks like it should and I turn a bit more in her grasp. Her fingers rake slowly outward across my hip, and the side of my head presses to her soft warm chest for a second.
She’s pink and embarrassed as she takes a step back, but brazens it out when she sees my own suddenly hot face.
“Go Babe! I’m Teri, and I’ve got yer back. See ya later, cutie.” No, she makes a break for it after all, turning and running across the street immediately. Of course, the fact that the tardy bell could be ringing any second could have had a part in it, too.
I can’t help but smile as I watch her run; she has good form, and I mean that in every way there is to interpret that. She looks back at me once, sees me watching her, and waves. There’s a big happy pink grin on her face when she does. So … I think … she likes me! And my hand has gone on its own to my hip where her fingertips have left a tingle and heat which wasn’t there before.
When I turn around everyone that’s left except Lynn has gathered close around me, grinning. As one they start talking, telling that they support the resistance, they’ll keep the secret, and they want to join. I think they all try to touch me, on my arm or shoulder, or my hair. Whatever that’s about.
The shortest one, even shorter than I am, goes one better than that. She fakes collapsing in my arm, a classic damsel in distress. I’m still holding a stack of textbooks, so catching her is a little awkward, but I’m up to it, guiding her slightly into my empty arm with a slight flexing of my mind. She feels good there, cozy and tidy, sort of the other side of the feeling I got from being in Teri’s arms. And just as good in its own way.
“Oh, Babe, save me from the cruel oppression!” Her eyes are as big and blue as an anime girl’s, and completely open. I’ve never met anyone whose eyes were open like this. She’s smiling, and I can see something interesting deep down in her eyes. I want to find out what that is in her eyes. But I have to keep up my end of the impromptu skit, also.
“’Pon my honor, fair maid, that very thing swear I to do!” My arm wraps perfectly around her to leave my hand cupping her trim waist, and she has relaxed so that most of her weight is on my arm. When her involuntary movements stop and her pupils dilate all the way I realize that we’re only seconds from a Sharing, and she has no idea what’s about to happen. But I know what it was that was deep down in her eyes.
Dragging my eyes away from hers, I notice her lips look a little puffy and darker than they were a few seconds ago. As the trance effects fade she begins to pant, just a little, and I blush a little pinker when I notice that her nipples are perking, making little sharp points in her shirt. I look away quickly, and our eyes meet again for just a split second. She gasps, and clings tightly to me for a second.
Her name is Dani, short for Danielle, and she … thinks I’m very attractive. She likes me too!
“Whatever it is you’re going to do, you can count on me, Babe.” She almost whispers to me. Without thinking I smile, and lift her in my arm, and set her lightly on her feet.
As a group the others hurry off to their classes just as the tardy bell rings, and I turn and walk the few yards to the math building with Lynn’s books still balanced on my hand. She follows slowly.
“Don’t you have to be somewhere?” She sounds a little grumpy as I hold the door for her again.
“Sure. I have to carry these things to class for you.” I look at her and smile, as we start up the stairs to the second floor where our classroom is.
“I mean, don’t you have a class to go to? And how do you know where to take my books?”
“Yes, I do. The same class you’re going to. I saw it on your schedule earlier.” She doesn’t say anything as we continue to climb. “There’s one more reason I helped you, if you want to hear it?”
“I guess so.” She looks over at me. I stop and turn to her, the easier to explain those things she needs to know about which my mind had recognized and catalogued about her, even as I caught and organized her books, socialized with her and her friends, and everything else that had happened between the time her shoe strap had broken and now. I keep some things back, simply because she wouldn't believe I'm not stalking her if I did tell her the rest.

“So you helped me because I look great?” She speaks slowly, and I almost agree with her. But there’s more to it than that.
“Partly. I helped because you did it so well, and looked so happy until things started to fall apart on you. I didn’t want to see your day crash down around you after you put such an effort into it. Kneeling down to pick these things up would have mussed your dress, and I couldn’t let that happen.” I indicate the books I’m carrying.
“How do you know so much about me? Who are you, and what do you want?” That was an abrupt turn around; from shock to the defensive. I blink, and whisper my answer.
“I guessed; based on the information your clothes and face gave me. I want to be your friend.” She’s watching me, waiting for me to do or say something else.
“And?” I look her right in the eyes, let her see that I’m not lying.
“And nothing. Just friends. I want to be the nice guy you kinda like, who helped you when you needed it, when dropped your books.”
“That’s all? You promise? You swear?”
“In seven languages. Fluently.” She’s still watching me, and she’s a little concerned about something. Suddenly she’s holding back a smile, and I grin. Then she giggles.
“If I ever again look like I need help, or a friend, or saving, mister teenage superhero and freedom fighter …” She leaves it hanging, and I nod. She means ‘Ask first, okay?’
