Chapter 10: Making Friends

Thursday is my first day of classes. The first thing I do when I get there is report to the office. They assign me a locker and give me my schedule. The Principal was kind enough to arrange it, so I was in English, gym, metalwork, and woodwork. The secretary let me know I could drop an elective as soon as the district approves my new schedule.

My first class wasn’t what I was expecting. It was English, and the teacher has a strange tradition of giving the new kid a public speaking assignment. At the end of class, I have to tell a story about myself that happened in the last year. I tell everybody how I was put into foster care, and an older foster sister came to me for some help because the authorities wouldn’t protect her when they were supposed to. I then mention how we discussed it, and she used the media to solve her problem. I intentionally leave the details vague. I don’t want everybody to know I was from Fort Grand. I want to leave that life behind. The only problem is, with all the moving without warning, I don’t have much of a selection of clothes left. The clothes I’m wearing are the same clothes I was wearing for the impromptu press conference when Grace outed me as the mastermind. A picture with Grace’s and my faces blotted out circulated for almost a month. Had I realized I was wearing the same clothes, I would never have told that story.

A boy that is sitting by the door looks to be part of the popular crowd. When I finish my presentation, he pipes up. “You look familiar, somehow.”

A geek from the back of the class speaks up. “He is wearing the same clothes as the kid from Fort Grand.”

I give it away as my face turns red. There is a cute girl in the front row that looks up at me and says, “You’re him, aren’t you?”

I never did like lying, and she is cute, so I am not about to ignore her. My presentation was done in a loud, clear voice. Suddenly I am talking in a mousy little voice, “Ya, that was me.”

Some headbanger in the back makes a smart-ass remark, “I knew it. So, when are we going to take down the teachers here?”

My voice is back, “The day I see teachers assaulting children, inciting kids to commit crimes or acting criminally negligent in any way, then I will step up and do what needs to be done. I am extremely loyal and protective of those I care about. Threaten them, and you threaten me. Until then, live and let live.”

The teacher and the cute girl in the front row seem to like that answer, but most of the kids don’t. There is a slew of questions coming from the class. The teacher intercedes. She tells me I did an excellent job on my speaking assignment and sends me back to my seat just before the bell rings. Thankfully, it is only a five-minute break to get to the next class. I don’t have to face any more questions.

My next class is woodwork. Thankfully there is nobody here from my English class. I am a couple minutes late. The reason being, I had to find the class in the sea of kids, and I am none too excited.

The teacher is a typical shop teacher. He isn’t interested in making introductions to the class. He understands why I am late and directs me to the only empty seat in the class, so, I can put my book bag down. The shop is designed with square workbenches that double as desks with stools. There are four students to a workbench. The only bench that has space left is clearly the loser table. Looking at it, I figured it is the table I would likely fit in the best with anyway. There are two tomboys and a geek sitting at the bench. The geek looks out of place. I’m guessing he got stuck in woodwork because he was late handing in his class selections.

It is the final month before the end of the first semester. It means that the kids are working on their final big project, so there isn’t much for instruction. The teacher hands out the final approval for projects. I don’t have time to introduce myself to my bench-mates. The teacher wants to make sure I am checked out on all the equipment and that I choose a project. Woodworking is second nature to me. The first time I built a quality wood boat, I was only 9. Boats are about the most challenging project you can do with wood.

I don’t want to have to put much effort into the project, so I tell the teacher I will do an end table with a chessboard top. The teacher is OK with that.

When I get back to my bench to start drawing out the plans for my table, the two girls are off using the table saw and bench planer. I introduce myself to the geek. He says his name is Kevin.

He sure is out of his element. It is the first day of the new project, and he is marking out his wood to be cut but has no clue what he was doing. Thankfully, his project is just a jewelry box. He is about to get up and take his pieces to the band saw, and I stop him,

“Kevin. I don’t know how we get marked, but in my experience, the teacher gives you just enough wood to do your project. If you need more, you have marks docked. Is that how this school does it?”

“That’s it.”

“Then, you might not want to cut your pieces quite yet.”

“Why not?”

I show him how he had it marked wrong. Then I show him how to make paper templates to ensure everything is measured and cut right. It takes longer, but if you are not good with spatial mathematics, it is the only way to ensure you have everything correctly marked before you cut. The kid is grateful and won’t stop thanking me. He almost lost 10% on the first day of the project, and he needs at least a B to pass the course.

