Post by Redsrock on Nov 7, 2008 20:30:05 GMT
Chapter One
As his teacher continued to babble along to the class, Bobby Johnson continued to stare outside the window to his left. His attention as usual wasn’t directed towards his math teacher, but rather outside the window to his left. It was finally Friday, and Bobby was supposed to have a baseball game after school, but the weathermen were calling for a sixty-percent chance of rain. Then again, the weathermen were what Bobby’s aunt called ‘Professional Guessers’. Bobby thought she had a point, because a lot of times they were wrong. Either way it didn’t matter, he was still nervous all the same.
“Robert!” At the sound of Mr. Franco’s shrill voice, Bobby jumped so much he almost fell out of his chair. The entire class laughed loudly, except for Mr. Franco. He had a frown upon his old Latino face, his thick, black mustache making him look even more menacing than he already was. “See anything out there, hmm?” He asked sarcastically. Bobby shook his head, embarrassed by all the laughing, and Mr. Franco continued the lesson.
Bobby shot his best friend a look, and Karl Williams just smiled and shook his head. Karl wasn’t paying attention to what was going on either, but that’s because he didn’t need to. To Bobby, Karl was a genius. He literally taught himself every lesson, for several reasons. One being that he actually could get away with it and still pass the tests with A’s, and also because he couldn’t stand Mr. Franco as a teacher. What he did every class was he used his laptop to surf the net for random stuff, because at Jensonville High School the students were allowed to bring their laptops to school. Most schools in southwestern Indiana didn’t allow that. Whenever Mr. Franco began to walk around the class to make sure everyone was taking notes in some form, Karl would always quickly minimize whatever internet page he was on, and would then bring up a page of pre-written notes on the lesson. Bobby absolutely admired that.
After a few minutes the lesson was over, and the students were given the last few minutes to begin their homework assignment. To most, the assignment was fairly easy: numbers 1-25, and only the even numbers. (The answers to the odd problems could always be found in the back of the book, and Mr. Franco hated that) But to Bobby, any math assignment was a hard assignment. That’s because the only thing Bobby cared about what writing, reading, and baseball. Though, it is ironic that Bobby doesn’t enjoy English class, only because he couldn’t stand his teacher. The teacherm, Mr. Edwards, was a jerk to Bobby. He knew this because Mr. Edwards was jealous of Bobby’s aunt’s published novels. His aunt Katie wasn’t even really much of a locally known author, but Mr. Edwards was still jealous. This was especially clear during the first-of-the-year Open House three weeks ago. Bobby’ aunt and Mr. Edwards had gotten into a friendly argument about several authors. He explained that he was trying to get a novel published, and that’s when Bobby’s aunt had chimed in that she had already gotten three of her novels published within the past eight years. She didn’t mean in it in demeaning way, but that’s definitely the way Mr. Edwards took it.
Thankfully for Bobby, the class was allowed to work on the homework assignment in groups of two, and no more than two. He obviously paired up with Karl, and the boy genius explained what was going on, as he did with every lesion. Just like Karl, Bobby couldn’t stand Mr. Franco.
“It’s really not that difficult Bobby, you just have to focus is all,” Karl said. “If it makes it easier for you, try to implement math with baseball. I know that sounds a tad bit stupid, but it does tend to help most of the time…..mixing mat with something that interests you I mean.”
“Yeah, well….I’m never going to use this crap once we graduate, so what’s the point?” Bobby protested. “I mean…when have you actually used this outside of school, Karl? And tell the truth.”
Before Karl could answer the lunch-bell rang, and everyone quickly gathered their belongings and headed out towards the cafeteria down the hall. Karl and Bobby were the last ones out, but before Bobby could even leave Mr. Franco stopped him. “Take a seat, Robert. There’s something you and I need to discuss.”
“But it’s lunchtime! I don’t want to be late!” Bobby exclaimed. He really didn’t care that it was lunchtime, since he never ate anyway. He was just angry that Mr. Franco always insisted on calling him ‘Robert’, even when Bobby told him he didn’t like it.
“It’ll only take a few minutes, Robert. Just sit down, please.”
Bobby looked at Karl, who simply shrugged his shoulders and walked outside to wait. Karl never ate anything during lunch either. To them, school food sucked, and they weren’t about to start bringing their lunches like little kids. Bobby sighed and sat back down in his seat. Mr. Franco closed the door, and then sat down in the seat next to Bobby.
“What’s wrong with you, Robert?”
“Huh? What do you mean what’s wrong with me?”
Mr. Franco chuckled slightly. “Isn’t it obvious? Ever since the first day I’ve had to tell you to get your head out of the clouds, every single day. As much as I hate to say it, Robert, within less than a month you’ve already made it to my bad list. Why is this? Why won’t you pay attention?”
