A Fresh Start
Chapter 4: Back To School

Copyright© 2011 by rlfj

Do-Over Sex Story: Chapter 4: Back To School - Aladdin's Lamp sends me back to my teenage years. Will I make the same mistakes, or new ones, and can I reclaim my life? Note: Some codes apply to future chapters. The sex in the story develops slowly.

Caution: This Do-Over Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/ft   Consensual   Romantic   Heterosexual   Historical   Military   School   Rags To Riches   DoOver   Time Travel   Anal Sex   Exhibitionism   First   Oral Sex   Voyeurism  

I set the alarm clock for an hour early the next morning, which made it my normal time to get up as an adult. Back when I was a kid the first time, I was a very late riser, but after forty years working, I tended to get up by seven or earlier, even on my days off.

When the alarm went off the next morning, Hamilton grumbled and bitched he was going to tell Mom. I ignored him and pulled on gym shorts and a t-shirt and sneakers. I also grabbed a sweatshirt. It was November after all. I quietly went down the stairs and out the back door.

This was going to be a major change in my overall life plan. It was one thing to accelerate my schooling. I was a nerd before and would be a nerd again. Previously, however, I was a couch potato and it showed. I was skinny and weak, but as I grew older, I started putting on a couple of pounds a year like clockwork. For many years I was simply filling out to a normal size. Then I started getting fuller, becoming plump, chubby, a few pounds overweight, fluffy - fat. By the time I was in my late fifties I was a good fifty pounds too heavy. Clothing wouldn’t fit, my health went downhill, and it exacerbated the normal problems you get with aging.

I didn’t plan on being a jock, but I did plan to get in better shape and stay there. I also planned to learn some self-defense techniques. Nobody knew better than me that the fight on the school bus was a real anomaly. I won by surprise and aggression, not by skill. One thing I damn sure wouldn’t do again was smoke. I had spent half my life smoking cigars and cigarettes, and it’s just not good for you. As much as I liked it, and don’t ever think smokers don’t enjoy it, it’s terrible for your health. After I quit, I put on 30 pounds immediately and was still healthier being fat than I was when I smoked.

I had no hopes of becoming a jock. I was always going to be too slim and wiry for that. I could, however, build up my stamina and some muscle. It was going to have to be a long-term commitment. I knew enough about human nature to know that if I got in the habit now, it would be easier to continue. It’s incredibly easier to keep the weight off in the beginning than to try to lose it later.

Life was simple. I decided to run around the block. I alternated jogging and walking for a half hour. I didn’t do much, maybe a mile-and-a-half or two miles total, which isn’t much more than an average walking speed. I made a couple of laps around the block, which was big, and on the second I added another block in as well. I was sweating by the time I got back to the house and let myself in.

“What in the world are you doing?” asked my father. Normally he would have been off to work, but today he was reading the paper and drinking coffee.

“Getting in shape.”

“What, so you can get in fights again?”

I grinned. “No, so I can run away!” He just snorted, and I went upstairs and took a shower. I made it quick, since it’s the only bathroom the three of us kids can use. Hamilton was waiting outside the door when I got out, a towel wrapped around my waist.

Hamilton brushed past me into the bathroom. Suzie opened the door to her bedroom and looked out into the hall, to see me standing there with a towel around my waist. “Gross!” she shrieked and slammed the door shut. I laughed and went to my bedroom to dress. I had grossed out my baby sister and it wasn’t even breakfast time. My day was complete! Everything else was going to be like ice cream on top of the pie!

At 8:30 Dad and I drove over to the school. Steiner wanted us to meet him in the parking lot. We found a space in the visitor’s lot. Since none of the kids had cars, none of the spaces were filled by student cars. We got out and waited for the lawyer to show up, which he did about five minutes later. He got out carrying a briefcase. His only instructions were for me to keep my mouth shut at all times, and for Dad not to lose his temper. I smiled at this, but Dad glared at me, and I promptly found it a good time to look at something else - anything else!