She nods back, and we climb to the landing together. Then she stops, turns to me, and without warning gives me some advice which will stick with me all through my life; one of the great secrets to female behavior. Good thing I have a perfect memory.
I’m just a bit distracted thinking about the implications when we walk into the classroom, and have to stop and look around to find a seat. I can feel Lynn standing behind me and cringing.
The teacher, a short dark-haired woman with a severe face, is standing at the front of the class with an attendance book, and she has an annoyed look about her. I have a feeling that this is not the quiet start to my high school career that I wanted.
“I hope the two of you have a good excuse for being so late to class.” Lynn looks so upset about the teacher being unhappy that she’s about to apologize, which is the ultimate no-no, from my standpoint. Luckily there’s an empty first row desk, and I drop her books on it with a medium ‘thump’ which startles her out of that mood a second before she can really get started. I have no intention of letting her start this class by groveling in front of a room full of upper classmen. I wink at her as I turn around to face the woman, and smile my number two smile.
My time in her class is very short, and I’m rather disappointed in my first high school math teacher.

I’d decided one thing for sure; I’m NOT lugging all those books and things around with me; there are four for my junior high classes, one for Algebra III, one each for each of the six other math subjects I tutor, and two each for the three languages I tutor. Seventeen textbooks. My book bag isn’t big enough for half of that.
So I simply decide to keep my supplies and my sketch kit in the bag, and open a window in the bottom of the book bag to retrieve one of my books when I need it. They get spread across my bed before I leave for school. That way I can find the one I want quickly.

“Mister Rustin, come with me, please.” A heavy hand on my arm literally drags me through the office door. I don’t have to look around to know who it is. Mr. Jennings’ bland vocal tone covers a control so tight it squeaks. And his fingers dig claw-like into my shoulder as he pushes me toward his office. The guys stare after me helplessly. I’m not sure if it’s an act or actual helplessness.
He leads me (from behind with a harsh hand on my shoulder) to his office, and through the door. With the door shut and locked he propels me forcefully toward a chair. I catch my balance and stand next to the chair and look up at him.
He’s crossed to his windows, in- and out-facing, shutting all of the blinds. He turns on a fan, and his desk radio. I wait, my bag still on my shoulder. He points to the chair.
“Sit down.” I shake my head. “Fine. Stand. You’ll wish you’d sat by the time this is over.” He kicks the chair at the wall, where it clatters and bounces back a few feet. The phone buzzes almost immediately.
He mashes the button and says quite loudly in his bland tone. “You know I’m not to be disturbed when the door and blinds are shut.” Then he punches the button again to disconnect.
“I had an interesting talk with a Mrs. Vandoren this morning. It seems her son came home yesterday with a broken hand.” I’d thought that was what this was all about.
“I suppose you thought you were being clever and humorous, starting a fight on your first day, but waiting until the last class was over to do it.” I don’t respond.
There isn’t reason.
“He was able to describe you rather well, though. Quite well enough to let me recognize you.” I wait for him to finish. Obviously he’s got something against me, and there’s nothing I can say that he’ll like.
“Well … don’t you have anything to say?” Not that it ever keeps people like him from fishing for something else to get even angrier about. I shake my head ‘no.’
“So you admit you were fighting with this other boy?” I shake my head again. I know I shouldn’t, but I wasn’t going to let him put words in my mouth.
“How did his hand get broken, then? Do you expect me to believe that he did it to himself, and is lying about it?” I nod ‘yes.’ As I expect, he doesn’t like it. He comes close enough that I can see his bloodshot eyes through his glasses.
“Well, I don’t believe it! So you better tell me the truth, before …”
“I have nothing to say on this subject.” I say it quietly, and turn and walk toward the door. My hand is out, reaching for the door, when he grabs my arm and swings me around. My bag falls from my shoulder and my stuff spills from it across the floor.
If he thinks that’s going to stop me from unlocking that door, or getting out of this office before he’s ready for me to leave, he’s got another think coming. I could simply teleport myself out, in a whirl of paperwork and vacuum, although that would, at best, leave me at the closest safe place I know, home. Not an ideal outcome. As I’m turned against my will, the thumb button clicks almost inaudibly in its little globe of air, and the door is no longer locked.
“Nothing to say? We’ll see about that. I don’t have to put up with you and your friends breaking school rules. Mrs. Vandoren wants me to suspend you, and I think I will.” I shrug as best I can with his hand on my arm. I’m aware of the doorknob slowly turning, and just as slowly creeping open a few inches.
“That doesn’t bother you? Maybe I can think of something that you are afraid of. Maybe I should call your mother?” I nod and smile.
“Or maybe I should let Mrs. Vandoren call the police. It’s what she wanted in the first place.” I smile at him. Frustrated, he begins to shake me. “What does it take to get through to you?” I’m not enjoying this treatment, and I’m way ready for it to stop, so I reach up, and take his wrist in my hand, and wrench his fingers away from my arm.