Bobby looked away from Mr. Franco and just stared at the ground for a couple of seconds. He wanted to tell him that truth, that he didn’t care for mathematics and that it wasn’t going to do him a bit of good in the real world. Especially ‘crap’ like Calculus. “I don’t know…it just doesn’t interest me,” he muttered, still looking at the blue-tiled floor.
Mr. Franco chuckled again, this time louder, and with a more warming tone. Bobby finally looked at him, and realized that he didn’t look as mad as he sounded. “Robert…there’s no doubt in my mind that this doesn’t interest you. According to your past teacher you’re quite the budding author. That’s very good to hear, but you must pay as much attention in my class as you do in your reading and writing classes. We’re only three weeks in and already you have a C in my class. I realize a C isn’t an F, but it very well could be if you keep up your current habits. I’d like you to start trying more, alright?” Then he added slyly, “And I know Karl is basically telling you want to do on homework assignments. What are you going to do this coming Monday during the test? He won’t be able to help you then.”
“I’ll be okay, Mr. Franco. I’ll just have to study a lot this weekend.”
Mr. Franco shook his head in disgust, but still kept a warm expression spread about his face. Bobby was thankful for that. “That sounds well enough, but will you study? I doubt it. You’re probably thinking about going outside and playing baseball, or writing something.”
Bobby didn’t immediately make any kind of response, because he knew his teacher was right, at least partially that is. Bobby didn’t like making bad grades, but it was true that he’d much rather be playing outside or writing a good story, or reading one of Stephen King’s books. Of course, he didn’t want to tell that to his teacher’s face, especially after the kindness Mr. Franco had been showing him. It was a relief to Bobby, and he started to think that perhaps Mr. Franco wasn’t half-bad after all. At least he wasn’t as bad as Mr. Edwards.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Franco. I’ll pay more attention from now on, and I promise I’ll study this weekend.”
Mr. Franco beamed with happiness, for the mean time satisfied. “Good, I’m glad to hear it. Though I would study with Karl if I were you. The boy does know what he’s doing, that’s for sure, even if he’s surfing through the internet the entire class.”
Bobby looked up at his teacher, who was about to burst with laughter. Bobby didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just gave him an awkward grin as if he didn’t know what he was talking about. Then Mr. Franco added, “What, you think I’m as dumb as I look? I know Karl doesn’t usually pay attention to my lessons, and that’s I guess. Some people are able to teach themselves outside of school, but you, Bobby, cannot. I expect to see a lot of changes from you. Alright? Now… get out of here!” he said with a smile.
Bobby got up and walked out of the room, his opinion of Mr. Franco having been totally changed.
“I say we go to the movies. Sebastion’s Abode is gonna go off the screens soon, so we should see it before it does,” Maggie Dunham said in between bites of her baby-carrots. She wasn’t fat, but she wasn’t skinny either. That’s the way Bobby saw her at least, sort of in the middle.
“I don’t know…isn’t that movie about magical fairies and all that stupid stuff?”
“No!” Maggie yelled. “It’s not stupid. And there aren’t any fairies at all. Who told you that?”
Bobby looked at Karl, and the both of them busted out laughing. On Bobby’s left, Jenny was concentrating on an art sketch, one that was due the next class period in fifteen minutes. Jenny was an extremely good artist. She could draw and paint like no other. Bobby figured she’d get hundreds of offers from art schools around the country. He always thought she was good enough to obtain scholarships.
“Don’t listen to Karl, Bobby, he doesn’t know what a good movie is anyway. All he knows is how to play computer games.”
After finally gaining control of himself, Karl said, “Yeah, well at least my games don’t have fairies with orange hair like your movie does!”
“They’re not fairies! The Deladryn are a species of elves, and they have nothing to do with fairies!”
The four at the table were starting to receive weird stares from the crowded cafeteria around them, but they didn’t care. “Okay, elves are so much better,” Karl replied, rolling his eyes.
Bobby didn’t really mind elves, because he once read a novel called Tales of the Vespic Horizon that dealt with many fantasy creatures, including elves. Bobby wasn’t much of a fantasy-fiction fan, but he read that one because Maggie kept bugging him to. His aunt absolutely hated fantasy, but she found the novel rather interesting as well.
“I don’t know, guys…the movies don’t sound that good to me anyway. I’ll be dirty after my game and I really don’t want to have to go home and take a shower. How about we just get something to eat instead?”
Karl and Maggie seemed to like the idea, because both of them shrugged their shoulders and nodded. Jenny liked the idea exceptionally, because she suddenly snapped out of her artistic trance and offered a suggestion, her long, bright red hair fluttering across her green eyes as her head flicked up from her work. “How about the Spaghetti Factory? We haven’t been there in a while. Plus it’s cheap, and I don’t have a whole lot of money right now as it is.”
