Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Biscotti - 3. Chapter 3
You can imagine what the scuttlebutt was the next day at school. People I didn’t know came up to me and asked about the accident. My math teacher asked me to stay after school for a minute. I wasn’t sure what he wanted. I thought it might be another tutoring assignment. As it turned out, it wasn’t. He laid the paper down in front of me, and there was my picture at the accident scene.
“Scott, this accident wasn’t an accident. Someone calculated this impact. What do you think?”
“For someone to calculate that at that specific time, they would have to know a lot of facts, like distance and speed of the truck, speed of the man running, and what would divert him from not noticing the truck. That is a lot of factors that need to be calculated at the last minute.”
“Could you do that?”
“What! In my head?”
“Yes, in your head. In all my years, I have never run across a math wizard until now.”
“Who? I want to talk to him and maybe get some secrets.”
The teacher looked at me. I could see the twinkle in his eyes. “Take this paper to read your story and take this book. I want the assignments on the first 20 pages on my desk a week from today. Oh, forget the regular assignments - focus on that book.”
Walking away, I knew that he knew who made that calculation.
When I went to his class the following day, he took me to the Library. “You don’t need to attend my class. You come here with your new math book and do the assignments.”
I didn’t realize it, but he just gave me a Christmas present. I sat, opened the book, and began to read. I was ready to solve the first set, but I didn’t have any paper or pencils. I left those in my locker. I went to see Mrs. Carmichael if I could have a few sheets of paper and a pencil. She smiled and gave me a few sheets and a pencil. Thanking her, I returned to my table and began to solve the problems at the end of chapter one. I was so involved in what I was doing. I didn’t hear the bell. Mrs. Carmichael came and told me the period was over.
The rest of the day was normal. I was eager to get back to the math book. I wonder where he got that math book. Maybe this weekend I can go to a library and see if they have that book to ask where it came from.
My life became routine: school and the new math book; work on Thursday and Friday evening from 5 to 9, Saturday from 7 to 5.
It seems when you are busy, school passes quickly. Soon summer was upon us. My schedule at the supermarket was changed so that I worked from 7 to 5 with an hour off for lunch, Wednesday through Saturday. Don’t think that having Sunday, Monday and Tuesday off was without expectations. Sunday was family day at my grandparents. This was as sacred as the Holidays. It was fun, and I did learn some cooking secrets from my grandmother. Maybe since my mother was the youngest girl or enjoyed being around my grandparents, they treated me special. I saw how they treated their other grandchildren, although some of them were quite a bit older. My uncle, who was the youngest of them all -there were 7 in total - got a college education as a gift from the armed services. When he was around, he would quiz me about school. That is where I found out where the math book came from. When I showed him the book and told him how I got it, he laughed. The book was the Freshman textbook in the math department at the University. He was giving me his old math textbooks. I began to laugh, and when I told my uncle, he laughed also. Then he got serious. “Are you doing the problems?”
“Yes, the first ten pages were a little difficult since I wasn’t exposed to some of the terms. Once I understood them, I had no problem. I should get my second book when school starts.”
He smiled as he put his arm around me and squeezed me. He didn’t see my grandfather smile at me when he saw that.
Monday and Tuesday, I spent at my grandparents helping my grandfather in his garden. Unlike my dad, my grandfather had a few acres that he planted. Everything was done by hand, no machinery here. Of course, this just got me closer to him.
Junior year started, and a significant change occurred that year: The first semester was over, and I was still doing math from the teacher’s college books. He now knew I knew where the books came from, and he laughed when I told him. “I figure anyone who calculates the distance and speed of the truck and the speed of a running man must have the brain of an excellent math student.”
The Holidays were over, and I was looking toward a rest period that the school’s usual routine would provide. When I entered the high school building, there was a buzz going around. “Ronnie, what’s happening?”
“A new student started today. He was the football star at a competitive school, and he just transferred in. The coach is going crazy. He’s talking about taking the Championship.”
“Is this guy that good?”
“Yes. We played against him, and he is good, real good.”
I just smiled and went to my locker. Opening the door, putting my books, taking what I needed until lunch, I heard a group of silly girls giggling. The door of the locker was opened, so I couldn’t see what was happening. I closed my locker. When I turned around, in front of me was a six-foot blond Viking god. I shook my head. This isn’t supposed to happen. I’m not going to repeat Larry. I turned and walked to my class.
The rest of the morning, I focused on my studies. The math book was a lifesaver. I got so far into it, and I missed half of my lunch period. I avoided this new guy like the plague. Of course, when I was putting my books away, he happened to walk by. I heard one of the girls call him Brad. So, I guess that was his name. He seemed to hang around Ronnie a lot.
The weeks went by, and from the scuttlebutt, I guess our football team was doing ok. I hadn’t seen a football game, and I’d like to see at least one with our team playing. As if the Gods were listening, the supermarket manager decided to close that store at 6 for an in-depth inventory that needed to be taken. When I got home, Dad was there, so dinner was ready. “Dad, can I borrow the car tonight?”
I never had any trouble getting the car and tonight was no different. After dinner, I got ready to go to the game. I parked the car in front of the school and walked to the field. It made more sense as the school area was safer.
The team was getting on the field as I entered the park. I bought a bottle of water and headed to the bleachers. The first several rows were filled with kids from the high school, mostly girls. I sat about four rows from the top. I could see better from there.
As the teams took to the field, I noticed Brad and Ronnie. They played ends, so it was easy for them to be identified. I saw as they took to the field, Ronnie waved to his girl on the first tier and said something to Brad. He turned and looked at the bleachers. He waved, and all of the girls stood and waved back. I laughed at them.
I enjoyed watching the game. We won and by a good margin. I also noticed at half-time, Brad was waving at the bleachers. Game over and a lot of the girls hung around. I walked back to get my car. On the way, I stopped and got an ice cream cone. I wasn’t in any hurry, so I took my time.
Arriving at the school, I went to my car and began to unlock the door. “You’re Scott, right?”
Without turning, I responded, “Yes. How can I help you?”
“I wonder if you could give me a ride home?”
That was when I turned, and there was my Viking. “Of course!”
I would have given anyone a ride home who asked, so taking Brad home was me just being nice. I tried to convince myself that this was the case - it didn’t work. I was excited to have him alone in my car. “Put your gear in the back. You’ll have to show me where you live.”
“Sure, you know how to get to 19?”
- 27
- 14
- 1
- 1
- 1
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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