by Jason Conley
Carissa opened her locker exposing a mess of crumpled papers and half stacked books. Carissa rummaged through the mini-dump with pin point accuracy. She figured if she cleaned the locker I wouldn’t be able to find a god damn thing. She pulled out a small thick book. English. What a waste of time. Carissa loved books, hated English. Writing a two page paper on one page story seemed ridiculous to her. Although she did well, every minute of time spent in that class was complete agony.
The teacher did not help, either. Carissa hated her. The voice, the way she looked, and generally everything else about Mrs. Shelton disgusted her. Carissa did not know why, but there was something about this woman that made her cringe at the slightest sound of her voice.
“Hey,” someone said from behind. Carissa turned and a girl dressed much like her stood behind with a glassy look in her eyes. It was April. Carissa and April had become friends shortly after Destiny felt it was far too exhausting to attempt to continue their “unnecessary” relationship.
April was a party girl in the truest sense. Fun was her motto, one could say. She never did her school work, she always skipped class, and she did not come to school unless she was stoned. April was a good person, even though some thought different. She would always talk to people and if they were nice so was she. She was not promiscuous and she never tried to be something she was not. She came from a rather rich family, but she never let it show. She had little in the area of “enemies” and always helped people when she could. She was just, well, non-academic.
“Hey, what’s up,” Carissa said as she closed her locker.
“Nothin’. Heard you freaked out some kid on the bus.”
“News travels fast.”
“Don’t worry about it. That was David. He’s in my science class. Last week, we were teamed together on a project and he tripped, man. He started talking about it was against morality or some shit. A real head case,” April said. “Idea!” Pointing two fingers at Carissa, “Let’s go show him our tits,” April said letting out a soft, choppy laugh.
“He’d probably shit his pants.” They both laughed.
“Oh my Gosh. Look at her hair,” they heard from the crowd. Then as if on cue, several girls started to giggle…more like courteously cackling.
Carissa turned. Her eyes locked with Destiny’s. Destiny and her “posse” looked like they should all be Kardashians. The resting bitch faces were strong in their group. They all had the same color hair (this week it was brown with a bright red tinge) and looked like sticks. Their cheeks shallow. This group gave strong evidence for anorexia to be recognized as a communicable disease.
Destiny stood square in the center of the group, proud of what she thought was a witty verbal gut shot. Carissa noticed a small imperfection above Destiny’s lip and loaded her cannon. “Oh my Gosh,” Carissa yelled mocking the girls, “Destiny has herpes.” Destiny’s smile vanished quickly. She put her hand over her mouth and turned her head down. Her minions looked to her for guidance but Destiny was never one for quick reaction.
Carissa and April began to walk away, thinking the encounter was over. Destiny could not let it go. She could not just lick her wounds and still be the leader of the pack. Destiny had to show the crowd that insubordination could not be tolerated, especially from “common trash”. “Bitch,” Destiny said, confidence clearly waned.
Carissa turned back to Destiny, smirk back in full force. Carissa began toward her in a slow stride then in a jog as she got closer. She stopped inches away from Destiny’s face. “What did you say, Cunt?”
Destiny looked into Carissa eyes. She knew she just stepped too far out because popularity cannot stop a fist. Destiny’s expression changed from confidence to oh, fuck I am going to get my ass kicked. Destiny said nothing. She was hoping that Carissa would not hit her. Carissa had held back every other time. Destiny was not sure this time would be different.
“Huh, what did you say?” Carissa was close enough that Destiny felt the splash of Carissa’s breathe on her lips. Still Destiny had no reply. Carissa stood completely still. Destiny’s heart raced as the adrenaline flowed in her veins. There was no fight, only flight crossed her mind. Then Carissa raised her hand quick as if she were going to hit the girl. Destiny flinched. Then, Carissa brushed her shoulder. “You know they make shampoo for that,” Carissa said as she turned back to April.
Destiny’s fear turned to humiliation. She could feel the eyes in the hall fixating on her. She heard April’s laugh echo off the walls. Her minions rambled but she could not understand them. She could only hear heart beating. “There will be a next time. You will have your turn,” a voice softly consoled. Destiny let the incident go, for now.