They all four agreed that the Spaghetti Factory was a wonderful suggestion. It was an old gigantic parlor downtown, and they served all kinds of Italian food. Naturally, their most popular dish was spaghetti, and that’s what Bobby ordered every time. Except he always ordered meatballs and garlic bread too, because their garlic bread was so soft and flavorful. Bobby was a huge eater, as the other three were quite aware of, but thankfully for him he had a fast metabolism. This was a mixture of him playing sports all the time, along with his aunt’s beckoning for him to stay in shape throughout the entire year.
Soon the bell rang, signaling to the students that they had ten minutes in order to get to class on time. Jensonville High was tremendously strict on their tardy policy, especially during lunch. Those who were late to class, or what caught skipping class altogether, were subject to Saturday School, in which they had to come into the school library on Saturday from 8am in the morning until 4pm in the afternoon. The students minded the policy well enough because of the harsh consequences, but there were always at least a dozen or so students who wanted to be the rebels. Jensonville High was home to about fifteen-hundred kids, so it wasn’t as big as some of the other schools in southwestern Indiana.
Bobby said goodbye to his friends and headed to English class, where he would undoubtedly face off against Mr. Edwards once again. It was almost a daily ritual, and the students knew it. Nobody talked to Bobby that much, or at least Bobby didn’t say anything since he was so shy around people other than his friends, but everyone in the classroom was literally waiting on the edge of their seat to see what would happen between Bobby and Mr. Edwards. It usually began towards the middle of class, when the teacher would begin his lectures. Bobby would either be reading a book, or jotting down ideas for his own stories. Mr. Edwards would say something smart, and then Bobby would return the favor. It would then go back and forth for a little bit, but not too long. Sometimes the arguments got personal and somewhat malicious, but the two never reported one another to the principal or anything like that. Mr. Edwards, though he would never openly admit it, knew he hated Bobby because of his aunt’s published books and apparent skill in the use of writing. But also, deep down inside, Mr. Edwards knew Bobby had tons of potential, and that made him jealous as well.
Bobby never told the principal simply because he didn’t want to. The arguments actually interested him sometimes, because at least it was a break from the normally dull class Mr. Edwards taught. Besides, Bobby knew Mr. Edwards would never hurt his feelings, because he did not care about his teacher whatsoever, and the feeling as definitely mutual. Mr. Edwards wasn’t really a popular person with the faculty either. He had a knack for pissing people off with his sarcasm and elitist attitude. The students didn’t particularly like him either, but nobody stood up to him like Bobby did. In a way, it was as if Bobby somehow knew Mr. Edwards would never tell on him, because in the end the teacher’s anger always stemmed from either Bobby or his aunt’s writing skills.
“Sit down and get your homework assignment,” Mr. Edwards snapped as soon as the tardy bell was done ringing. “Open up your books to page 121, and have your papers on your desk. I’ll come around to make sure you actually did them.”
The students got out their papers and waited for the teacher to check them off of his clipboard, while Bobby groaned and looked up at the ceiling, closing his eyes and wishing he could go back one day in time. For the second time that week Bobby had forgotten to do his homework. And this time he didn’t forget it on purpose. As of now he was making a C+ in the class, but he knew Mr. Edwards was looking for any reason to bring him down. Now he had his chance.
“Where’s your paper, Mr. Johnson?” Mr. Edwards asked sarcastically, with a high tone that everyone in the class knew was the prologue to the daily dispute. “Don’t tell me you didn’t do your homework again…”
Bobby opened he eyes and looked at Mr. Edwards. He could almost see the devilish smirk across his face. It was something that he had come to expect from his teacher. Every time he was about to say something, Bobby would see his eyes light up with excitement, his mouth drooling with anticipation of yet another potential embarrassing moment for Robert Joseph Johnson III. But he wasn’t about to embarrass Bobby, nor would he ever. There was a great possibility that Mr. Edwards was aware of this, but there are times when a man or woman simply cannot cease with a certain something. That certain something is usually quite personal and special to that certain someone. For Mr. Edwards, it was his narcissistic pride.
“Nope…I don’t have it. Sorry,” Bobby responded nonchalantly, crossing his arms and looking Mr. Edwards, just hoping to rattle with his brain.
Mr. Edwards put a mark on his clipboard next to Bobby’s name and said--loud enough for the class to hear, even though they were already listen attentively-- “I would like to see you after school today, Mr. Johnson. I’m giving you an hour of detention. Your pathetic academic habits are already getting old, and this is only the third week. I think I need to nip them in the bud now before they worsen.”