We went inside and I led them down the hallway to the offices. In the future, schools would be locked fortresses, with guards and check in procedures, but not back in the Sixties. You just walked in. In the office, we announced ourselves and were pointed to the cheesy modernistic couch they had picked up somewhere. A couple of minutes later we were summoned into the Holy of Holies, Mr. Butterfield’s office. He was the Principal, and he and Mr. Warner, the Vice-Principal were waiting for us. Neither was smiling. They really weren’t smiling when my father introduced Steiner as our lawyer.

They got right to the point. I was expelled for attacking children on the school bus. They weren’t at all sure why I wasn’t serving time in the Maryland State Penitentiary already, but they didn’t care. No matter what that cop said the other day, I was history.

Dad’s face got red, but he kept his mouth shut. I just sat there like a bump on a log. When Mr. Butterfield and Mr. Warner ran out of steam, Mr. Steiner spoke up. “Okay, gentlemen, it’s my turn now. Let me make a few things clear.” He opened his brief case and pulled out several thick documents wrapped in heavy blue paper. Everyone’s eyes went to them immediately. “First, my client is not under arrest and has never been under arrest. He was taken to the police station for questioning and sent home the same day. If you were to say or do anything which implies otherwise, I formally warn you that we will be suing for slander and/or libel.”

They looked at him, stunned. How dare anybody come into the Inner Sanctum to tell them what to do? He ignored their sensibilities. “Next, the three students who my client allegedly attacked have all been arrested. They have been formally charged and arraigned on multiple counts of extortion, conspiracy, assault, and battery. More may be coming. Don’t just take my word for it, either. Maybe you missed it, but it made this morning’s edition of the Baltimore Sun.” He slapped down a copy of the newspaper, with a circle drawn around a small article. No names were mentioned, since everybody was a minor, but the fact that three boys had attacked another on a Towsontown Junior High school bus and had been arrested was noted. “All three boys are currently handcuffed to their beds at GBMC, in the prison ward. A judge went out there and arraigned them in the hospital.”

GBMC, the Greater Baltimore Medical Center, was a big hospital in Baltimore County. It was the local trauma center, a good place to go when you got the shit kicked out of you. On a side note, it was also a place you could generally find a cop to make an arrest. Steiner made it sound more dramatic than it really was. At the arraignment, to which the judge brought a public defender, he immediately turned the kids over to their parents and the public defender washed his hands of the whole thing and told the parents they should get their own lawyers.

“So, gentlemen, your premise is incorrect. It is not my client who did the attacking, but your three innocent children. So, here’s how we are going to handle that.” He slapped down one of the blue documents. “That is a court order, a judicial restraining order, prohibiting you from punishing my client without first taking it up with the judge in Family Court. If you do so and lose, which you will, the school district will be responsible for court costs. Additionally, you will open yourselves up, both through the district and in your own persons, to a countersuit. Gentlemen, I will take you to the cleaners.”

He then slapped down a second blue sheaf. “That is another restraining order, ordering you to keep those three boys out of this school and no closer than 500 feet while my client is in school. Copies have also been served this morning on each of those boys and their parents. Gentlemen, you expelled the wrong students. We have corrected your error. Again, failure to obey these restraining orders without judicial approval will result in civil penalties against both the school district and you personally. Is that understood?”

Neither man could do more than stare at the blue documents and sputter incoherently. Steiner continued, “I think I am going to require something more concrete, gentlemen. I have officially served you with legal orders. Now, I assume you will have counsel for the school district review these, but I assure you, they are quite legal. Now, I expect my client to be able to return to class, today, and ride the school bus home. Is that clearly understood? Please answer.”

Warner was stupefied. Butterfield simply looked at us and said, “Yes.”