I’m upset at being roughly handled and I’m not gentle with him. But Mr. Jennings is so caught up in his fantasy that he never questions my strength; he simply pulls his hand forcefully from my grip. The door opens behind me, but he doesn’t notice; he’s concentrating on me.
“Respect.” I whisper the word. He draws his other hand back, obviously meaning to slap me with the back of his hand. My eyes involuntarily focus on a heavy ring on his finger, and without warning the blackness is calling me.
For a moment I’m entirely fixated on his jewelry. I’d thought I’d laid that memory to rest during Danny’s trial, but apparently the sight of a be-ringed male hand raised to strike is going to be more difficult to erase from my life than my murderous step-brother was.
Suddenly Drew is filling what little space there is between me and Mr. Jennings, arms wide and empty, head back, chin out. It’s as if he’s inviting the blow. I hadn’t heard or seen him come in; one instant he’s not there, and the next he’s there, almost like he’d been posed for the camera.
“Frank, don’t touch that boy.” A female voice says, and finishes with ‘Those boys. Don’t even think about it.” Dr. Reyes walks into the office. Theron scoots through from the hallway before the gap closes behind him. “John, are you okay?” She has her finger extended toward Mr. Jennings, who has backed away and lowered his hand, shock slowly being overwhelmed by anger in his face, but she’s looking at me with one eye.
“Nothing that a hot shower, a PB&J, and some chocolate milk wouldn’t fix.” And maybe a swift kick to his kneecap. Yeah, that would make me feel a lot better. From the look on Drew’s face he’s thinking something similarly satisfying himself. Now if only the statement sounded half-way convincing. For some reason I’m on the ragged edge.
“Pick up your things, and wait for me in my office.” She tells me. I scoop my stuff back into my bag with one hand and a little power. As I stand the guys each put a hand on a shoulder, and an elbow, almost holding me up.
“Dr. Reyes, if you don’t mind, I really am hungry, and I’ve got to get something to eat. Can I meet with you during study hall?” The bit about being okay in a while is turning out to be just bravado on my part. I’m desperate to get out of here quickly, and it feels to me as if I’m pleading with her.
Baldy starts working his mouth, wanting to say something although it’s obvious even to me that he shouldn’t say whatever it is, and she takes a warning step toward him.
I hope it’s not as obvious to anyone else that I’m about ready to drop.
“Frank –“ She warns him. “Yes John, that will be fine.” The guys nearly lift me from the floor getting me out of there. The yelling starts as soon as the door shuts.
They seem to be equal in volume.

Drew and Theron stand there in the hallway, holding me up by the elbows and looking at me.
“What’s going on?” Drew asks.
“What are they shouting about?” Theron adds.
“Can I tell you after I eat something? I’m starving.” I shiver, and pulling a twenty to my hand from my desk at home, hold it up. “And kinda cold.” With big grins they carry me across the office and out into the lobby, not letting me down until we reach the lunch line.
It turns out that the food service personnel at this school cafeteria aren’t nearly as amenable to make a hungry boy a grape jelly on peanut butter wheat toast sandwich and hand mixed chocolate milk as they were at the junior high. Of course, I don’t know any of these people personally like I did there, either.
Not actually being hit, nor having the traumatic sounds of blows landing reaching my stuttering synapses has allowed me to begin to fight off the depression. Discovering I did not have access to my comfort food of choice, though, causes me to start sinking again.
So we go on to the crowded ‘a la carte’ line in the small dining room. The guys don’t allow me to walk even this short distance, which is probably for the best.
I’m fighting this baldy inspired episode with mental teeth and nails, but I’m slowly losing ground. I would dearly love to let go, to get it done and over with, but I refuse to give in to it now; I can’t afford to let these guys see me like that, but there’s no one for me to turn to for the care I need.
Weeeelllll……. Possibly Dr. Reyes would be able to do what is necessary. I get that strictly contradictory vibe from her. But she’s more than a little busy right now, I’d say.
Most importantly there’s a glaring mystery right here on either side of me. Theron, who certainly masses as much as Drew, has been struggling to lift half my weight with both hands and walk at the same time.
Me, I do one-handed inverted push-ups, pull-ups and hanging sit-ups besides, and with ease, I’ve done them for years, and I know full well that my strength is not that of the average tween, or even the average construction worker. I’m stronger than the people around me, and I have to be careful what I do so that I’m not breaking things. I’m thinking that Drew is at least as strong as I am, and Theron is simply average other than his intellect.
The grown men capable of this couldn’t be considered average in any way. And Drew not only isn’t straining at all, he’s only using one hand. My weight, as unlikely as it seems, is nearly 140 lbs. Add in the weight of my books, and that puts Drew’s feat of strength (carrying seventy five pounds one-handed and without concern) firmly in the realm of mutant strength.

