Southern Girl

by Lukas,Renee J.

  Jesse sat beside a girl she’d seen last year with whom she hadn’t talked much. At lunch she sat with another girl who, like her, didn’t wear a lot of girly blouses. Later, she sat with a girl whom no one else was talking to. This bothered her, so she introduced herself. The girl was nice, not rude or stuck-up. But at the end of the day, nobody measured up. No one was her. And no one would ever be.

  In grade school, a day equals an eternity. So, after one or two days of failing to find a suitable best friend, Jesse gave up and turned her attention to getting a boyfriend instead. Grade school was a place where you could be single in the morning and practically married by afternoon. It wasn’t unusual for eight- and nine-year-olds to be coupled off in every class. After all, shoveling cow and horse manure eventually got boring, so naturally they needed other interests to occupy themselves.

  Jesse’s desk was next to Randy Billings’ desk. Randy was a cute boy who always wore a green baseball hat. Girls liked him for his dark hair and blue eyes and a light smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose. Since they were desk mates, Jesse got to talk to him. That was exciting. One day just two weeks into the school year, Randy was showing Jesse some funny stickers on his lunch box. They were both laughing, but Jesse was the louder one, so Ms. Fitzler called out her name.

  “Jesse Aimes!” She double-checked her roll book to make sure she had her name right. “Come on back here.” Ms. Fitzler waited, almost vibrating with emotion, at her desk at the back of the room.

  Jesse slowly got up and went to her, a lamb headed for slaughter. The teacher’s face seemed to grow more keyed up as she approached; this wasn’t going to be good.

  When Jesse arrived at her desk, Ms. Fitzler reached down into one of her deeper desk drawers, pulled out a rough slab of wood and presented it to her.

  Was she going to get paddled? That would be so humiliating, especially in front of Randy Billings.

  “Take this,” she said, handing it over.

  It was a heavy piece of unfinished, splintery wood with uneven grooves all over one side and a little smoother surface on the other.

  “Put it there.” The teacher pointed to the carpet in the corner at the back of the room. “Grooves up!”

  Jesse set the slab down, looking puzzled at the teacher. If she wanted it on the floor, she wasn’t planning to hit her with it or so it seemed.

  “Kneel,” Ms. Fitzler commanded. “Away from the class.”

  Jesse started to kneel on the carpet.

  “On the wood!” Ms. Fitzler turned purple.

  Jesse did as she was told, immediately regretting her decision to wear light cotton blue pants. The material was so thin she could feel the splinters digging deeply into both of her knees.

  Ms. Fitzler began a social studies lesson, while Jesse kneeled, facing away from everyone else for what seemed longer than an hour. When the bell rang for the end of school, Ms. Fitzler waited a few minutes to put some things away on her desk before telling Jesse she could stand up again. When she did, it was with a casual “okay now” and the briefest of glances in Jesse’s direction.

  Her dismissive attitude was more insulting than the punishment. When Jesse tried to stand up, her knees were so sore she couldn’t jump up and leave as fast as she wanted to. Instead, she slowly rose to an upright stance and cast a quick look down at the pinprick-size holes the wood had bored into her brand-new pants and the dried remnants of the blood that had penetrated the fabric. She was angry now, filled with a rage so deep she couldn’t speak. She hobbled over to the coatrack, pulled down her jacket, grabbed some books out of her desk for homework and limped toward the door, fuming about being powerless and under the control of adults, who didn’t always know everything.

  “Have a good night,” Ms. Fitzler said.

  Was she crazy? Didn’t she remember that Jesse was the girl she had just tortured? Jesse wasn’t the kind of girl who could be abused, or even slighted, and would forget everything the next day, as if starting afresh with a blank slate. Despite the call for “forgiving our enemies” in church, Jesse never forgave or forgot. She was going to remember everything about this and for a long time.

  “Yeah, right,” she muttered sarcastically.

  “What was that?” the teacher asked. Did she have another punishment ready?