Steiner stood up. “Then we are done here. My card, gentlemen, in case you or your attorneys, both the district’s and your own, wish to contact me.” He dropped a few business cards on the desk, and then we all stood up and went out of the office. He led us back to the front door. He stopped there.

“Carl, you stay here. Go to your regular class. If there is any trouble from the teachers or the administration, let your Dad know and he will call me. Don’t do one damn thing that will get you in trouble, okay?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I agreed.

“Is this for real?” asked my dad.

“What the orders? Sure. I play golf with the judge. He’d have to recuse himself, but it will never get that far. Those two are so buffaloed it’s not funny. It’s like Carl said yesterday, a detective beats a bus driver any day of the week. The arrest just nailed them to the cross.” He smiled at me. “Are you in the Boy Scouts, by any chance?”

Where the fuck did that come from? “Uh, yes sir, Troop 896.”

“St. Paul’s? Good for you? First Class yet?”

“Second, but almost to First. Why?”

“I’m the Adviser to an Explorer Post in Timonium. You can transfer when you turn fourteen. I want you to think about it.”

Holy shit! Now I knew where I remembered him from! I had joined that Explorer Post anyway. All I remembered of the leadership was that the Adviser was a rich lawyer, and his son was the Post President. Nobody cared, though, since he had a monstrously large SUV that could haul the trailer with all our gear. They specialized in white water rafting, which I thought was infinitely cool!

“What’s the specialty?”

“White water canoeing and rafting. We even have our own canoes and rafts,” he replied.

“Cool! I promise, I’ll give it some thought!”

“Good. We can use a guy like you.” He shook our hands and headed out, followed closely by my father. His words were more succinct, telling me to stay out of trouble, ‘or else!’

It was about half past when I finished with Dad and Mr. Steiner, already fifteen minutes into the second period. According to the schedule in my binder, I was supposed to be in English class in Room 214 with Mrs. Turnbull. I couldn’t remember where 214 was and barely remembered her. First, I had to find my locker and dump my crap off. I rooted out my binder and found my locker number and combination taped to the front inside cover. High security, you bet!

I wandered around the halls getting familiarized to an extent and found my locker. Boy, that was like looking into a time capsule! I would need to sort through that at some point. I tossed my bag and jacket in there and went off in search of 214. Finding it, I looked through the window in the door and saw Mrs. Turnbull standing near a blackboard at one end of the room. I moved on to the other door and slid in through the back.

There was no hope of doing this secretively. Mrs. Turnbull stopped and stared at me as everyone in the room turned in their chairs and looked at me, goggle eyed and slack jawed. A memory came back, and I realized that the empty chair in the fourth row on the right was mine. I made my way over and slid into it.

“Welcome back, Mr. Buckman. I had heard you were no longer with us,” said Mrs. Turnbull. She was a nondescript but witty and sharp woman in her forties.

“The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated,” I replied.

She smiled. “So I gather, Mr. Twain, so I gather. Might I assume you will continue to grace us with your presence in the foreseeable future?”

“And a most gracious presence it will be!” Mrs. Turnbull had enjoyed witty repartee back in the day. She didn’t mind a student arguing or disagreeing with her, just so long as they used good English, proper phrasing, and didn’t swear or insult.

She nodded at me. “We’ll see about that.” She went back towards the board and resumed her lecture.

As soon as Turnbull’s back was turned, when she began to write something on the blackboard, Katie Lowenthal, who sat next to me turned and whispered, “What happened! I saw you go to jail!”

Without turning, Mrs. Turnbull loudly said, “Miss Lowenthal, questions such as that are best answered after school. Would you like a detention later to allow you time to make a list?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then spare the discussion until after class.”

Katie gave me a dirty look, but I just shrugged my shoulders. Katie was one of my best friends in school, and she was a girl, but she was never a girlfriend. We had known each other since our days at Hampton Elementary. She was another college prep kid, scary smart, and we could talk about anything. She was rather roly-poly throughout our time in school. We lost track of each other after graduation, when I moved hundreds of miles away and stayed away but ran across each other at our twenty-year reunion. She had become a doctor, was doing research in oncology, and was living in Southern California. She had slimmed down, had an amazing tan, and looked very foxy. I got the impression she might have been interested in a little reunion get-together on our own later, but I was with Marilyn and just smiled away the tentative approach.