Carissa sat in the back row, of her least favorite class, with her book and notebook under her chair. The same posters that had adorn the room for the last six months stood as a reminder that this class fucking sucks. A poster depicting a marble carving of the Ten Commandments hung proud next to the teacher’s podium. Although this poster could not legally be put up in a public school, no one had said anything about it. Carissa had looked at the stone, thinking about how much dedication the artist had put into the carving. The letters were so perfect and the tablets crept out of a larger base with no indication the sculpture was carved out of two separate slabs of marble. It was truly a masterpiece. From an artist’s prospective, Carissa liked the poster.
Mrs. Shelton sat at the front of the classroom, elbows resting on her desk. She watched as the children sat and talked before class was to begin. She looked at her watch anticipating the bell. As soon as time allowed, they were hers.
Mrs. Shelton taught her class with an iron fist. She wanted her students to think about the stories they were reading. The imagery and metaphors were the most important aspects of writing, the story was second. Every assignment consisted of reading the story then deciphering the meanings and lessons portrayed. Well, the meanings and lessons as Mrs. Shelton saw fit. In the end, she would put down any idea that contradicted her own. There had been many students come through with remarkable understanding of the required texts but she would deter their development quickly. If they actually could prove her wrong, she would have them removed from the class citing they were being unruly. The class was totalitarian with no room for self-thought, exactly how she liked it.
The bell rang just as her watch hit five after eight. The students went silent, fearing that Mrs. Shelton might assign an extra paper or another book report. She walked to the podium, her shoes clacking against the floor. “If order is not, the mind will fight,” she said placing her hands along either side of the podium.
In unison, “Yes, ma’am,” the students replied. She knew it was not exactly a great saying. Mrs. Shelton did not say it for enlightenment but to ensure the children knew she was in control.
“I had you read ‘The Lottery’ last class,” Mrs. Shelton said. She never started class with a greeting. She was rather cold when it came to the students. She thought the notion of respecting students was weak. If they wanted help, she would assign them a reading list and once that list was assigned to them, their grade depended on it. ”Now, your assignment today is to read the story again. I want you to consider the reality and ramifications. What do the characters represent and why does the mood of the story change so dramatically? I want you to write a two page essay due next class period.”
Carissa reached for her book hearing several groan from the class. Mrs. Shelton’s eyes snapped from the podium to the back wall. Most of the students noticed. Their audible bane subsided. “Mr. Jones, Mrs. Hooper, and Mr. Reed,” their eyes met her. “I would like your papers to be four pages.” Control must be accompanied by swift punishment for all who break it.
Mrs. Shelton walked back to her desk. Then, one solid knock rapped the classroom door. Carissa looked over her shoulder. It was David peering through the door. He had changed his shirt to a light blue button-up. Mrs. Shelton motioned him in. He walked quietly through the rows of desks to the front of t
he room. “You wanted to see me, Mrs. Shelton,” David said still clearly shaken.
“Yes, David. Let’s step outside,” she said motioning for the door. She led him back through the rows of desks and out the door. A student should never beckon or lead a teacher.
Carissa, curious, watched from the corner of her eye. Carissa was not nosy per se but David had intrigued her. Today was the first time she had seen this boy and now this was the second time, in one day. Maybe she was being a little nosy. He did have a breakdown and bled all over the fucking place.
Carissa leaned as close as she could to the door. At first, all she could hear was unintelligible whispering. But as the conversation progressed, she heard Mrs. Shelton’s voice getting louder. Though muffled, she began to understand them.
“So, you did not bandage yourself properly. David, I do not know what you would do without me. Your driver also said you were sitting with some girl. Who was she, David?”
Carissa could not hear what David said. “So you do not need me anymore! Is that it, David?” Carissa, not trying to hide her curiosity, looked straight at the window in the door. She could see Mrs. Shelton, face red. Mrs. Shelton’s glasses were sliding down her face. Mrs. Shelton glanced into the class and caught Carissa looking at her. She motioned Carissa back to her assignment. “You need to remember who feeds and clothes you. Is that little harlot going to do that for you, David?”
