This is part TWO of a four-part story. It's fun and exciting and worth reading, but it'll be even moreso if you read part one first.
Sometimes, things escape your control and you involuntarily respond to your surroundings. Horror movies scare us; roller coasters thrill us… Sometimes, where you are and what you’re doing cause you to let go of voluntary control of your actions and just react to the moment.
It’s that very thing that caused me to clinch both my eyes and my fists the second I entered her classroom.
“Well!” Mrs. Key stated as she saw me enter the doorway. The combination of her grating voice and her horrific rose-scented perfume made me drop my backpack. Fortunately, my desk was – for reasons that will soon be apparent – front and center; the first one from the door. So it wasn’t hard to just kick the satchel forward toward where I sat. Although, I hadn’t seen the place in a while… I rarely, if ever, went to that class.
The sixth period chime began to ring just as I took my seat. I folded my arms across the desk and buried my head as deeply in the folds as I could. I hated this class, and the sentiment was reflected by both the students and my beloved teacher. “So, how’s it feel to actually attend a full day of classes?” She smirked, her overly-lipsticked upper lip rising slightly at the corners.
“Probably the same way it feels to go sixty-five years without an orgasm,” I quipped. “So, you tell me.”
See, the trouble with people like Mrs. Key is that they feel like they’ve got all this weight and power behind everything they say, simply based on the fact that they’ve been alive longer and somehow convinced the school board to grant them a teaching certificate. It’s that exact air of manufactured superiority that caused me to reflexively say things like that. And it’s saying things like that which spawned our agreement that I go to the wrestling room for sixth period… And, prior to the agreement, put my seat as close to the door as possible, so there’d be little delay when…
“OUT!” she snapped. “Get OUT of my classroom right this minute!”
And that’s where the proximity of my desk to the door came in handy. But there was a snag.
“I can’t,” I replied. “I have to stay here… Lucky you.”
“No, no no no,” She stammered. “You were told to stay in this
building – that does NOT mean you have to be in this
room.” Her wrinkled face was red – more red than it usually was with all of the make-up she wore.
I was a little shocked that she’d just confirmed she knew about Mrs. Cohen’s order from earlier that morning, but the feeling went away the second I realized that the teacher’s lounge is little more than a locker room for adults who hang around teenagers all day. It made sense that they’d indulge in the occasional whisper-and-tell session.
"Go on," she said as I got up, “Get to the office! Straight to Mr. Schaf! That means no wrestling room, no dance room, no art room!” She marched over to the phone on the wall and picked it up, meanwhile staring at me very hard; her underbite quivering with anger. “I’m going to call him right now and let him know you’re coming!”
I waited to watch her dial the number. She just kept staring at me.
“Okay?” I said, hanging in the threshold between the classroom and the hall. “You calling?”
“YES!” she snapped. “Right now!”
She turned to face the phone, hit a few numbers, then turned back to face me. I just kept watching.
“Mr. Schaf!” She nearly yelled into the receiver. “I am sending Joe Peacock up to your office… Yes, right this very moment.”
“Hey,” I said, and she turned to face me, “Tell him I have to stop by the Art room first.”
“NO!” She snapped. “You’re going straight to his office!”
“Okay,” I replied, “But first, I have to go to the Art room. Just tell him that.”
She huffed, and then brought the receiver back to her mouth. “He
says he’s going to the Art room before seeing you—”
“And the Dance room too.”
“NO!” she yelled. I could hear some buzzing through the earpiece, as could she. “What? Oh, yes, I am sorry – I didn’t mean to yell. He’s just… He’s pushing me!” I just laughed and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind me.
“Straight to Mr. Schaf!” I heard through the walls. I responded with a hard double-pound on the side of the hallway wall and began walking to no place in particular.
“Peacock!” I heard from my right. It was Dr. Schaf – He was standing just outside the door that led down the back way to his office. He must have decided to intercept me before I got too far.
“Hey, Schaf,” I half-shouted. “What’s up?”
He shook his head and closed his eyes slowly. With a snap, he lifted his arm and pointed toward the door he’d just come out of.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, altering course to meet him and go face… Well, nothing really. Schaf and I were buddies. There was nothing to fear – every disciplinary trip I’d had to make to the office for the past three years was a cinch. Schaf was a huge supporter of mine, and so long as I was being written about in the county newspaper for some sort of sport-related accolade, he let me get away with murder. In fact, he’d probably crack up the second he heard what I’d said to Mrs. Key… My antics usually gave him a giggle or two.