Anyway, that was all years in the future, or the past, or something. We muddled through the remainder of the class, and I could feel the occasional stares as people wondered what I was doing here. The fight on the bus, the expulsion, and the three boys in the hospital would have been amazing in themselves but add that I was arrested and hauled off in handcuffs and you just knew that I was the talk of the last couple of days. Now I show back up like nothing has happened.

As soon as I got out of the class to the hallway Katie was in my face, with some other friends around us. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in jail!”

“Yeah, you escape or something?” asked somebody behind her.

I just gave a laugh. “It’s nothing like that. I was never arrested. It was all a misunderstanding.”

“No, it wasn’t! I saw the police put the cuffs on you!” she protested.

I just leaned against a wall of lockers. “Yeah, but that was because the bus driver screwed up. That’s why the police were here later that morning. Did they talk to you then?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, me and Betty and Ray. They wanted to know what happened. It was kind of cool. Ray said he asked if you were going to jail but the police officer wouldn’t say. Mr. Warner stayed with us the entire time and the police officer kept telling him to let us talk. He kept trying to tell what happened, like he was there or something.”

“Figures. Anyway, as soon as they knew what really happened, I went home. It’s no big deal.”

“It is too a big deal! They had you in handcuffs like on TV. Did they fingerprint you? Take your picture?” Ray Shorn had come up next to Katie and was hitting me with all sorts of questions. He was one of the normal kids but was a good guy anyway. He lived three houses up and across the street, and when we were little, we had made a tree fort in the woods behind his house.

“Nope. None of that. They just asked me some questions and sent me home.”

“What about the Strutters and Tewkesie? What happened to them?” asked Katie.

“Don’t know. Haven’t seen them? They haven’t been to school?” I asked innocently.

She stared at me. “They all went off in a couple of ambulances. There was so much blood that Marcie fainted, and little Billy Smith puked up breakfast all over his brother.”

Ray laughed. “Yeah, it was so cool!”

So much for being innocent. That was pretty funny, in a black comedy sort of way. I had to smile at that and shrug. “Hey, they started it, not me.”

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” asked Tommy Toner, another guy from the college prep crew. “What, you some kind of karate guy or something?” It was years before Kung Fu ever made it to television, so at least I didn’t have to put up with that.

“I just got lucky, I guess.”

The bell rang and we had to split up and move along. Next class was Algebra 1. I wondered just how bad it was going to be. It turned out to be about as bad as I thought it would. It had been easy and straightforward the first time around, and it sure hadn’t gotten any harder since then. I was going to have to do something about this. I decided to think some more about it and speak to the teacher tomorrow.

The rest of the day was pretty much the same. I was a celebrity, in a dark and creepy sort of way, and I spent the day rehashing the entire event between classes, and the time in class rehashing ancient lessons. It got funny, though, when it was time to go home. I followed Katie out to the buses, not trusting my memory as to where in the lineup it would be. The driver refused to let me on. That led to an argument between him and Mr. Warner, who oversaw us getting on the buses, which got very interesting. It ended when Warner threatened to have the driver yanked off the bus and have Joe Jenkins, the head maintenance guy, drive us home. I was allowed on the bus but ordered to sit in the first row with the little kids, so he could keep an eye on me. I just smiled and sat where he pointed. When one of the little kids asked why I was being punished, I just answered, “I guess he likes me!” which got me an order to shut up or he was throwing me off.

The ride home was quiet, since none of the seventh graders I was riding with knew who I was, other than ‘the guy in the back who got in the fight and went to jail.’ My buddies, who would all have been bugging me, and any friends of the three ex-students were all behind us. The bus driver told me he was going to see about having me removed, no matter what Warner said, but I just shrugged and ignored him.