Bobby’s draw dropped, as did his pen to the floor, hitting his left foot and rolling towards the wall to his left. “But I have a baseball game an hour after school!”
“That’s not my problem. You shouldn’t have purposely forgotten the assignment.”
“I didn’t forget it on purpose! It just…slipped my mind.”
Mr. Edwards rolled his eyes and continued down the row of students. “Right, and what if I let it slip my mind that I was supposed to give you credit for a major assignment, and because of my disgraceful lack of memory you ended up with an F in this class? How would you feel about that, Mr. Johnson?”
Bobby opened his mouth to answer, but Mr. Edwards didn’t give him time to. “Obviously you would be rather upset, am I right? But how could you be upset with me? I simply forgot, just as you have done with this assignment,” he said sardonically. The class began to giggle, and he sat down at his desk and began to look over the papers he had collected. Bobby was still sitting in his chair, his jaw still open, utterly taken back by what just happened. It was rare that Mr. Edwards got the last word--because Bobby was very skillful with his comebacks--but this time it appeared to have happened. He crossed him arms and glared towards his teacher. There was no way in hell he was missing his game.
After a few minutes, Mr. Edwards rose from his desk and began to write furiously on the chalkboard. It seemed his daily quarrel with Bobby was over, much to the dismay of the classroom. However, Bobby himself wasn’t too interested in arguing anymore. Throughout all of their disputes, Mr. Andrews had never really reprimanded Bobby for anything. It was only a warring of words, with no later consequences. But now all of a sudden he wanted Bobby to stay after school for detention, and Bobby didn’t like that one bit. Mr. Andrews was taking the war to a higher level, and Bobby knew he would have to as well.
“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” Mr. Andrews began, his back still facing the class. “Born in Russia in 1821…”
But like always, Bobby didn’t care what the man had to say, even if Dostoevsky was an interesting topic. Bobby would rather piss his teacher off then listen and take notes on something that interested him. That was the type of revulsion Bobby felt for Mr. Andrews, and vice versa. And that level of hatred would only grow, just like a tree. And also like a tree, it would only continue to grow until either the howling winds bring it crashing down, or mankind itself tears it down by force.
When the final bell finally rung, the class gathered their belongings and headed out the door, then to their lockers where they would mingle around talking about what they were doing for the weekend, and if there were any good keg-parties going down. The warning bell would then ring, and some of the students would rush out to the big yellow monsters in the front of the school. Those with their own cars--which consisted of the entire upperclassmen--had the privilege of driving themselves home.
Bobby was about to walk out the door, when Mr. Andrews stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going, Mr. Johnson? I believe I was quite clear when I told you to stay after for detention.”
“Can I at least go to the bathroom first?” Bobby blurted out.
Mr. Andrews hesitated for several seconds, and then smiled a curiously evil smile that Bobby would only figure out in the future. “Yes, Mr. Johnson. Of course.”
As he walked out towards his car--a Cincinnati Red Firebird, complete with a two-foot high spoiler in the back--with his three friends, Bobby didn’t tell them about him skipping his detention. He’d probably tell Karl if they were alone later, but he couldn’t tell Maggie and Jenna, and especially Jenna. She was a stickler when it came to academics, thanks to her mom, who was an 8th grade science teacher at Jensonville Middle School. He quickly dropped Maggie and Jenna off at their respective houses, and then he and Karl headed back to Bobby’s, so he could quickly dress for his game.
“Why the hell is the game an hour after school anyway?” Karl asked as they pulled up into Bobby’s driveway.
“I don’t know, but it’s stupid. The coach doesn’t do anything but sit around home all day while his wife works at some office downtown. I guess he thinks everyone else has as much time as he does,” Bobby replied. “Just stay here, I’ll be back out in a few minutes.” Bobby left the car running, and then ran inside to get dressed.
His aunt Katie was reading a book at the dining room table, a half-empty bottle of Miller Light to her right and a bag of Funyuns on her left. “Is it Miller-Time already?” Bobby joked as she turned around in her chair to greet him.
“Funny, Bobby-O. You won’t be saying that when you’re old enough to drink. I can assure you that. When does your game start? I want to come and watch.”
“It starts in less than one hour,” Bobby yelled while climbing up the stairs to his bedroom. He dressed in roughly five minutes, probably even less, and ran back downstairs to kiss his aunt goodbye. “So you’re coming to the game? You don’t have errands to run this evening?”
“No, not tonight. But tomorrow afternoon I’m going to have to head into Greendale for some business. That’s why I want to make sure I come see you today.”
“Cool. I gotta run though, don’t wanna be late. See ya’!”
“Bye-bye, Bobby. Good luck!”
Bobby smiled and waved, and then ran out to his car, where he found Karl dancing ridiculously to some even more ridiculous music. Bobby just smiled and shook his head.