With a pile of deep-fried comfort food and several cups of quickly melting chocolate soft-serve on a tray, we make our way along the hall and into the cafeteria, but can’t find a table end to sit at.
Drew notices that there are three benches built around support pillars out in the lobby. Two are full, but the nearest is empty except for a few books, and a backpack, so we sit there and begin to devour our food.
At some point after that (sorry, I can't be any more specific) we’re joined by the girl who delivered the message to Dr. Reyes yesterday, and Theron introduces her as Pam. She seems nice, and acts quite taken with him, even whispering softly to him at times. I hope I’m polite to her, but having come to the considered conclusion that Drew is another mutant I no longer have anything to occupy my attention, and I’m beginning to wonder how much longer I’m going to be aware of stuff around me.
The chocolate soft-serve is completely melted, and doesn’t really satisfy, but it’s slightly better than nothing. The guys tell me funny stories of their role-playing prowess, and that serves well to take my mind off of Mr. Jennings. My trembling has begun to die down, and my body temp is almost back to nominal.
Something large and male wearing a way too stressed tanktop and running shorts walks up. The shirt says ‘250 club’ on the front.
“That’s the senior bench. Get offa there.” Drew looks up at him in annoyance. So does Theron. And Pam. I keep my head down; I’ve had more than enough one-on-one confrontation today.
“Who are you, the bouncer?” Drew asks, and the muscle-head frowns.
“I’m the guy telling you to get out of here.” He growls at us.
I glance sideways at Theron, and he looks at Drew. Drew stands up and faces him eye to eye. It’s not a really good comparison, but better than letting him stand over us.
And Drew is at least four times as strong as this muscle-bound idiot, so it’s not like he’s going to be easily hurt. Theron speaks from the bench, as Pam puts her hand on his shoulder.
“We are the tutors, and we are above such petty concerns. Leave us alone, and you might graduate with your team-mates.”
I glance up at the guy, look at his piggy little eyes, and lean back against the pillar while wrapping my arms around my knees, shut my eyes, and astound myself as I begin reciting Pi in a slow sing-song. Drew takes the hint and runs with it, quickly begins listing the elements from Hydrogen, their atomic weights to three decimals, the configuration of their electrons, and their rest states.
Theron immediately starts reciting the presidents and vice-presidents, their birth dates and birth places, their years in office and their ages at the start of their terms, and death dates. I open my eyes when I hear the others following my example. They are both grinning maniacally as they speak. Pam is smiling at all of us, but especially Theron.
Confusion crosses the face of the guy bothering us, and after a minute or so he wanders away in a daze. I’ve only gotten to a hundred and eighty-some decimal places, Theron hasn’t reached Lincoln yet, and Drew hasn’t gotten to Carbon. We all laugh, and I relax again. The darkness has receded some, but I expect it to come for me again in a few minutes.

“Thanks for sticking up for me back there in Baldy’s office, and again just now.” I tell Drew, softly. He just grins.
“Us half-day guys gotta stick together.” He means it.
On impulse I reach into my bag and pull the novelty business card I’d made on the computer at home to me, and hand it to Drew. He stares at it, and I begin to wonder if I might have gone too far with it. I pick up my cup of chocolate stuff to cover my confusion. He hands it to Theron as he takes out his wallet. Then he pulls out a card and hands it to me. I glance at it, and almost snarf the last of my chocolate soft-serve. It’s the same as mine, even to the fonts he’s used. I hand it to Theron, who stares at both the cards, and pulls a card out of his backpack pocket and shows it to us both. The same. Pam begins giggling immediately.
“SooOOooper Geeeniiuus!” We chorus in character, and all burst out laughing, and we laugh until we cry. This easy camaraderie, the feel of being a wanted part of the group, often imagined but so long unknown to me, leaves me dizzy and gasping. That’s where we are when someone speaks next to the bench.
“Hey, Babe, how’s the resistance going?” I look up; it’s my first recruit, Teri, the tall leggy brunette with the firm arms and warm inquisitive hands from yesterday. I jump up. She’d surprised me then, and she’s surprised me again today.
The rest of the girls from yesterday, except Lynn, are close by and on an intercept course closing fast. How had she gotten this close without me knowing? Did I already trust her that much? I remember the incredible feeling of her body pressed to me. My first reaction to her presence today is pure delight. I guess I do trust her that much!
“Hi Teri. It’s … going.” I glance over my shoulder, and in response to the question in my eyes Theron motions me on. “I think the first order of business is to give Baldy an ulcer just as fast as I can.” She laughs at me as she puts her arm around my neck and pulls me close (almost as close as yesterday) enough to smell her perfume.