The next morning, I went running again, same route as before, same crick in my side as before. It would have to get better sooner or later. Daisy ran with me the first lap, but then I let her into the house and continued. I suspected she was smarter than I was. The bus driver was different however, a woman this time. Katie asked her what happened to our old driver, and she said that he was on a different route. She didn’t say anything about any assigned seating to me, so I just moved on down to my normal seat. One of the ninth graders, a buddy of Tewkesie, gave me a dirty look, but I just looked him straight in the eye and he continued on down the aisle. After he passed, I slowly turned and saw him sitting down. He looked at me again, silently daring me to do something, but I just stared him down and after about ten seconds he looked away.

Ray reached across the aisle and punched my arm. I lowered my head to his. “Are you trying to start trouble?” he whispered.

“Trying to stop trouble. I’m a peaceful kind of guy. Trust me.”

“Yeah? Well remind me before you get all peaceful on my ass. I don’t need too much of that kind of peaceful!”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter!” I protested.

“You’re full of shit, is what you are.”

Classes were back to normal for me. Algebra was a total waste. I went up to Mrs. Bakkley after class and asked, “Mrs. Bakkley, when would I be able to speak to you about the class?”

“What’s on your mind, Carl?”

“I want to know how I go about testing out of the class.”

She looked at me curiously. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Is there some kind of test you can give me that I can take, that if I pass it, I get credit for Algebra 1?”

Her eyes popped wide at that. “You want to drop Algebra?”

“No, I want to do both years now, this year. Can I do it?”

She stared at me. Some of the kids from the next class were drifting in, but we ignored them. “What did you have in mind?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I was wondering, I finish this class by Christmas, and then catch up and finish Algebra 2 by next summer. Do they use a different book? Could I do it?”

“No, it’s the same book. We only do about half this year and finish it off next year. Why do you want to do this? What do you plan on doing next year?”

“Geometry.”

“We don’t even teach that here!”

“No, but I bet I can take it over at Towson High somehow.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “You need to get to class. Let me ask around about this. I don’t even know if you would be allowed to do this.”

I grinned. “Do us both a favor. Don’t mention my name. I don’t think Mr. Butterfield is in the mood to be generous when my name comes up.”

She laughed at this. “I think you’re right. Now get out of here and let me talk to some people.”

I didn’t say anything to my folks that night. My parents would be upset because it messed up their intricately crafted plans for my future, even though it was advancing them. Mom, especially, liked being in control. Dad was easier going, but not by much. I had always avoided them in any serious discussion of classes and grades, because it was always a painful subject, painful in the sense that the oak pledge paddle invariably would be involved. I dreaded nights when the PTA had their meetings, and my parents went to school to see the teachers. Since I was never ‘living up to my potential’, a beating was held as soon as they got home. It would be better to ask forgiveness than permission. If the school allowed me to do it, I would bring them into it then. If the school balked, I would have to get my parents to somehow force them, and this had a possibility to backfire on me. No, it was better to wait for Mrs. Bakkley to talk to me next week.

As for my siblings, Suzie was in the second grade and could care less. Hamilton would care because he was a snoopy asshole and couldn’t mind his own business. He would spend the weekend telling me why I couldn’t be allowed to do it, and then telling the entire neighborhood what I was trying to do. It would be infinitely better if my plans were presented as a done deal.

I continued my running over the weekend. Saturday was pretty straightforward, getting up with the alarm clock, running a lap with Daisy, and then running a bigger lap without her. I still had the crick in my side, but it seemed to come later in the run, and didn’t seem as bad. I also shaved a minute off the run. Mom gave me a funny look when I came in, but I just repeated the old line about ‘he who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day.’ Later that afternoon I rooted around in the garage looking for something I could use as weights. The only things I could find were a couple of bricks I could do some arm curls with. I also tried doing pushups, but the calisthenics seemed to be too much. I was going to have to work up to that.