I confidently strode into the office that I worked in every morning and pretty much had wrapped around my finger. I smiled and nodded at the 6th period office aides, cohorts of mine who had similar privileges to me given their positions as student office workers. For some reason, they didn’t nod back.
Dr. Schaf entered his office and immediately barked “SIT.”
Woah.
“Wow, Schaf,” I said, lowering myself into the seat across from his desk. “What species of bee got into your bonnet?”
“Cut the shit, Peacock,” he snapped. “What the hell is going on with you and your buddies? Don’t you know that plagarism can get you expelled?!?”
I ducked my head. “So you know.”
“You’re damn right I do!” he said with a bit of spittle flying out of his mouth. “Mrs. Cohen was in here earlier, demanding that I kick your ass out of this school!”
I looked up at him. My heart was pounding. My brow became damp. My right leg began twitching. “Really?” I said with a quiver in my voice.
He looked at me for a minute. He could tell that there was only one thought on my mind at that very moment, which was just how fine a paste my father was going to grind me into when he heard about this.
“Okay, no,” he said with a sigh. “But she wants you to think that, so be sure to pretend that’s what happened when you meet with her after the final bell, okay?”
I nearly heaved my lungs out of my throat. “WOW,” I blurted, placing my hand to my head to wipe away the perspiration. “I hate you right now.”
“Yeah, I would too,” he said, “But wait before you decide how much, because there’s more to tell you.”
“Okay…”
“First, you’re off the wrestling team.”
“WHAT?!?” I yelled. “You… You can’t be serious!”
He looked at me dead-faced, indicating that not only could he be serious, he was serious RIGHT NOW.
“But… But that’s not fair!” I cried. “You can’t take me off the wrestling team!”
“I can, and in fact, I already have,” he replied. “I don’t know how you’re going to explain it to your daddy, but you need to figure something out.”
I was torn apart. “I… I can’t believe this…”
“Well, there’s more,” he added, “But Mrs. Cohen’s going to lay that bit of heavy on you.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Wait… Did you really just say ‘lay the heavy on me?’ I mean… Really?”
“Yeah,” he said, “What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s just… I dunno,” I replied. “It’s something the Mod Squad would have said I think.”
“Well whatever,” he replied, “I don’t really want to play this game with you today.” He leaned back in his chair. “You really disappointed a lot of people today, Peacock.”
I sunk in my chair. “I know.”
“You’ve got a hell of a lot to account for. You and your pals.”
“Shit,” I said, then immediately caught myself and blurted out a quick apology. He nodded and waved it off. “Have you talked to them?” I then asked.
“Yeah, sorta,” he answered. “I talked with Walter. Mrs. Jones talked with the other two. I think they’re going to get the same treatment you’re getting.”
“Which is?”
He smiled. “Well, they’re not kicked off the wrestling team…”
“Har har,” I replied, and then thought for just a moment what it would actually be like to see Walter, Mike, or – god forbid – Rod try to wrestle. I wager you could actually charge admission for a spectacle like that. It never gets old; watching the incapable get abused. It’s why Cops is in its, like, fiftieth year on television.
“Funny,” I replied. “Seriously, what’s going to happen to us?”
“Well,” he said, leaning forward and leaning on his desk a bit, “I could tell you—” His voice went up half an octave and his face got all squinty “—But that’d ruin all the
fun, wouldn’t it?”
I looked at him blankly. “Fun, huh?” I asked.
“Oh yeah,” he answered. “Lots.”
“Great. That’s JUST what I want right now… Principal-sanctioned fun.”
“Assistant principal,” He corrected.
“Whatever... It’s the same barrel of feces, isn’t it?”
“You’ve seriously got some authority issues, don’t you?” he asked.
“You’ve met my father, haven’t you?” I asked in response. He simply nodded.
“Well,” I said, “I still don’t see why I have to be off the wrestling team.”
“You will,” he replied. He reached for his phone and slapped the keypad with his hand, one of each of his fingers landing where it needed to be in the order they needed to fall in to dial the English teachers’ office. “Mrs Cohen?”
The phone buzzed from the other end.
“Yep, he’s here now.”
It buzzed again.
“Okay,” he said, and hung up the receiver. “She’s on her way.”
“Well, goodie,” I said as I shifted in my seat. “I can’t wait to get this over with.”
Not nearly enough time passed before Mrs. Cohen opened the door of Mr. Schaf’s office with a righteous indignance. “Follow me, mister,” she snapped. She turned and left before I could say anything smart-assed in reply.
“Good luck,” Dr. Schaf said as I left his office.