I like it, and I like how it feels to be this close to her. “I was just about to tell these guys. Somehow I got fingered for starting a fight after school yesterday.”

The other girls gather around me. I introduce Theron, Pam and Drew.
“Who do they say you were you fighting with?” someone asks.
“Some football player more than twice my size named Vandoren.” Theron does a fast double take, and several of the girls nod knowingly. So this isn’t an isolated incident.
“But you weren’t fighting?” A cute blonde asks. Drew gestures at me.
“He’s under equipped for fighting, maybe?” He asks, and they laugh a little. I leave that right where it stands, right where I’d like it to stay. No one needs to know differently.
“So you made old sourpuss’s list already? That might be a record.” Teri comments.
“How do you plan on giving him the ulcer?” Dani asks, as she slips an arm around my waist from the other side. This feels good, too.
“I figured on a pointed advertising campaign as a good start.” In fact, I already have a plan in mind. I like these girls, (not just these two holding me, but all of them) and I don’t want them to know what I’m going to do so they can’t get in trouble. I put my arms around both their waists, but lightly, not wanting to be too forward, and yet wanting to let them know I like them and the closeness.
“Do you mean like with slogans and stuff? Handbills and flyers?” They’ve gathered around me in a non-moving group. The guys give me nods of acceptance. Drew seems kinda miffed that I’m the focus of the girls’ attention. Well, I had to step in at the last second yesterday, because he wasn't. What does he expect?
“Yeah, that kind of thing.”
“I’ll help.” Dani and Teri speak at the same time, but instead of arguing, as girls usually do in my, admittedly, limited knowledge, they just laugh together.
Interesting.
“We’ll all help. What can we do?” Another girl asks, and they all nod or agree. I look to Theron, and he shrugs, while Drew nods. I don’t like the idea; this isn’t their fight.
“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. If this goes wrong, someone or everyone can get suspended.” I tell them.
“You let us worry about that.” Teri tells me. “We want to help the resistance.”
“Are you all sure?” I ask them slowly. I get a word or nod of agreement from all of them. “Okay. We’ll have to work up a plan. We’ll have something ready by this time tomorrow.”
The bell rings, and Theron and I walk out the doors, surrounded by the girls, and Drew turns wistfully toward the hall to the English wing. When I’m about to turn right toward the math wing, about half of the girls hug me (notably Dani, who holds on with desperate tightness and presses hard against me for several long seconds, and Teri, who wraps her arms around me from behind, holds my head to her softly firm breasts and whispers in my ear that I’m going to be okay), and the others (even Pam) put a hand on my arm or tousle my hair or something similar before going on across the street.
Each touch does something for my soul; by the time they’ve all walked away I’m pretty sure I’m glowing. Theron gives me a weird look before trailing after them. My depression is gone, wiped away by … by … by my friends! By others demonstrating their care and concern with words and shared experiences, and physical warmth.
I leisurely climb the stairs up to the second floor hallway of the math building, where I purposely wait outside the classroom until after the bell has rung to enter.

Lynn is seated front and center today, which means she arrived early enough to have a choice. She's dressed a bit more conventionally today: knee pants and sleeveless scoop-neck babydoll blouse in pastel solids. I smile at her, and the rest of the class. More than one of them nod. I guess they're waiting for today's incident.
Mrs. Barnes gives me a hard look as I take an empty seat. I don't think today is going to disappoint anyone but Mrs. Barnes.

Coach Brian makes us sit at separate tables today. At first I think she's being overly optimistic, but by the end of the hour only Theron doesn't have someone at his table.
Drew disappears for about twenty minutes early on, but comes back in a good mood. At least I have a chance to talk to them about taping slogans to the locker doors in the halls (which idea they both like) at the beginning of the hour, and at the end they both have some interesting suggestions for slogans to print up.
Two brave souls come up and ask for help with math today, so I'm already making a difference for them. One of them sits in the far back corner of Mrs. Barnes AP Algebra III. He doesn't mention class, and neither do I.
He's bright enough, and understands the concepts quickly, but Mrs. Barnes doesn't slow down enough to explain the basics, expecting that we all understood from the chapter preface, and I'm already beginning to suspect that he might not read very well, just from the time I've spent with him today.
I can teach him to do the math, the steps, the notations, the methods and tricks, with minimal reading. But I can't help him understand the word problems. There is no work-around for that, he has to be able to read at grade level (or higher, preferably) to do those. The question is, how do I broach the subject?
No ideas occur to me by the end of class, at least none that don't scuff his dignity and put a strain on our teacher-student relationship. I table the question until tomorrow. Maybe Theron will have an idea to help me.

I make it to Art just before the bell rings, just like yesterday. As she promised, Connie has saved me a seat next to her. She blushes when I lean over and whisper to her.
"Hi, Connie!" I say, "Thanks for not giving my seat away." She blushes even more fiercely, then turns away and mumbles a greeting at me. I sit just as the bell rings.