  “Nothin’.” Jesse was mad, but she wasn’t stupid. She shuffled out with her head down, fighting back the urge to cry. The last thing she wanted to do was give that poodle head the satisfaction of her tears.

  Chapter Ten

  The bus for grade school didn’t come out as far as the Aimes’ house in the country. So Carolyn picked her kids up from school every day at the curb out front, right under the Tipton Elementary School sign. The school was named for George L. Tipton, a man whose only claim to fame was getting run over by his own tractor. It wasn’t an easy thing to pull off, but somehow he did it, and it killed him. They had held a memorial service, honoring him as a revered member of the farming community, but it didn’t seem like quite enough, so they named a school after him. In Greens Fork being the victim of a freak accident was a sure way to get on the fast track to immortality.

  Carolyn had had to wait longer than usual today. First, Ivy climbed inside. She’d obviously had a great day, but she didn’t want to discuss it, blushing when her mother asked about it. Carolyn tipped the rear-view mirror to watch her eldest child’s facial expressions in the backseat. When Ivy opted to cover her face with a folder and pretended to look out the window, Carolyn smiled to herself and left her alone.

  Next came Danny, who took the front seat. Today he wore the button-down shirt his mother had insisted on after a long lecture about how he was going to try harder this year. When she asked him about his day, he shrugged and said, “It was okay.” She fought to get details out of him, but according to Danny, not much had occurred between the hours of eight and three. The only evidence that something had, in fact, happened was the dried milk mustache above his lip.

  Several minutes had gone by and there was still no sign of Jesse. Cars were scooting around Carolyn’s Chrysler Cordoba as she waited. She began to feel very conspicuous and rude, even though the other drivers had equally long, seventies-style cars.

  She and Dan had fought over their latest family car, because Carolyn had said it reminded her of a pimp’s car. Dan was outraged, insisting it was a “good ol’ American family car.” So Carolyn sat in the Cordoba, wishing she could find her sunglasses so no one she knew would recognize her behind the wheel.

  At long last she saw her younger daughter inching toward the car with bloodied knees.

  “What!” Carolyn gasped.

  “Ooh,” Danny marveled. “Jesse got in a fight!”

  “It must’ve been an accident,” Carolyn said, undoing her seat belt and rushing outside.

  When she put her arm around Jesse, a flood of tears betrayed the young girl, leaving imprints of streaks on her cheeks. “I hate school, Mama!” she cried. “I’m never going back.” She went to the car and slammed the backseat door.

  Carolyn rushed around to the car and drove away from the curb into the main parking lot. She turned off the engine and looked at Jesse.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “My teacher made me kneel on a board for hours!”

  Danny’s eyes widened. “Awesome.”

  “Stop it!” Carolyn scolded. “That’s enough out of you, Mister.” He knew he would be in serious trouble later. He always became a “mister” before he was punished.

  Carolyn faced the windshield, taking a slow, deep breath. It was a little frightening to the kids because they didn’t know why she was doing that. She tried to keep calm, but when she spoke…

  “Which…what teacher was this?” she asked in an unusually high-pitched voice.

  “Ms. Fitzler.” Jesse crossed her arms and scowled at the floor of the deep maroon Cordoba interior.

  “Wait here,” Carolyn told Danny and Ivy, then she yanked the keys out of the
ignition, grabbed her purse and got out of the car.

  “No, Mama!” Jesse hollered. Her mother opened the backseat door, took Jesse’s hand and marched toward the school with her.

  Carolyn was outraged. Every step of the way, Jesse begged her not to make trouble because she was afraid it would put a target on her back.

  Inside was the smell of construction paper and cafeteria floor cleaner. Ms. Fitzler’s room was dead ahead. The light was still on in the room. It was too late to turn back now…

  Carolyn didn’t knock. She burst in, holding Jesse’s hand. Ms. Fitzler looked up from her desk where she was grading papers. She saw the sight of an angry mother gesturing to her daughter’s bloody knees.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Carolyn was so upset her voice was breathy.