“Thanks,” I said as I grabbed my bag and fell in line behind Mrs. Cohen.
We walked… Okay, we marched in silence to her office, where Miss Stackett sat waiting with all of our papers in front of her. I took a seat where I’d been sitting a few hours prior and began to mentally practice my reaction to hearing that I was …
“…going to be EXPELLED!” Mrs. Cohen cried with all the fires of hell licking and scorching my ears. “You’ve committed a crime here, Joe!”
I said nothing.
“You’ve blatantly ripped off the Dead Mailmen—”
“—Milkmen,” Miss Stacket corrected.
“Whatever! You’ve stolen from the Red Mouthed Chili Eaters—”
“—Red Hot Chili Peppers,” Miss Stackett announced.
“And the… Oh, forget it” She said, giving up on trying to beat me at my own game or something. “I don’t know any of these people… Which is why you got away with it for so long!”
“I’m really sorry—”
“You’re sorry? You’re
SORRY?” She breathed in deep. “Well, gee, Joe! That fixes everything, doesn’t it?!? You plagiarized a bunch of songs and turned them in as your own work for half a year and you’re now
sorry about it. Well alright! Great! It’s all fixed!”
“Oh, good,” I said, knowing as I said it that I was making a HUGE mistake. “I’m glad that’s all it took.”
You know that scene in Big Trouble in Little China where the dude gets all swollen right before he explodes into meaty little chunks that fly everywhere? Well, that’s precisely what I thought Mrs. Cohen was about to do.
“Okay, okay! I’m sorry!” I said before she could zap me with blue lightning. “It just came out, okay? I… I am really, really sorry. About this, and about the plagarism, and about all the trouble I’ve caused.”
She huffed. “I’m sure you are, you little smartmouth.”
“I am.”
She started walking toward the coffee pot. I knew better than to ask for another cup of coffee. “Well… I don’t forgive you,” she said, “But I’ve talked about it with Dr. Schaf and Mrs. Jones… And I went to bat for you.”
Oh, boy, here it came. In the back of my mind, I knew I was going to have to do a little bit of performing here in a second. I would have to pretend that I’d just been rescued from the jaws of hell by my beloved English teacher. And I’d have to make it convincing.
“I went to bat for all four of you, in fact,” She continued. “Mr. Schaf, he wanted to expel you right then and there when I told him what you guys did.”
I held back a snicker.
“But I worked it out with them, and I think we’ve come up with a solution.”
“Really?!?” I said with feigned relief. “What is it?”
“Well, you’re going to have to make up each and every assignment,” She answered, “And you’re going to have to do it while keeping up with the current assignments.”
“Oh, we can totally do that!” I said, trying to sound excited and relieved when, in reality, I was just annoyed that I had to go through this crap.
“Oh, you won’t be doing it as a group!” She said with a ‘gotcha’ style smirk. “You’re each going to have to do this on your own. In fact, you’re forbidden from working with those boys ever again.”
“But…”
“No ‘but’s’. It’s my way or the highway, mister.”
I sighed. “Alright. I can do that.”
“And what’s more, you’ll be doing your make-up work here, not at home.”
“Alright…”
“Every day, after school, you will show up here and work with Miss Stackett. One, because I know she’ll be able to keep you honest, and two, because frankly, I can’t stand the sight of you right now.”
“Fine, I can do that,” I replied. “I’ll show up here before practice…”
“Oh, you are OFF the wrestling team,” She said, nearly forgetting that little nugget.
“WHAT?!?” I stammered. “WHY!”
“Well, you’ll be far too busy writing in here every day until five.”
“Until five?!?” I snapped. “But… Why five?!? I can knock these out easily in an hour each day!”
“Oh, dear,” she responded, “You’re not doing one writing assignment a week. You’re doing one a
day.”
My reaction internally: So?
My reaction externally: “So?”
“SO?!?” She growled. “So, they’d better be exceptional! Each and every one of them! Or you’re SO out of here!”
“Fine, they will be – but why the hell do I have to quit the wrestling team to do it?!?”
“You’re not going to have time to do your little male bonding experiences with all this work, Joe.”
“Like hell I won’t,” I answered. “You watch – I’ll get the work done.”
“I don’t have to watch,” She answered. “I’m giving you a chance to keep from being expelled. You’ll do this my way, or you’re out of here.”
I grit my teeth. It wasn’t a feigned reaction – I really was pissed that I was going to have to quit the team to do this nonsense work. I knew this had nothing to do with logistics and everything to do with “teaching me a lesson” or some shit.