Only now am I struck by the odd fact that the next table, the middle one, has no boys seated there. The girls, on the other hand, average taller than at the table Connie and I are sitting at, while at the far table they're even taller. And I believe I'd heard something like a sigh from somewhere as I took my seat.
DeeDee calls roll almost immediately and again Connie has trouble even saying 'Here.' My encouragement has worn off overnight, and I'm not sure what to do. Her case is the worst I've ever seen.
Of course there's no reason not to continue to be encouraging, repetition is always helpful, but it turns out to be more difficult in this case than I expect. Connie blushes if she even barely looks at me, and she only responds in stuttering monosyllables to anything I say. I leave the problem to the old sub-conscious, and get on with the class work.
At first I work on getting a feel for the fruit, getting the curves of each one down on the vellum just so, using my spatial sense to feel out the inner and outer bulges and ripples and the skin textures. I also can feel the bruises and the premature ripe spots which always cause almost imperceptible flat or even dimpled areas on the skins of the pieces of fruit.
After just a few minutes of staring at the fruit in the bowl Connie lays down her charcoal pencil and stops trying.
Okay, that's something I just can't stand: giving up is a childish, self-centered, defeatist attitude. Putting down my charcoal, I take Connie's hand and pull her squealing along from her chair to the stool where the bowl of fruit sits.
And of course this gets everyone's attention. Predictably she resists at first, blushing deep red when she notices everyone staring at us, trying to pull her hand away.
But I get her to the stool, pick up an apple, and put it in her hands before she can back away.
"B-but I can't: we ar-aren't supposed to touch the m-m-model," she's obviously horror stricken at the thought we might be messing up someone else's art.
"Go ahead," DeeDee calls out from across the room, "Everybody feel free to do whatever you have to do to get the feel of the subject. It's not necessary to draw the fruit exactly as it is in the model."
Several more girls stand and approach the stool, and Connie looks like she wants to blend into the wall. I don't want her to slip away, so I replace the apple in her hand with a banana.
"Here's a secret: it's often easier to draw something if you know how it's put together, how it curves and hefts and balances. The textures and imperfections give the fruit and the bowl character and thus makes them more real to you and thus easier to draw." I speak quietly to Connie, unconcerned that others could overhear me.
"I-I ... yeah, that makes sense! I w-wanted to do this, but I didn't think it was allowed." She's still blushing, but she's also exploring the skin of the banana with her fingertips.
I smile gently. "I find that it's easier to ask forgiveness for doing something after the fact than ask permission and be refused." By now there are more than a few other girls standing there feeling the fruit with us.
"My advice is to look over the bowl, and each kind of fruit, and think about what you know about each of them."
"Like what?" someone asks.
"Well, did you know that apples are actually the remainder of the actual apple blossoms grown up around the seed pods, the flowers after the petals have fallen off? If you look at the bottom of the apple you can see the dried tops of the pistils. Pears, too, for that matter."
"Or did you know that bananas grow on trees in huge bunches several feet high, in five or six or more layers, numbering up to a hundred or more to a bunch?" I wasn't speaking to the whole class, just to the ones right there at the bowl with me.
"Here, try the pear: they can be difficult to understand." I take the banana in exchange. "The neck and body of the pear are said to be very reminiscent of the sensual female waist."
"Huh?" She glances at me in confusion, even as other girls nearby turn pink.
"Think Michelangelo or Boticelli or Ruben. Think of the flow of the waist out into the hips, and the dimples just above the buttocks."
She nods quickly in understanding as she turns the pear to catch the resemblance. Finally she looks up at me, and promptly blushes as I grin at her. I speak before she can turn and hide, and I speak to her as an artist.
"Do you think you could sculpt those in clay?" I ask quietly.
"Yes." She nods emphatically. The assurance and confidence in her voice are heartening. Maybe this isn't going to be as difficult as I'd thought.
"Do you think you can draw it?" She stops nodding.
"I don't know. I think I can draw the bowl, but the fruit aren't ..." Suddenly her confidence has faltered.
"I know: they aren't easy because they aren't geometric. They don't follow simple curves, or simple rules." She's still looking at me.
"Well, I can't sculpt anything more complex than geometric figures. So ... I'll help you if you'll help me." I offer quietly.
"I-I ..." She quickly puts the pear back in the bowl, and rushes back to her seat. Oops, I've pressed a little too hard, I guess.
Waiting for the others who are examining the fruit, I point out the color variations and imperfections in the bowl, and pass a few words and a smile or two with a couple of the other girls who seem interested in what I've pointed out.
When I return to the table I discover that Connie has begun rendering the bowl, and was very definitely listening to what I'd said even after she'd made her hasty retreat from the field of conversation. She's chosen to include the two major imperfections of the bowl, which DeeDee had clearly let us know was not required.