I am back to drawing my plans when the girls returned to the bench, and I introduce myself. Carol is a typical tomboy. She is skinny but not too skinny and has a bit of muscle to her. With a little makeup and fashion advice, she would be one of the hottest girls in school. Blair is a bit more butch, but she fits in with the class better. When she was at the table saw, she was joking around with the guys in the class.

We don’t have much time to chat. We are all anxious to work on our projects. Carol thanks me for helping Kevin. He is so focused on making the paper cut-outs that he doesn’t notice. By the time the class ends, I have all the pieces cut for the chessboard.

At lunch, I see Kevin and Carol sitting by themselves, so I join them. Kevin is a bit too much of a geek. He isn’t that bright, and we have little in common. He is a good guy; it is just we don’t have any of the same interests. It seems to me that Carol and Kevin are friends by default. Nobody else likes them, so they ended up gravitating towards each other. That is the only thing I see that they have in common.

It turns out that Carol is a bit socially awkward. My first life, at this age, I was much worse, so I have a lot of patience for her. We also have a lot in common. She is a smart girl. I would guess she is typically on the Principal’s honour roll. She asks why so many of the other kids were looking at me. I tell her what happened in the English class and who I really am. She doesn’t pressure me or ask questions about Fort Grand. She politely lets me guide the conversation in another direction. Just before lunch ends, I bring the conversation back to it, “Why is it that you never asked me about Fort Grand?”

“I saw the way the other kids were looking at you and figured you probably get bugged about it enough. If you wanted to talk to me about it, you wouldn’t need me to ask you questions.”

To me, that is the perfect answer and makes me think about asking her out. The truth is, I am not entirely comfortable with my last two love interests. I was always ashamed of my age. I mean, it was only a couple days ago I turned 70 or 15 depending on how you look at it. I needed to focus on school and work.

I tell her, “Thank you. I appreciate it. The last couple places I lived and schools I went to brought me some interesting problems, and I need a break from all the drama.”

After lunch is Gym. This time, I get there a few minutes early. I am pestered, mostly by the Jocks and the Heads. For the most part, the girls stay out of it. The kids aren’t trying to piss me off. It is just their curiosity. When our gym teacher comes out, my jaw nearly hits the floor. I have to keep reminding myself to close my mouth and not drool. She is every man and boy’s wet dream, being 5’7” with an athletic build, long brunet hair, hazel eyes and a C cup. Usually, I don’t like eyes in the brown range, but there is something about them that is alluring. She isn’t just fit. She has the gorgeous round ass of a flexible athlete.

I am pleased to see the cute girl from my English class. We were never introduced, and I don’t know her name. I am also surprised to see the sport we are to study is ballroom dance. I think that maybe this is my chance to get to know her. In my past life, ballroom was the only type of dancing I knew. I could fake club dancing by doing some unorthodox martial arts to music, but the only real dancing I did was ballroom. I wasn’t so much into the Latin dances, but I knew my way around when it came to quickstep, the swings, and polka. Believe it or not, it was a kickboxing coach that got me into polka. They tend to be faster songs and use the same muscles that are used to bounce around the ring. It greatly enhances the endurance of a stand-up fighter.

The girls had that new guy infatuation they always get. I had my pick of dance partners. Most people don’t realize this, but with ballroom dancing, if the guy knows how to lead correctly, the girl doesn’t need to know anything other than the basic step. If they lose track and forget what part of the step they are on, at the end of their current move, they only have to start at the beginning of the basic step. I explained this to my first partner after she messed up a few times. The class noticed an extreme improvement in her dancing, but five minutes after we change partners, she is back to being all left feet.

Between making my partner look good and being the new guy, I don’t have problems finding partners. Unfortunately, the girl from my English class isn’t aggressive enough. Each time we were told to find a partner, I find myself with another girl in my arms before I can get to her. I don’t want to be rude and turn a girl down. That means I don’t get to spend any time with her.

Seeing how I know what I am doing, the teacher starts using me for demonstrations. We keep on changing partners, so I don’t get to know anything about the girls other than their names. The few times I speak with a girl, it is about the move we are learning. Near the end of the class Ms. Fine, our teacher, has us switch partners. Only this time, she comes up to me, stating, “I have to see why all the girls have an easier time dancing with you.”