“Now, your first assignment begins right now. I want 500 words on why you deserve this chance you’re being given.”
“Can I use any words I want, or do you have some you’d like to dictate to me?”
She cut her head around to stare me down. “Do NOT test me, Peacock,” she said with a New York flare. “I’m not kidding here – you’re going to do this or you’re going to be kicked out of school. You’re five months from graduating – I’m SURE you don’t want that, and I’m doubly sure that your parents’ don’t want that.”
“You’re right,” I said, backing down. “I’m sorry.”
“Good,” She replied. “Get to it.” And with that, she left the room to get ready for hall monitoring duty… The last bell of the day usually set off some sort of trigger in the minds of the general population of the school that it was time to bounce off the walls. Mrs. Cohen was a large part of why they didn’t.
Frankly, I was glad she left. It gave me the opportunity I’d been waiting for the entire day.
“What the HELL!” I snapped, turning to face Miss Stackett.
“What!” She yelped.
“Why did you bust us?!?”
“You totally ripped off bands and turned it in as your own work!” She answered. “That’s just bogus!”
“Yeah, well… You’re bogus,” I answered.
“Witty,” she fired back. “I can see why you stole from songs.”
“And I can see why you decided to be a teacher,” I replied.
“What’s THAT supposed to mean?”
I smirked. “Whatever… I don’t have time to screw with this. I have to write 500 words on why I’m so lucky that you ratted me out.”
I could tell that I was getting to her. Her young eyes began to narrow and her lips quivered; her close-cropped blonde-tipped hair began to wave slightly in response to her nerves going into overdrive. “I didn’t RAT on you, you jerk. I did what was right.”
“Mmm hmm,” I said, averting my eyes by digging through my bag for a notebook and a pencil.
“You stole!” she snapped. “You ripped off artists! That’s totally not cool!”
“Neither is ratting,” I answered.
“I DIDN’T… You know? I don’t have to take this.” She got up and began walking out of the room.
“Can’t handle me on your own, huh?” I asked as she whipped around to face me.
“What?!?”
“Gotta go get the big guns, huh?”
“Oh, no,” She responded. “I’m going to go let Mrs. Cohen know that you’ll be doing TWO assignments a day.”
“TWO!?!” I shouted. “You wouldn’t!”
She responded by walking out of the room.
“Shit!” I said as I dropped everything and chased after her. She was making her way up the hall amongst the students when I caught up with her. “You can’t do that!” I shouted over the din of youth who were eager to leave for the day.
“Can’t I?” She responded. “Watch me.” She pushed past me and kept walking.
“Wait! Look, I… WAIT!” I said, nearly sprinting to get back in front of her. “I’m sorry!”
“You certainly are,” She said, walking as if I wasn’t even there.
“No, I’m… I’m really, really sorry, okay?” I said. I’d have gotten down on my knees to say it if she wouldn’t have stepped right over me to go rat me out again.
“I don’t believe you,” She stated.
“Well, I’m… Why not?!?”
She finally stopped with a quarter of a hallway left before reaching Mrs. Cohen. “You strike me as the type who’s sorry he gets caught… Not for what he’s done.”
“Well, yeah,” I said, knowing enough about myself to know that much was true. “But this time, I’m actually sorry for being a jerk.”
“A jerk?” she responded. “Try ‘asshole’…”
“Hey, you’re a teacher… You can’t talk to me like that.”
“Well, I’m also a person, and you’re really offensive.”
We stood there in the hallway, students rushing past us and around us and, at times, through us. I stood at least a foot taller than her, yet I felt like the grime beneath her shoe. In our first day meeting, I’d exposed myself as a liar, a cheat, and a jerk... Er, asshole.
“I’m sorry,” I said once more. “Please forgive me.”
“I don’t,” She said, turning on her heel. “But I’ll let you off the hook this time.”
“Thank you,” I said, chasing behind her and following her back to the English office.
“Don’t thank me,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m not doing it for you.”
“What… What do you mean?” I said, jumping to the side to avoid hitting the side of the doorframe as we turned into the office.
“Well… I realized I was doubling my workload to try to prove a point to you,” she responded. “I think that your actions have given me enough work for the rest of the semester.”
I laughed a little. “First day on the job and already you’re thinking like most of the other teachers around here…”
She cracked a little smile. “Get to work, Peacock,” she ordered.
“Yes, Miss Stackett,” I said in my best fourth-grade classroom voice as I sat and began to write about how profoundly lucky I was to not only be pulled off the wrestling team, but to have five times the work I had before that day.
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