One is a vaguely triangular pale area, most notable at the nearly white rim, pointing downward and away from a slightly wandering repaired break of several parts making up one side (the other imperfection) and diffusing back to the original color so that it never quite makes a point.
In truth she's doing rather well for a beginner, showing a good grasp of balance and shading as well as dimension in her roughly sketched and shaded bowl, with it's cracks and faded spot.
Because of her renewed effort (and bravado with the details) I decide to work back and forth from end to end of my vellum, sketching the fruit in different real-life aspects so she has examples, and something to get ideas from.
Connie avoids speaking to me or looking at me for the rest of the class, but at the end of the hour I can tell that she's been peeking at my work, and trying the simple techniques I've used in the sketches. And she's improving.
When the bell rings she glances quickly at me, blushes when she finds me smiling back at her, and grabs her stuff as she jumps up and hurries for the door.
I know where she's likely to be going, so I slowly follow her from the classroom, down the hall, down the steps and out the door. She stops a few yards away, facing away from me. I wait, hoping she'll turn around and speak to me. She doesn’t.
I know that with his attitude Drew wouldn't give her a second thought; she still has a little boy's body, and her complexion is showing unmistakable signs of junk food overload. But she'd smiled at me, and I like her.
Connie Haywood

3:11 pm, Tuesday, August 15th, 1995

Room 410, Springville High School, Emmons St., Springville, AR
The bus ride home was over before I knew it. Kelly had to poke me to get my attention, and remind me to get off and go home. Because I was thinking about him.
Dinner was over before I knew it, and I’d hardly eaten anything, even dessert. Because I was thinking about him.
Mom was banging on the door for me to get out of the shower, and I hadn’t washed my hair. Because I was thinking about him.
Bed time came, and I’d barely got any homework done. Because I was thinking about him. And I kept thinking about him way past when I took off my slippers and climbed in bed.
I looked for him all morning, turning my head back and forth so much that my neck hurt. He wasn't anywhere. I know I didn't dream him, but I couldn't find him.
Kelly teased me a little at lunch, until she saw how upset I was. She's really sweet to me. We eat lunch together most days. She always comes over for breakfast, and she walks to the bus with me. We sit together on the bus. She ... she keeps the other girls from teasing me.
She's the best cousin a girl could have!
I'm kinda glad she teased me about him, because that means I didn't imagine him. I've been afraid to look in my backpack all morning, afraid the picture won't be where I put it last night, and afraid it will. Afraid it'll show what it did before, and afraid it won't.
Right before lunch is over I get it out and look at it again. She ... I (if that really is me. No, it can't be me) ... it's beautiful! Kelly just whistles under her breath.
"He's good. Damn good!" She whispers to me, and I blush. She's sure that the girl in the picture is me. I want to believe her, but I'm not sure if I dare.
I walk into Art and sit where I sat the before. DeeDee smiles at me as she sets up the bowl of fruit on its stand. The other students come in, and the girls don't look at me any more than before, and neither do the guys. Same as yesterday, and last year.
I can't help watching the door, waiting for him. The minutes drag by. Some of the others already have their stuff out, working on their sketches, and I suppose I really should go get mine, too. But I can't make myself stop watching the door.
Babe walks in and turns toward me and the empty chair beside me without a second's hesitation. I feel my heart hammering in my chest. He's real and beautiful and looking at me. Before he sits he leans close, his shoulder brushing mine, and whispers in my ear.
So many thoughts race through my mind as he leans over me: 'oh god he's going to kiss me', and 'his breath is so soft', and 'he's so warm', and 'who braids his hair', and 'mmmm he smells so good'.
"Hi, Connie! Thanks for not giving my seat away." As he sits down next to me I have to turn away so he won't see me blushing. I say something, I'm not sure what, that even I can barely hear.
I'm trying so hard to ignore Babe that I forget all about roll call. Deedeee surprises me by starting at this end of the room today.
From that point on I don't think I stop blushing long enough to take a breath. Either he's smiling at me, or talking to me, or someone else is watching me. Then there's the mental image of him and me in the pottery wheel scene from my favorite movie, Ghost. I can't claim not to know where that came from; it was his hand on my arm yesterday, and his asking me to help him sculpt clay today.
Somehow through all of this I'm able to finally to draw a good bowl, with some details, even, and fruit that looks a little like fruit. I’m able to do that by looking at his drawings; he’s using the end spaces of his drawing sheet to draw the fruit over and over, flipping ends after each drawing. There’s the banana lying to the left, then to the right, then balancing on the curve. The apple standing upright, and on its side with the side, top and bottom facing out. Same for the peach, pear, and grapes. I know he’s doing it to help me, and I almost thank him for it.
Then there's the mental image of him and me again. If I'm lucky I'll lose my red face before I get home.