As his teacher continued to babble along to the class, Bobby Johnson continued to stare outside the window to his left. His attention as usual wasn’t directed towards his math teacher, but rather outside the window to his left. It was finally Friday, and Bobby was supposed to have a baseball game after school, but the weathermen were calling for a sixty-percent chance of rain. Then again, the weathermen were what Bobby’s aunt called ‘Professional Guessers’. Bobby thought she had a point, because a lot of times they were wrong. Either way it didn’t matter, he was still nervous all the same.
“Robert!” At the sound of Mr. Franco’s shrill voice, Bobby jumped so much he almost fell out of his chair. The entire class laughed loudly, except for Mr. Franco. He had a frown upon his old Latino face, his thick, black mustache making him look even more menacing than he already was. “See anything out there, hmm?” He asked sarcastically. Bobby shook his head, embarrassed by all the laughing, and Mr. Franco continued the lesson.
Bobby shot his best friend a look, and Karl Williams just smiled and shook his head. Karl wasn’t paying attention to what was going on either, but that’s because he didn’t need to. To Bobby, Karl was a genius. He literally taught himself every lesson, for several reasons. One being that he actually could get away with it and still pass the tests with A’s, and also because he couldn’t stand Mr. Franco as a teacher. What he did every class was he used his laptop to surf the net for random stuff, because at Jensonville High School the students were allowed to bring their laptops to school. Most schools in southwestern Indiana didn’t allow that. Whenever Mr. Franco began to walk around the class to make sure everyone was taking notes in some form, Karl would always quickly minimize whatever internet page he was on, and would then bring up a page of pre-written notes on the lesson. Bobby absolutely admired that.
After a few minutes the lesson was over, and the students were given the last few minutes to begin their homework assignment. To most, the assignment was fairly easy: numbers 1-25, and only the even numbers. (The answers to the odd problems could always be found in the back of the book, and Mr. Franco hated that) But to Bobby, any math assignment was a hard assignment. That’s because the only thing Bobby cared about what writing, reading, and baseball. Though, it is ironic that Bobby doesn’t enjoy English class, only because he couldn’t stand his teacher. The teacherm, Mr. Edwards, was a jerk to Bobby. He knew this because Mr. Edwards was jealous of Bobby’s aunt’s published novels. His aunt Katie wasn’t even really much of a locally known author, but Mr. Edwards was still jealous. This was especially clear during the first-of-the-year Open House three weeks ago. Bobby’ aunt and Mr. Edwards had gotten into a friendly argument about several authors. He explained that he was trying to get a novel published, and that’s when Bobby’s aunt had chimed in that she had already gotten three of her novels published within the past eight years. She didn’t mean in it in demeaning way, but that’s definitely the way Mr. Edwards took it.
Thankfully for Bobby, the class was allowed to work on the homework assignment in groups of two, and no more than two. He obviously paired up with Karl, and the boy genius explained what was going on, as he did with every lesion. Just like Karl, Bobby couldn’t stand Mr. Franco.
“It’s really not that difficult Bobby, you just have to focus is all,” Karl said. “If it makes it easier for you, try to implement math with baseball. I know that sounds a tad bit stupid, but it does tend to help most of the time…..mixing mat with something that interests you I mean.”
“Yeah, well….I’m never going to use this crap once we graduate, so what’s the point?” Bobby protested. “I mean…when have you actually used this outside of school, Karl? And tell the truth.”
Before Karl could answer the lunch-bell rang, and everyone quickly gathered their belongings and headed out towards the cafeteria down the hall. Karl and Bobby were the last ones out, but before Bobby could even leave Mr. Franco stopped him. “Take a seat, Robert. There’s something you and I need to discuss.”
“But it’s lunchtime! I don’t want to be late!” Bobby exclaimed. He really didn’t care that it was lunchtime, since he never ate anyway. He was just angry that Mr. Franco always insisted on calling him ‘Robert’, even when Bobby told him he didn’t like it.
“It’ll only take a few minutes, Robert. Just sit down, please.”
Bobby looked at Karl, who simply shrugged his shoulders and walked outside to wait. Karl never ate anything during lunch either. To them, school food sucked, and they weren’t about to start bringing their lunches like little kids. Bobby sighed and sat back down in his seat. Mr. Franco closed the door, and then sat down in the seat next to Bobby.
“What’s wrong with you, Robert?”
“Huh? What do you mean what’s wrong with me?”
Mr. Franco chuckled slightly. “Isn’t it obvious? Ever since the first day I’ve had to tell you to get your head out of the clouds, every single day. As much as I hate to say it, Robert, within less than a month you’ve already made it to my bad list. Why is this? Why won’t you pay attention?”
