Biscotti - 2. Chapter 2

Returning to school after the summer vacation, Larry was no longer there. Nick, a friend who also rode the bus with Larry, told me his family pulled him from school and told him he had to work. His dad found him a job.

I decided I wouldn’t have sex with anyone until I was sure they wouldn’t leave me. I spent the next two years focusing on schoolwork. My mom bought me a set of encyclopedias, which she shouldn’t have. When I wasn’t working, I spent time reading those books, especially those on human development and the medical sections. I wanted to know human anatomy, how children are created, and how people differ in physical and sexual orientations. Most of what Larry told me was true, even if it was a crude version. There was a concise section on sexual deviations. After reading this section, I knew I was gay. I never told anyone as this was, according to the book, a sexual deviation. No-one wants to be called a sexual deviate.

High school started, and I was through my puberty. My dick had grown to a decent size, I had hair there, my voice had changed, and I had the start of a mustache. During the summer before starting high school, I began to work part-time at a supermarket stacking shelves and sweeping floors when they closed. When dad or mom could, they would pick me up, or I’d wait and take a bus. And, of course, on payday, Mom would meet me for my check. I spoke to Dad about this, and he told me to ask them to cash my check. And that is what I did. Now I give her some of my money, even if it’s more than half. I think Dad told her.

High school started, and I was in one of the three classes: academic, business, and general. They separated us based on tests as well as preference. I wanted to go to college, and my test scores indicated that I’d have success at a University, so I was assigned to the academic class. The other two class groups were business, which focused on typing, shorthand, and commercial law. In contrast, the last group was the general group, made up of courses designed for kids who would work in the industry, woodworking, metalworking, and industrial drawing. In the first year, everyone was exposed to some classes in each group.

In my freshman year, I dove into my books and classes. I didn’t need any close friends, I had that with Larry, and I didn’t want to face the same feelings I did when he didn’t return to school.

In my sophomore year, one of the football players was having math problems. The coach asked the Principal for a tutor. I was the one who drew the short straw. As it turned out, his problem was concentration and trying to solve the problem without breaking it down into parts that are easily solved. I also taught him how to add in tens and do two rows at once. He wasn’t dumb, and once he caught on, he didn’t need me anymore. He did become a friend, an arms-length friend.

I was walking to my next class when I heard, “Hey Teach.”

I turned around, and there was my football friend, Ronnie. “Hey, Ronnie! What’s new?”

“I wanted to show you this.”

I looked at his paper: it was a math test, and he aced it. “That’s great, Ronnie. I guess I’m out of a job.” He shook my hand and walked off. I saw a few girls look at me and then chase after him.

Going home after school, I had two choices: a school bus or walking a mile. Depending on the weather, I would walk or ride. Today I decided to walk. As I was walking, a car pulled aside me and asked if I wanted a ride. Looking at the driver, who I didn’t know, I said, “No thanks.”

He didn’t like my answer as he pulled the car over and got out. He was taller than me and a little chubby. As he approached, I just moved away, heading toward one of the stores. I saw a pick-up truck coming down the road, and I calculated when he’d reach me. I slowed up, and this guy started to speed up, then I began to move away again. I heard the squeal of brakes and a thump. I looked behind me, and the man was on the ground and evidently in pain. I stood there while he looked at me. A crowd was gathering and among them was my friend, Ronnie, the footballer.

“What happened?”

“This guy offered me a ride, and when I said ‘no,’ he stopped his car, parked over there, and began to chase me. He wasn’t watching the traffic and ran in front of that truck.”

“Here comes the police. That’s my dad.”

“Ronnie, what are you doing here, and what happened?”

“Dad, this is Scott. He’s the one who helped me in math. That guy tried to pick him up, and when he said no, he chased him and ran into the truck.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, exactly as I told Ronnie.”

We watched as an ambulance came—the police were busy taking the driver of the truck’s information. When the guy was on the stretcher, one of the police officers was taking his story. When Ronnie’s dad told me what he said happened, Ronnie and I laughed. “Sir, I would impound his car. My bet is he has done this before. You might want to pass his picture around the schools to see if anyone else was attacked.”

I think Ronnie was proud to introduce me to his father. He smiled a lot and stood by my side. Of course, a few girls were hanging around him. I looked at him and raised my eyebrows, looking at the girls. One of the girls broke through and took his hand. He kissed her and introduced her to me as Beth, his girlfriend. Of course, he called me ‘Teach.’ I guess that will be my name from now on.

I said goodbye and jogged home. “You’re late.”

“Yes, there was an accident which I witnessed, so I had to stay till the police came. It’ll probably be in the local newspaper. I jogged home, so I’m going to take a shower and study. Let me know when Dad is home.”

The shower helped as a tension reliever as well. Dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, I started to do my homework. I had the habit of working ahead, which meant sometimes I would submit more than assigned. I was reading a history book of my choosing since my homework was finished when Mom said Dad was home.

I went downstairs to greet my Dad and to pass some money to him to put away for me. I had given some to my mother, but Dad got the most. He just smiled and gave me my hug.

Dinner was ready, and, as usual, Mom was an excellent cook. Of course, all our meals were Italian. That’s what happens when you grow up in an Italian family. I would swear that my mother used Italian herbs and a little gravy when she makes scrambled eggs. I don’t care; everything is good. After dinner, I helped Mom clean up, and then Dad and I went and worked in his small garden. If Dad has his way, he’d have a small farm.