After that I can't look at him without turning deep red, and my voice locking up. So I don't. I've got all of my stuff ready to go when the bell rings, and after one last blushing glance I grab my books and run out the door.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you. That wasn't my intention." I jump, and turn around. There he is, standing just a few feet away.
I hadn't realized that he was following me. He hadn't made a sound until just then. He's watching me with a solemn look on his face, and for a second I panic and want to run and hide, but I remember how gentle his eyes are. I realize that he's watching me with them now, and there's something I want to ask him.
"So why did you ..." I can't finish without repeating myself, but he knows what I mean.
"I did it to change your point of view. You looked like you were giving up, and I don't let my friends do that." Friends? Just friends? After everything we've done in my imagination?
Okay, maybe that isn't fair. It's not like I've had a friend who's also a boy before. He really thinks of me as his friend, after just two days, or is it two hours? What does he know about me? I guess he knows enough to draw a picture that makes me nervous, so maybe he knows something.
I want to ask if he means it, but I can't. There's something more important I have to ask. Taking a step closer, I dig in my organizer and pull out the heavy folded paper. He smiles when I look back at him, and keeps smiling.
“B-babe, why did you give me this?” I'm surprised this comes out as clearly as it does, but I don't have time to think about that now. I hold out the drawing of the girl. The drawing that my cousin thinks is me. The one she's almost convinced me is me. He glances down at it, but doesn't reach out for it. His eyes come back to mine.
“I drew it to give to you.” He whispers to me, and my stomach does flips.
“But … but why?” He turns and looks at the building, then back at me. For a second I was afraid he was going to walk away.
“Because I like you, Connie. Because out of all the people who looked at me when I came in no one else smiled. No one else was friendly, or welcoming." He shrugs a little.
"I figured maybe I owe you something because you were nice to the guy who walked in as the bell rang, the new guy, the one with no friends, the obvious outsider."
"And because, in spite of all that friendliness and goodwill, you don’t have a very good self-image, and I wanted you to see all the things that I see in you.”
“But th-this … this is …” I stop, and drop my eyes. Looking at him just confuses me. Heck, talking to him confuses me. He likes me? This is what he sees in me? Now he's next to me, almost close enough to touch. He points at the drawing.
“This is you, Connie. This is the ‘you’ I see in your eyes, the Connie inside you, and I wanted you to see her, too.” His eyes tell me he ... means it. He really sees the girl in the picture inside of me. And I can't say anything, can't think of anything to say. After a few seconds his smile fades. He nods, and steps back a little.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. 'Bye." He walks away, not in any way like he walked yesterday. He's angry at himself, and I know why. I watch him walk across the practice field for more than a minute, and I still can't make a sound to stop him.
"I missed him again?" Kelly says behind me. I turn to look at her, and her grin fades. "What's wrong, Con?"
"I-I ..." All I can do is wave the drawing of the ... of me at her.
"I was right?! It is you, and he said so!" Then her eyes go wide. "And you froze; you couldn't talk to him." I nod.
"Oh Connie!" She pulls me in for a hug. "No wonder you both look like your birthdays have been cancelled!" She holds me until the bus comes.
In our usual seat I tell her everything I remember, and some of it surprises me. She’s always been the only one I don’t stutter around, and talking to her keeps me calm. I know I'm forgetting stuff because I was too shocked to remember, but the rest is just wild enough to be true. She's incredulous at some parts.
"He said what?" She whispers, half shocked, and a blushing almost as much as me.
"That the shape of the pear looks a bit like the waist and hips of female nude renaissance statues and paintings of some of the old masters. And he's right, I saw what he meant." She blinks.
"Gram lets you look at pictures of this stuff?" I shake my head. "Katy bought me a book about renaissance sculpture, it has pictures of them in it, and Daddy took me to the exhibit in Dallas last year." She nods, a little jealous.
And ...
"You didn't! Not the scene where they're rubbing wet clay up each others arms?" I nod, feeling myself go red. "Just because he asked for help when the class starts working with clay?"
"I didn't do it on purpose; it just popped into my head." Because I've never worked clay with a guy before, and I love that scene! Not to mention that for some reason I'm fascinated with his hands.
"Then you ran away?!" I nod.
And ...
"Con, he's not going to stop liking you, or be angry at you just because you didn't say anything." She tells me, with a smile.
"How do you know? What if h-he ..." I can't even say it. I'm afraid, but I hope she's right.
"Just keep a seat for him tomorrow, okay? Even if neither of you say anything, he'll know that you aren't angry at him." What she doesn't say is 'if he sits there'. But she's helped me feel better, so I smile.
"Okay, I'll try not to throw up from worrying while I wait for last class."
(This chapter is almost finished, I only have some typos and stuff to fix)
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Youth of Tomorrow, Shaping the Future