Bobby looked away from Mr. Franco and just stared at the ground for a couple of seconds. He wanted to tell him that truth, that he didn’t care for mathematics and that it wasn’t going to do him a bit of good in the real world. Especially ‘crap’ like Calculus. “I don’t know…it just doesn’t interest me,” he muttered, still looking at the blue-tiled floor.
Mr. Franco chuckled again, this time louder, and with a more warming tone. Bobby finally looked at him, and realized that he didn’t look as mad as he sounded. “Robert…there’s no doubt in my mind that this doesn’t interest you. According to your past teacher you’re quite the budding author. That’s very good to hear, but you must pay as much attention in my class as you do in your reading and writing classes. We’re only three weeks in and already you have a C in my class. I realize a C isn’t an F, but it very well could be if you keep up your current habits. I’d like you to start trying more, alright?” Then he added slyly, “And I know Karl is basically telling you want to do on homework assignments. What are you going to do this coming Monday during the test? He won’t be able to help you then.”
“I’ll be okay, Mr. Franco. I’ll just have to study a lot this weekend.”
Mr. Franco shook his head in disgust, but still kept a warm expression spread about his face. Bobby was thankful for that. “That sounds well enough, but will you study? I doubt it. You’re probably thinking about going outside and playing baseball, or writing something.”
Bobby didn’t immediately make any kind of response, because he knew his teacher was right, at least partially that is. Bobby didn’t like making bad grades, but it was true that he’d much rather be playing outside or writing a good story, or reading one of Stephen King’s books. Of course, he didn’t want to tell that to his teacher’s face, especially after the kindness Mr. Franco had been showing him. It was a relief to Bobby, and he started to think that perhaps Mr. Franco wasn’t half-bad after all. At least he wasn’t as bad as Mr. Edwards.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Franco. I’ll pay more attention from now on, and I promise I’ll study this weekend.”
Mr. Franco beamed with happiness, for the mean time satisfied. “Good, I’m glad to hear it. Though I would study with Karl if I were you. The boy does know what he’s doing, that’s for sure, even if he’s surfing through the internet the entire class.”
Bobby looked up at his teacher, who was about to burst with laughter. Bobby didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just gave him an awkward grin as if he didn’t know what he was talking about. Then Mr. Franco added, “What, you think I’m as dumb as I look? I know Karl doesn’t usually pay attention to my lessons, and that’s I guess. Some people are able to teach themselves outside of school, but you, Bobby, cannot. I expect to see a lot of changes from you. Alright? Now… get out of here!” he said with a smile.
Bobby got up and walked out of the room, his opinion of Mr. Franco having been totally changed.
“I say we go to the movies. Sebastion’s Abode is gonna go off the screens soon, so we should see it before it does,” Maggie Dunham said in between bites of her baby-carrots. She wasn’t fat, but she wasn’t skinny either. That’s the way Bobby saw her at least, sort of in the middle.
“I don’t know…isn’t that movie about magical fairies and all that stupid stuff?”
“No!” Maggie yelled. “It’s not stupid. And there aren’t any fairies at all. Who told you that?”
Bobby looked at Karl, and the both of them busted out laughing. On Bobby’s left, Jenny was concentrating on an art sketch, one that was due the next class period in fifteen minutes. Jenny was an extremely good artist. She could draw and paint like no other. Bobby figured she’d get hundreds of offers from art schools around the country. He always thought she was good enough to obtain scholarships.
“Don’t listen to Karl, Bobby, he doesn’t know what a good movie is anyway. All he knows is how to play computer games.”
After finally gaining control of himself, Karl said, “Yeah, well at least my games don’t have fairies with orange hair like your movie does!”
“They’re not fairies! The Deladryn are a species of elves, and they have nothing to do with fairies!”
The four at the table were starting to receive weird stares from the crowded cafeteria around them, but they didn’t care. “Okay, elves are so much better,” Karl replied, rolling his eyes.
Bobby didn’t really mind elves, because he once read a novel called Tales of the Vespic Horizon that dealt with many fantasy creatures, including elves. Bobby wasn’t much of a fantasy-fiction fan, but he read that one because Maggie kept bugging him to. His aunt absolutely hated fantasy, but she found the novel rather interesting as well.
“I don’t know, guys…the movies don’t sound that good to me anyway. I’ll be dirty after my game and I really don’t want to have to go home and take a shower. How about we just get something to eat instead?”
Karl and Maggie seemed to like the idea, because both of them shrugged their shoulders and nodded. Jenny liked the idea exceptionally, because she suddenly snapped out of her artistic trance and offered a suggestion, her long, bright red hair fluttering across her green eyes as her head flicked up from her work. “How about the Spaghetti Factory? We haven’t been there in a while. Plus it’s cheap, and I don’t have a whole lot of money right now as it is.”