Sunday morning sucked. We were Lutheran, on both sides of the family, and while we didn’t have to go to church every week like the Catholics did, I did have to go to Sunday School. Worst of all was the fact that by the time I got to college I had lost my faith. I had already seen and learned too much about the wickedness of man to believe what a church, any church, had to say about anything. My folks, however, were members in good standing of St. Paul’s Evangelical Lutheran, and I was going to Sunday School and then confirmation class and communion or else Dad was going to tie me to a stake and Mom was going to light a match.

To be fair about it, St. Paul’s was a pretty nice place. We had a new pastor, Pastor Joe Needham, who had an excellent way with young people. He was married and had adopted a couple of nice little ones and lived in Timonium. There was an active teen program and Pastor Joe was an avid camper and canoer, often leading church group camping and canoeing trips. He and I got along fine. I often would stop by his house to gab even after moving away, for many years, just to see an old friend and shoot the shit. We often talked about my problems with my family, but we always showed each other pictures of our kids.

Now, however, going to Sunday School was like an hour in a communist reeducation camp. Years later I would joke to Marilyn that I used to be a real Bible thumper when I was a kid, but then I figured out the Devil made chocolate chip cookies, and I was a lost cause. She was a hard core Catholic, and this irked her to all get out. It was a Communion Sunday as well. Unlike the Catholics, we only did Communion once a month. On those days it was like a double dose - Sunday School followed by an hour plus of church. As we left, Pastor Joe asked if I wanted to become an altar boy, but I replied, “Only if I get put in charge of the wine.” Pastor Joe and my father both laughed at this, but Mom gave me a huffy complaint and smacked the back of my head. I guess the agreement not to hit me anymore was null and void while standing in the House of God.

Monday at school, Mrs. Bakkley asked me to stay after class. She briefly said that we needed to talk and asked if I could meet her in the classroom at lunchtime. She even gave me a hall pass. It sounded positive to me. If the answer was no, she would have just said that.

I swung by the cafeteria at lunchtime, but simply bought a couple of apples and stuck one in my pocket. I ate the other on the way back to Mrs. Bakkley’s class. She was sitting at her desk grading tests when I knocked on the open door and came in. She put down the test she was working on and looked up at me. “Grab a seat and bring it over here.” She pointed at the side of the desk.

“Yes, ma’am.” I pulled one out of the front row and sat down facing her.

She eyed me curiously for a second. “Let me make sure I understand you correctly. You want to go through both Algebra 1 and Algebra 2 this year, and then somehow take a high school level course next year. Is that correct?” I just nodded, and she continued, “Why? What brought this on? I have to tell you; your grades so far are average at best. What makes you think you can even do this?”

“I just decided to quit fooling around and do something with my life. I decided to stop goofing off so much.”

“This isn’t just stopping the goofing off. Taking two math classes in a single year is a lot more than that. And next year? Are you planning on attending class at Towson High? Are you planning on skipping a grade?”

“Not really. I figure that if I go over there and say that I managed to pull this off, they would have no reason not to let me do some kind of independent study. My understanding is that they have students already moving ahead in some cases, even taking some classes over at Towson State for dual credit. I want to do that,” I announced.

“Well!” She sat back and eyed me for a moment. “What brought this on? Did your parents tell you to ask about this?”

I stared at her. That seemed totally out of left field. “My parents? They don’t even know about this!”

“You haven’t talked to them about doubling up in math?”

“God no! It will make life a lot simpler if I simply present this as a done deal, a fait accompli if you will. I will admit, though, my mom will be all in favor of it. I’ll finally be living up to my potential. Why?”

She rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve seen Little Johnny get an A on a test and the next day his parents come in thinking he’s Sir Isaac Newton brought back to life.” She waved it aside. “So, seriously, what brought this on? Does this have something to do with the fight on the bus the other day?” My eyes opened wide at that. “Yeah, I heard all about it. Do you think you can get out of here a year early and escape the bullies? Towson High will be even worse!”

I just shrugged. “It’s a yes and no answer. It’s more like I just turned thirteen and decided to do something, make something of myself. I want to take control of my life. Up until now everybody and their brother has been telling me what to do and when to do it and how to do it. No more! I want to be in control. Nobody’s going to bully me anymore and I want to have some say in what classes I take. I think I can do this. Will you help me? Or not?”

“Hunh.” She sat there stumped for a moment. “Well, I might, although if you think you can take control of your life, you are sorely mistaken. I don’t think any of us are really in control of anything. Here’s the deal. If we were to compress all this year into half the year, this would be about the midpoint of the semester. Tomorrow, after school, I will give you a midterm test. It will cover not only what we have studied so far, but the topics I will be teaching up through Christmas. You take the test and I grade it. You do well and I will figure out how to do this. You fail, and you stay like now. This is it. One test, make or break. That’s the deal. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am!” I said eagerly. “What chapters will the test cover?”

An eye raised at this, as if I were calling her bluff. She gave me the chapters to be covered. Then she said, “This is a one-time shot. You will get one hour, no curve on the grade. I don’t care how you finagle staying after class or how you plan to get home. This is your shot at glory. If you don’t show up for any reason, it’s all over. Are we in agreement?”

I stuck out my hand. “Yes, ma’am! Do we need to spit on our palms to make it official?”

She snorted in laughter at this. She simply took my hand and shook it. “I think we can avoid that.”

I got up and left, pulling out my second apple and eating it on the way to my next class. I said nothing to any of my classmates, or to my parents that evening. It would be a lot simpler to keep them out of it until I had it locked up. I will admit that I studied those chapters awfully hard that night, reading the first half of the book twice and doing a bunch of problems at the end of each chapter, but it was still a snap. I spent more time writing the answers down than in figuring them out. The next day, I lingered after class and confirmed the time I was to show up in the classroom. I told my parents I was staying late to study in the library, and that I would walk home. It was only about a mile and a half from the school to home, so it wasn’t a big deal.

The test was fifty problems, split evenly among each chapter of the book. I finished in about forty-five minutes, even though I had to ask for help twice, simply to make sure I understood what the problem was asking for. I handed Mrs. Bakkley my test and sat back down in my seat.

“Okay, you want the good news or the bad news now, huh?” she asked. I nodded. Suddenly my mouth was as dry as dust. “Alright, let’s see.” She pulled her answer key out of her briefcase and graded my test as I waited. She was using a red pen, and I felt an annoying sense of dread as she would make cryptic marks on the paper. It sure seemed like she was making a lot more marks on the test paper than could possibly be warranted. Finally, she put down her pen and sat back, to look at me curiously. “Huh!” She wordlessly handed me the page.

My nerves were shot as I turned it to face me. 97! I stared at it, and then glanced up at her. It wasn’t perfect. Was it good enough?

“I wrote that test harder than I would have for a normal class, and you just aced it!” she exclaimed.

“Is it good enough?” I asked, barely able to speak.

“Good enough and beyond. If you want to do this, I’ll help.”

I felt like buckets of sweat washed through me. I suddenly felt lightheaded and ran out of the room to the bathroom across the hall. I just made it to a toilet stall in time to lose my lunch. My guts heaved and I puked up about three years of meals. After a minute or so, I got to my feet weakly and saw Mrs. Bakkley staring at me from the doorway, horrified. “Carl! Are you alright?”

I moved to a sink and ran cold water over my face and through my hair. I spit out the aftertaste of my vomit and breathed deeply, then looked at myself in the mirror. I was grinning. I washed up again and grabbed a few paper towels. I turned to face my math teacher. “I am now!”

Chapter 5 »

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