  Ms. Fitzler showed her the wooden board, still on the floor. “I don’t take this out for first offenses,” she said.

  “What are you talking about?” Carolyn was beside herself.

  “Jesse has repeatedly disrupted my class, and the third or fourth time I believe in discipline.”

  Jesse watched in shock as the teacher lied so coolly. But she was paralyzed, unable to defend herself.

  “What has she done?” Carolyn demanded.

  Ms. Fitzler sat back in her seat, remaining calm and unflappable. “If there’s something funny in class, Jesse will laugh at it.”

  Uh-oh. This wasn’t looking good.

  “Is there something wrong with having a sense of humor?” Carolyn snapped.

  Jesse was reassured and surprised that her mother was defending her.

  “Everything in moderation, Ms. Aimes.”

  Carolyn pointed to Jesse’s knees. “You call this moderation?”

  “Look, I really—”

  “How are her grades?” Carolyn asked.

  “Fine.”

  “She’s doing well then?” Carolyn’s glare was focused on her with laser precision.

  “Yes.”

  “So she isn’t a bad student but she…laughs? Tell me what great sin she’s committed that’s worthy of this?”

  Jesse was frightened of what would happen to her tomorrow.

  “A good teacher has to maintain some level of order and—”

  “Tell me you have something better to complain about than laughter.” Carolyn’s mouth was so tight, her knuckles now white on the doorknob, ready to take her case to a higher power.

  “Ms. Aimes, you can’t control thirty students without discipline.”

  “If this barbaric, whatever this is, is what you consider reasonable discipline, you have no business being a teacher!” She opened the door.

  “If you want your daughter to grow up spoiled and entitled, fine. I won’t touch her.”

  “You’ve got that right!” Carolyn pushed Jesse out the door first.

  To Jesse, Ms. Fitzler didn’t look quite so controlled anymore. Something was amiss. Was she afraid? Jesse followed her mother’s fast traveling nylons. They were all she could see in this blur of fury. The next stop was the principal’s office.

  Carolyn pulled Jesse behind her, but the girl was barely able to keep up with her pace.

  The elementary school was considered to have the most modern architecture in town. But to Jesse, it was actually a maze of thin brown Berber carpet. In fact, everything was brown, including the outside bricks and posts that lined the walkway to the entrance. The school was spread out, all one level, with clusters of rooms grouped together by grade. Even the windows in the classrooms were different than the typical square ones in their farmhouse. They were floor-to-ceiling, narrow panes of glass that always comprised part of a corner of a classroom. The contemporary design unfortunately didn’t include enough signs to show you where you were going, and Carolyn’s breath became more ragged as she tried to find the hall leading to the office.

  All the way there, she kept muttering something about giving someone a piece of her mind. Jesse knew this was going to be much worse than the lobster incident. Why was she always the one who got to have a front-row seat for her mother’s meltdowns?

  Mr. Thurber, the principal, was a balding guy who, like the school, wore a brown suit every day. Carolyn already knew that he was a Southern good ol’ boy who didn’t like to ripple the waters. He seemed to enjoy his easy job of getting coffee and making occasional announcements about early dismissal over the intercom. Angry mothers were surely his least favorite part of the job description.

  Mr. Thurber was putting on his jacket to leave when Carolyn blew past the secretary and into his office.

  “Hello?” He was surprised to see a woman so bold, plowing into his office unannounced. “What can I do for you?” He sat down immediately, unbuttoning his jacket over his potbelly.

  “Ms. Fitzler’s method of punishment is unacceptable,” Carolyn said firmly.

  “Please, have a seat.” He smiled warmly.

  “Thank you, but I’d rather not.” She crossed her hands in front of her over her purse strap while Jesse clung to her side.

  Mr. Thurber sat back in his chair, feigning relaxation. “I certainly apologize for anything she may have done.”

  “Look at this!” Carolyn tugged at the ripped material over one of Jesse’s knees. It burned a little as the material slid across her raw skin.