They all four agreed that the Spaghetti Factory was a wonderful suggestion. It was an old gigantic parlor downtown, and they served all kinds of Italian food. Naturally, their most popular dish was spaghetti, and that’s what Bobby ordered every time. Except he always ordered meatballs and garlic bread too, because their garlic bread was so soft and flavorful. Bobby was a huge eater, as the other three were quite aware of, but thankfully for him he had a fast metabolism. This was a mixture of him playing sports all the time, along with his aunt’s beckoning for him to stay in shape throughout the entire year.
Soon the bell rang, signaling to the students that they had ten minutes in order to get to class on time. Jensonville High was tremendously strict on their tardy policy, especially during lunch. Those who were late to class, or what caught skipping class altogether, were subject to Saturday School, in which they had to come into the school library on Saturday from 8am in the morning until 4pm in the afternoon. The students minded the policy well enough because of the harsh consequences, but there were always at least a dozen or so students who wanted to be the rebels. Jensonville High was home to about fifteen-hundred kids, so it wasn’t as big as some of the other schools in southwestern Indiana.
Bobby said goodbye to his friends and headed to English class, where he would undoubtedly face off against Mr. Edwards once again. It was almost a daily ritual, and the students knew it. Nobody talked to Bobby that much, or at least Bobby didn’t say anything since he was so shy around people other than his friends, but everyone in the classroom was literally waiting on the edge of their seat to see what would happen between Bobby and Mr. Edwards. It usually began towards the middle of class, when the teacher would begin his lectures. Bobby would either be reading a book, or jotting down ideas for his own stories. Mr. Edwards would say something smart, and then Bobby would return the favor. It would then go back and forth for a little bit, but not too long. Sometimes the arguments got personal and somewhat malicious, but the two never reported one another to the principal or anything like that. Mr. Edwards, though he would never openly admit it, knew he hated Bobby because of his aunt’s published books and apparent skill in the use of writing. But also, deep down inside, Mr. Edwards knew Bobby had tons of potential, and that made him jealous as well.
Bobby never told the principal simply because he didn’t want to. The arguments actually interested him sometimes, because at least it was a break from the normally dull class Mr. Edwards taught. Besides, Bobby knew Mr. Edwards would never hurt his feelings, because he did not care about his teacher whatsoever, and the feeling as definitely mutual. Mr. Edwards wasn’t really a popular person with the faculty either. He had a knack for pissing people off with his sarcasm and elitist attitude. The students didn’t particularly like him either, but nobody stood up to him like Bobby did. In a way, it was as if Bobby somehow knew Mr. Edwards would never tell on him, because in the end the teacher’s anger always stemmed from either Bobby or his aunt’s writing skills.
“Sit down and get your homework assignment,” Mr. Edwards snapped as soon as the tardy bell was done ringing. “Open up your books to page 121, and have your papers on your desk. I’ll come around to make sure you actually did them.”
The students got out their papers and waited for the teacher to check them off of his clipboard, while Bobby groaned and looked up at the ceiling, closing his eyes and wishing he could go back one day in time. For the second time that week Bobby had forgotten to do his homework. And this time he didn’t forget it on purpose. As of now he was making a C+ in the class, but he knew Mr. Edwards was looking for any reason to bring him down. Now he had his chance.
“Where’s your paper, Mr. Johnson?” Mr. Edwards asked sarcastically, with a high tone that everyone in the class knew was the prologue to the daily dispute. “Don’t tell me you didn’t do your homework again…”
Bobby opened he eyes and looked at Mr. Edwards. He could almost see the devilish smirk across his face. It was something that he had come to expect from his teacher. Every time he was about to say something, Bobby would see his eyes light up with excitement, his mouth drooling with anticipation of yet another potential embarrassing moment for Robert Joseph Johnson III. But he wasn’t about to embarrass Bobby, nor would he ever. There was a great possibility that Mr. Edwards was aware of this, but there are times when a man or woman simply cannot cease with a certain something. That certain something is usually quite personal and special to that certain someone. For Mr. Edwards, it was his narcissistic pride.
“Nope…I don’t have it. Sorry,” Bobby responded nonchalantly, crossing his arms and looking Mr. Edwards, just hoping to rattle with his brain.
Mr. Edwards put a mark on his clipboard next to Bobby’s name and said--loud enough for the class to hear, even though they were already listen attentively-- “I would like to see you after school today, Mr. Johnson. I’m giving you an hour of detention. Your pathetic academic habits are already getting old, and this is only the third week. I think I need to nip them in the bud now before they worsen.”
Bobby’s draw dropped, as did his pen to the floor, hitting his left foot and rolling towards the wall to his left. “But I have a baseball game an hour after school!”