Bitch, Carissa thought.
Mrs. Shelton’s scolding continued and after a few more minutes she opened the classroom door. “Carissa, step out here.” Carissa’s heart sank into a deep, hard rhythm. Carissa’s hands and feet tingled. The last student to step outside has never stepped back in, well, was sent to another English class.
“Yes, ma’am,” Carissa said hoping formality would provide a little saving grace. Carissa knees knocked as she stepped from behind the desk and into the isle. Each step felt as if a thirty pound weight were tied to her feet. The class watched her walk to her impending doom.
An hour seemed to pass before she reached the door. She stepped over the threshold. The door clicked behind her. In one even motion, Mrs. Shelton turned with her index finger extended, “So, do you make it a habit to eves drop on other people’s conversations?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then what was the attraction to this conversation?”
Carissa said nothing. She attempted to make her face drip with shame but fear was the result. Carissa was scared.
“Disciplining my son is none of your concern. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Shelton motioned Carissa back into the class. Carissa was the first student she knew of allowed back in. Relief washed her as she sat down, eyes drifting through the text.
The tone of Mrs. Shelton’s voice, with her son, made Carissa think David was not the timid boy that she had met on the bus. There must be something more to him. He did not fight her so why was she so hard on him?
A few moments later, the bell rang. Carissa gathered her books as the student herds spill back into the halls. She looked at the front of the class and observed Mrs. Shelton for a moment. Maybe she felt sorry for the bitter woman, or she was planning an attack. Whatever it was, she did not think on it long. She walked cautious from the class and gently closed the door.
4
Carissa walked down the hall confident the encounter with Mrs. Shelton went well. The day can only get better, she thought as she maneuvered the maze once again. “Carissa!” Mr. Gilbert said. Mr. Gilbert was her math teacher. He was a man completely devoted to his craft. He loved to teach and committed himself to the no child left behind philosophy. He believed everyone was worth saving. Mr. Gilbert was single now, his wife had left him six months before. She claimed that it was because he spent too much time at school but rumors spread when she remarried three months later. Everyone has a few teachers that were truly great but Andy Gilbert was on hundreds of student’s list.
“Yes, sir,” Carissa said not sure if the day was going back to the shittier side of life.
“You called me, sir,” Mr. Gilbert said as he pretended to fix an invisible bow tie. “I need you to come to my class before you go to lunch.”
“What for?” Carissa said curiously.
“We’ll talk in a minute,” Mr. Gilbert said as a boy pressed his way down the hall, “Stop running!” The boy did not stop.
“Ok.”
“I’ll see ya. Mr. Peters, the cafeteria will still be there in minute. Quit running.”
Carissa resumed her push through the Millard Johnston High School halls. She broke free of the river of people into an almost vacant hallway. The corridor was relatively silent except for the fading chatter of students and the sound of her footsteps. She felt uncomfortable with the silence. Silence meant he was coming.
She placed her books in her locker as April came walking up. “Hey,” Carissa said.
“What’s up? You wanna go catch a buzz?” April shuffled in place holding a small rolled paper.
“No, I have to go see Mr. Gilbert before I go to lunch.”
“Sucks to be you. Come to the parking lot afterwards.”
“Cool.”
“Hurry,” April said as she walked down hall.
Mr. Gilbert’s class was an atypical math lair. A couple of math joke posters on the wall, Pi lining the coving, and a grid graph embossed on the white board. Carissa had no clue why she was here. She had never caused a problem in class. In fact, she hardly asked a question. Carissa was just a student in the crowd.
“Mr. Gilbert.”
“Carissa, come and have a seat.”
“Yes, sir,” she said mading her way to his desk.
“Now, don’t call me that. I think my father is in here.” He laughed at his joke. He was not funny. He was a caring teacher but humor was something he had not quite grasped and at forty-five years old the chances were slim he ever would. However, Carissa did feel more comfortable.