  He leaned forward. “My, my…well, I’ll tell you, she’s new at this. She just got her degree, and she’s kinda learnin’ the ropes.” His tone was apologetic.

  “I don’t want her learning the ropes on my daughter!” Carolyn barked.

  Jesse knew instinctively that her mother’s direct approach didn’t sit too well with most people in town. Her father had always said, “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” It seemed to be the town motto, and her mother needed more practice with that. She seemed to prefer a sledgehammer to honey.

  “No, no. Course not.” He tried to sound agreeable, but it seemed forced.

  “Where did she go to school?”

  “I can assure you, she went to a good school. She’s just new is all.” He turned a pencil in between his fingertips and sat back, a relaxed posture that provoked her.

  “Mr. Thurber, do you know that she has a rough piece of wood that she makes students kneel on?”

  If he was surprised, he didn’t show it.

  “I am here,” she continued, “because I want to make sure she never lays a hand on my daughter again! She doesn’t deserve…”

  Mr. Thurber held up his hands. “What was your daughter’s name again?” He flipped through a folder on his desk.

  “Jesse Aimes.” Carolyn was irritated that he couldn’t remember her name in a town this small. And that he didn’t remember her from the discussion she’d had with him last year about Danny’s chewing gum incident.

  Mr. Thurber’s posture tensed immediately. “Of course not,” he said. “No daughter of a preacher deserves that kind of treatment.”

  “Or any child,” Carolyn added.

  “’Course not,” he repeated. “I think we have an opening in Ms. Pringle’s class. She’s the most experienced, been here ten years. Never heard one complaint.” He offered an awkward smile.

  Jesse stared at Mr. Thurber’s shiny shoes as he opened the door to let them out. He handed her a lollipop, hoping to score some points with the preacher’s wife. Jesse thought he was only being nice to her because she was a preacher’s daughter. She didn’t like that. She wanted to tell him that all she did was laugh. She didn’t beat anybody up or leave gum on the carpet. And she didn’t even write that nasty poem someone scratched on the wall about Ms. Drucker. You had to give whoever did it credit for rhyming properly though.

  On the way out, Jesse expressed her outrage to her mother.

  “I wanna tell him I didn’t do nothing,” she argued.

  “Anything,” Carolyn corrected. “You didn’t do anything. It doesn’t matter anyway. The less said, the better.” She squeezed her daughter’s hand so tightly as they made their way to the fron
t doors that she nearly cut off her blood supply. “Obviously Ms. Fitzler doesn’t go to our church.” This was the first time Jesse remembered hearing her mother have a sense of entitlement, being the preacher’s wife. After so long being an outsider herself, maybe she was ready to embrace her role.

  In spite of her wounded knees and miserable day, Jesse was sad at the thought of being transferred into another class. She’d have to make new friends all over again. And, worst of all, Randy Billings wouldn’t be in that class.

  Chapter Eleven

  Fourth grade…

  Nothing could destroy your love life faster than “checking for lice” day, as Jesse would soon discover. These checks had become relatively routine. When it was Jesse’s turn, the teacher called her back to a chair and tickled her head with a pencil. Usually this took a few seconds and she’d be on her way. However, on this day, the teacher called over another teacher to look at her head. Not a good sign. Especially not good if you were someone like Jesse, who had a boyfriend. A bad lice diagnosis could kill any relationship. If two teachers were required to look at your head, it meant there was something questionable going on.

  It turned out to be nothing more than a bit of white fuzz, but the damage had been done: for the rest of the year, she would be known as “lice girl.” Her fourth-grade boyfriend, Jimmy-Joe Riley, broke up with her that day at lunch.

  She took the breakup in stride; she had her eye on someone else anyway. In fact, Jesse had had a different boyfriend in every grade so far.

  In first grade, she’d dragged Eric Underwood under her desk at rest period to practice kissing. She was curious about things and chose unsuspecting boys to experiment on. When he pressed his lips to hers…