“That’s not my problem. You shouldn’t have purposely forgotten the assignment.”
“I didn’t forget it on purpose! It just…slipped my mind.”
Mr. Edwards rolled his eyes and continued down the row of students. “Right, and what if I let it slip my mind that I was supposed to give you credit for a major assignment, and because of my disgraceful lack of memory you ended up with an F in this class? How would you feel about that, Mr. Johnson?”
Bobby opened his mouth to answer, but Mr. Edwards didn’t give him time to. “Obviously you would be rather upset, am I right? But how could you be upset with me? I simply forgot, just as you have done with this assignment,” he said sardonically. The class began to giggle, and he sat down at his desk and began to look over the papers he had collected. Bobby was still sitting in his chair, his jaw still open, utterly taken back by what just happened. It was rare that Mr. Edwards got the last word--because Bobby was very skillful with his comebacks--but this time it appeared to have happened. He crossed him arms and glared towards his teacher. There was no way in hell he was missing his game.
After a few minutes, Mr. Edwards rose from his desk and began to write furiously on the chalkboard. It seemed his daily quarrel with Bobby was over, much to the dismay of the classroom. However, Bobby himself wasn’t too interested in arguing anymore. Throughout all of their disputes, Mr. Andrews had never really reprimanded Bobby for anything. It was only a warring of words, with no later consequences. But now all of a sudden he wanted Bobby to stay after school for detention, and Bobby didn’t like that one bit. Mr. Andrews was taking the war to a higher level, and Bobby knew he would have to as well.
“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” Mr. Andrews began, his back still facing the class. “Born in Russia in 1821…”
But like always, Bobby didn’t care what the man had to say, even if Dostoevsky was an interesting topic. Bobby would rather piss his teacher off then listen and take notes on something that interested him. That was the type of revulsion Bobby felt for Mr. Andrews, and vice versa. And that level of hatred would only grow, just like a tree. And also like a tree, it would only continue to grow until either the howling winds bring it crashing down, or mankind itself tears it down by force.
When the final bell finally rung, the class gathered their belongings and headed out the door, then to their lockers where they would mingle around talking about what they were doing for the weekend, and if there were any good keg-parties going down. The warning bell would then ring, and some of the students would rush out to the big yellow monsters in the front of the school. Those with their own cars--which consisted of the entire upperclassmen--had the privilege of driving themselves home.
Bobby was about to walk out the door, when Mr. Andrews stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going, Mr. Johnson? I believe I was quite clear when I told you to stay after for detention.”
“Can I at least go to the bathroom first?” Bobby blurted out.
Mr. Andrews hesitated for several seconds, and then smiled a curiously evil smile that Bobby would only figure out in the future. “Yes, Mr. Johnson. Of course.”
As he walked out towards his car--a Cincinnati Red Firebird, complete with a two-foot high spoiler in the back--with his three friends, Bobby didn’t tell them about him skipping his detention. He’d probably tell Karl if they were alone later, but he couldn’t tell Maggie and Jenna, and especially Jenna. She was a stickler when it came to academics, thanks to her mom, who was an 8th grade science teacher at Jensonville Middle School. He quickly dropped Maggie and Jenna off at their respective houses, and then he and Karl headed back to Bobby’s, so he could quickly dress for his game.
“Why the hell is the game an hour after school anyway?” Karl asked as they pulled up into Bobby’s driveway.
“I don’t know, but it’s stupid. The coach doesn’t do anything but sit around home all day while his wife works at some office downtown. I guess he thinks everyone else has as much time as he does,” Bobby replied. “Just stay here, I’ll be back out in a few minutes.” Bobby left the car running, and then ran inside to get dressed.
His aunt Katie was reading a book at the dining room table, a half-empty bottle of Miller Light to her right and a bag of Funyuns on her left. “Is it Miller-Time already?” Bobby joked as she turned around in her chair to greet him.
“Funny, Bobby-O. You won’t be saying that when you’re old enough to drink. I can assure you that. When does your game start? I want to come and watch.”
“It starts in less than one hour,” Bobby yelled while climbing up the stairs to his bedroom. He dressed in roughly five minutes, probably even less, and ran back downstairs to kiss his aunt goodbye. “So you’re coming to the game? You don’t have errands to run this evening?”
“No, not tonight. But tomorrow afternoon I’m going to have to head into Greendale for some business. That’s why I want to make sure I come see you today.”
“Cool. I gotta run though, don’t wanna be late. See ya’!”
“Bye-bye, Bobby. Good luck!”
Bobby smiled and waved, and then ran out to his car, where he found Karl dancing ridiculously to some even more ridiculous music. Bobby just smiled and shook his head.