“So what did you want to see me for, Mr. Gilbert?”
“Call me, Andy. There’s no one else here.” If Carissa had heard this from another teacher, she would have thought they were making a pass at her, but not Mr. Gilbert. He had always prided himself with making the students feel as at ease as possible. He believed if they were worried about formality, it would hinder the learning process. He would have had them call him Andy during class, but in his first year teaching, he had been reprimanded for not “demanding the respect of the students”. On a one on one basis, he felt it was appropriate.
“Ok,” he said as he shuffled through a large stack of papers. He pulled out several, slid on a pair of reading glasses, and then opened his grade book. “Now, Carissa, I’m concerned with your grades. If you look at the first few,” He said as he pushed the grade book closer to her, “they are all in the mid eighties. Very respectable grades. But on the last four they have steadily declined.” He handed her the assignments he had pulled from the stack. “Now, these are the last four tests that you’ve taken. The first is an eighty-two, then seventy-nine, and the other two are low seventies. I went through the ones that you missed. All the work is correct but where you’re going wrong is adding and subtracting. Simple stuff you shouldn’t be missing. So, what I’ve I done is set you up with a tutor. I talked to Mr. Freeman and on the days that you have study hall, you’re going to come in here.”
Carissa shuffled through the tests pressing her lips tight. What the fuck am I doing?
Mr. Gilbert put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be hard on yourself. No one gets this stuff without practice. It’s hard. But some people need more practice than others. Some people excel at the hard stuff but make minor mistakes that cost them the answer. You are in this category. I think you will be doing fine in about a month. Right now I need you to focus on the details, every number and symbol. Ok.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Ok. Now, go to lunch.”
Carissa stood as she laid the papers on his desk. “Andy?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
“No, problem. Go to lunch before you starve.”
The light cast bright on Rob, Scott, and April. They were hiding out behind the church across from the school. The aroma of six month old, dry brick weed filled the air. Scott sucked heavily then passed the joint to April who pinched the end tight before putting it to her lips.
“So, what does Carissa think about me?” Rob said.
“She thinks you’re cool, man,” April said trying not exhale.
“No, does she want him,” Scott explained with a delicate laugh. Rob punched Scott’s arm. The pop was loud, echoing off the church wall. “Dick,” Scott said rubbing what was sure to be a bruise.
“You’re an ass, Rob” April said. He laughed. “She hasn’t said anything, but she hadn’t dated anyone since junior high.” Actually, Carissa’s last boyfriend had been in fifth grade. She had dated Scott, of all people, for about a week. They never even held hands before she cut off the relationship.
“I was thinking about -“
“What’s up,” Carissa called from behind stopping Rob midsentence. They all jumped. Rob cupped the joint in an vain attempt to hide it. Not knowing what else to do, he opened wide. Just as his cupped hand reached peanut toss distance, he realized it was Carissa. Trying to cover for his “I do not want to go to jail” overreaction, he put the joint back up to his lips and puffed.
“Bitch, no double hits,” Scott said. The rules for a group with little access to illegal drugs are strict. Double hits were definitely not allowed. Babysitting is another big no, no. Too much wasted product.
“Hey, girl,” April said squinting her sensitive and bloodshot eyes.
“Fuck Carissa, you scared the shit out of me,” Scott said. “Now, I’m going to be paranoid all day. Thanks!” He was a firm believer that he could control his high, but in actuality, he was the jumpiest one of all. He dumped a half ounce of grass on the football field once. He had seen a cop drive by and then he saw a stray dog running through the stadium parking. He thought the cops had released the hounds on him. As his class ran sprints, he dumped the pot on the field. Most would ask why he had it with in gym. Well, he thought they searched lockers while students were in P.E. Despite all his paranoia, he was also cheap which could over power his suspicion from time to time. A few nights later he had went back to the field to try to recover as much as he could. However, the sod had been trimmed so Scott gathered mostly lawn shavings and hoped it would do the trick. Through a cloud of burnt Bermuda, he realized it did not.
