And He Was Gone - 2. Two

Even a single second can’t be wasted. Eye contact was vital. The boys in the front of the class stiffened in ready position, and the ladies in second row grinned coldly in approval. We were all united -- Barbie dolls, jocks, nerds, punks, scenes of this and that -- against the common enemy. The new substitute teacher.

Every single freaking lesson since the beginning of April, when our English teacher had split his back open, the students trailed with dread into the classroom. Assigned seating, regular pop quizzes, and soul exterminating words were bad enough… but she resorted to parent calling when things got slightly out of hand. That, of course, is the death code. Even the regular suck-ups thought every turn was a dead end.

She was known as Ms. Bridge, and the Dead One.

Today, she was wearing tight yellow trousers that hugged her ass curve like snow capping a rippling mountain, and me being placed in the front row of the class, it was the Great Wall of China whenever she bent down to pick something up.

“You ready?”

“Shawn!”

“Did yah get it?”

“You gotta be quick.” Whispers.

“Yea.”

More exchanging of eye contact and Mark slid a piece of cloth onto my lap, an old but tough artifact; easy enough to rip, but coarse enough to create the desired effect. Expectant eyes nailed into the back of my head. I measured the distance between Ms. Bridge and I, estimated two feet, then smiled. No sweat.

Now the only question was -- would it really work?

She narrowed her eyes, beady within her folds of flesh and wrinkles, surveyed the class critically, then struggled her fatass body a turn towards the whiteboard and began to write.

Wait for it.

She dropped her marker, and with a grunt, stooped down to pick it up. Excitement pulsated through the dense air. Action! In the span of a split second, I reached out with the piece of cloth wedged tightly in both of my hands, fingers pausing inches from her bottom -- then tore. The sound of the cloth splitting jumped through the air like a whip crack. Freeze. I snapped my hands back to my lap.

Ms. Bridge stumbled, and from the visible lines of her jawbone, she flushed beet red.

Time solidified. We plastered on shocked and rueful expressions as she turned around, hands the size of small hams shooting to her behind. The Barbie dolls clapped their hands to their mouths like rehearsed… and no one laughed.

Would it work?

Ms. Bridge’s face was of a mixture of confusion, rage, and total embarrassment. For a moment, as we held our breaths, we thought she was going to blow up. But slowly, she ambled out, sidling against the wall, fingers scanning her bottom but not long enough to reach its full surface area. The door slammed. A moment of silence.

Then as quickly as it came, it went.

“Hurry, hurry!” Mark snapped as the class shuffled in a frenzy, screwdrivers flying from the jock’s pockets, manual books from the nerds.

One minute. They set to work on the desk, untucking the foundation of the table. Bolts were shook from the chair. Panicky voices rang out, rushed but low.

Three minutes -- she’d be back any moment now. Wrong bolt, they set to fix it. I held the chair in place to make sure it didn’t fall apart. Yet. Sweat pearled on Mark’s forehead.

Four minutes. We heard her footsteps. Pounding of hearts, shuffling of chairs. Done!

I grinned in triumph. We practically dived into our seats as Ms. Bridge entered the classroom, eyes bright and suspicious. It was a good thing that although she was a brute and extremely stubborn, she wasn’t half as bright as she was large. She did a sluggish once over to the four corners of the room, paused, then…

“…What are you kids staring at? Back to work!”

Faces snapped downwards to papers. “I want to see four pages of essay writing completed by the end of the period, or you will be serving two hour detentions with me after school for the rest of the school year.” Her shrill voice stung the hairs on the back of my neck.

Still no one laughed. That is, until dear Ms. Bridge heaved her three hundred pounds of rolling mass onto her chair.

I swear I saw the ravens take frightened flight from outside the window.

**

“I’ve got good news.” Said Mark, his hard brown eyes narrowing down deviously.

“What?” I asked, whipping open my locker to retrieve my backpack in time with the dismissal bell. The remaining students poured out of the classrooms like sheep being herded by an ogre, forming into some sort of human river down through the hallways. “Is it about that broken cow Ms. Bridge?”

“Yup.” A laugh. “She’s gonna be gone for two weeks!”

“Are you sure? Was it that fucking serious?”

“Dead sure. And yes, it’s that fucking serious.” He flicked a thick eyebrow and leaned his tall frame beside me, sharp features reconsidering. “Well, she had a minor concussion and a few shattered bones, but she’s pretty old. Guess what else?”

I checked the time, feeling rather weary. The teacher sabotage setup had sapped quite a bit of our energy, but it wasn’t a bad thing. “What?”

“Party at Oliver’s. It’s his sixteenth birthday, yah know. No?”

I laughed. “Nah. Sure, what time? If it’s too early I don’t think I can make it.”

“Grounded?”

“Grounded.”

“Oh, and guess what else?”

“What?” I swung my backpack onto my shoulders, winked at the waving football cheerleaders and turned back to my friend. His eyes were narrowed again.

“Stacy Mars likes you.”

I blinked, stifling a groan, and turned back to the group of giggling girls, skirts so short you could see up through their underwear and right through their tampons. I eyed the blonde with the piercing grey eyes. She eyed me back and winked. I flushed and turned back to my friend.

“That’s awesome.” I said, being swept up by the tide of people, kicking open the exit doors when the flow brought it into view. Mark waited for an answer, then looked at me all funny when I turned to slap high fives with Perry instead, the local track and field god.

“Whadda yah mean that’s awesome?”

“Well, what the fuck do you want me to do?”

He waved his arms stupidly. “Yah know! Ask her out maybe?”

Stacy Mars was one of the few women that I actually noticed. She was hard to miss, really, with the deep eyes, a charming smile and a confidence that made her almost… untouchable. And well, yea I was flattered to know that she liked me but, I wasn’t interested. If she had a brother who shared looks with her, then I’d be sure to talk about meeting times.

I shrugged. “She’s all yours man. I’m not available.”

Mark raised his other eyebrow. “I thought you said you broke up with your Miami Beach babe already?”

“I did.” Actually, I didn’t claim any babes. It was a simple lie for warding off situations like this, but I guess this particular one found a loophole. “Yah know, we just broke up, and I’m not ready for a relationship and all…” I added icily. It was completely lame, and so thought my friend.

“What’s wrong with a fuck and go?”

“Oh, just shut up.” I laughed. “Go fuck Stacy with one of those emergency dildos you keep stashed under your bed.”

He stared at me like I was from Pluto and smacked me in the arm. “Why the hell would I wanna stick her with that thing? Those are reserved for bed monsters.” He tapped his watch. “The party starts at eleven, so you can drop by anytime. But we booked this no name band and all that good shit, so you better hurry. Alright?”

I agreed with a yawn, backhanded him in the face when he tried to stuff a wad of tissue down my throat, and chased him around the school with a chair raised high, fluttered around to socialize with thirty other sets of friends, pissed off another ten sets of people, then padded home when my limbs tired and crashed on my bed. The fabric was cool and soft beneath my cheeks.

It felt good to be here, submerged in the protecting warmth and thick sheets that cradled all of me, to slip off that mask and be myself. Privacy was good. I didn’t get any if I stepped out of my room. My brothers and mother were a noisy bunch, and school was like a pounding hammer with honey slicked on the edges.

I swirled my thoughts again and counted the ticks of the clock, depositing bits of myself in the spaces where silence meets the next click and drifted off into sleep.

When night came I would live again.