“The difference is, I was taught how to lead. The subtle pushing, pulling and other such guiding with the hands, hips and shoulders force a girl to move in the right way. The only thing I don’t control is your feet.”

“Somehow, I think it is more than that.”

“I was taught how by a professional. I tell you what. Close your eyes and only concentrate on doing the basic step. I will lead you through a few moves. Then you can tell me I’m full of it. Just remember to keep your eyes closed.”

She closes her eyes, and the song begins. As she does, I think of how much more of a woman she is than the girls I have been dating. I understand I don’t know anything about her, but she is gorgeous, and so far, she seems to be a nice and intelligent woman. At first, I don’t mess with her. I do the moves she taught us in class the way she taught them.

She taught a sanitized version of the dance. After seven or eight moves, I switch things up a bit. Except for the Latin dances, ballroom dancing is meant for two reasons. The first is to show off your girl. It puts the woman in the spotlight. It is a way to brag, ‘See, this is what I got, and you can’t have.’ The second purpose is to entice the woman. Its job is to turn her on. Dancing like a teen in gym class isn’t going to turn anybody on.

To dance sensually means things like, when you do a slide, you don’t have your hand wrapped around her arm to guide it. Let go of her arm and lightly drag your fingertips on the underside of her arm. This is an erogenous zone, and your intent is to tantalize with a slight bit of tickling. It is kind of like using a feather during sex. The girl experiences sensations she doesn’t know how to process. The feeling releases endorphins and confuses her when she is having fun. It gives you a chance to use the fun she is having as a catalyst to turn her on.

When she does a turn, glide your hand across the small of her back. Slowly during the dance, lower your hand. If she tenses up, then the next turn, raise your hand six inches and then slowly work your way down again. This time, not as quickly. If it is a dance where you can get close enough, start rubbing the inside of your thigh against the inside of hers. When she spins out of your arms, let your hand drag a little longer, so you end up with your hand rubbing the side of her boob. The first few times you do it, she will not realize it is on purpose. If you are any good at dancing and seducing her, then by the time she realizes you are deliberately feeling her up, she will want you to.

I admit I don’t rub her inner thigh. This is a grade 9 gym class, after all. Each time we come together in a closed stance, I bring her in closer. After we do every move she’d taught two times, I start doing moves the class hasn’t been shown yet. At first, she can’t tell.

Having her eyes closed heightens her other senses. The light brushes of her skin against mine have an amplified effect on her. I’m sure her increased breathing rate has as much to do with the sensual nature of what we are doing as it does the physical exertion of the dance. We were supposed to stop after the first song, but she is caught up in the dance, and the next song starts right away. I whisper in her ear for her to keep her eyes closed. I do this as much to make her think it isn’t time to open them yet, but also so I can let her feel my breath on the sensitive skin of her neck and ear. Everything I am doing is designed to turn her on.

Every couple combinations I add in another move. As the second song starts, the kids begin to notice Ms. Fine, and I are dancing a lot more sensually, and we are doing things they haven’t seen before. Halfway through the second song, we are the only ones dancing, and she is keeping her eyes closed. She has no clue everybody is watching us. Just as the second song ends, I dip her. At first, she squeals in excitement, but as we stand there, her leaning into my arms, she starts to pucker up for a kiss.

The kids clapping causes her to snap out of her daydream. It is funny to watch her turn from flush from being turned on to flush with embarrassment. It is something I enjoy very much, and it is something she will remember for a long time.

That ends gym class for the day. I take some good-natured teasing in the changeroom. For once in my lives, I fit in, and it feels good.

My last class of the day is metalwork. I show up late since I had to shower, change and then find the place. The teacher is understanding. The shop has the same layout as the woodshop. I once again end up on a workbench with Blair. It seems as though she fits in, but since she is at the loser bench in both classes, It’s apparent that she isn’t respected. I feel sorry for her, but at least she is given the illusion that she is accepted. It is better than a lot of kids get.

I’m not interested in the class, because I intend to drop it tomorrow, once the district accepts the agreement we made with the school. Blair, on the other hand, is genuinely interested in metalwork. The teacher knows I don’t intend to stay in his class, so he is fine with me helping Blair and giving her pointers. It is evident, her only experience with metal shop is in this class. Given my 70 years of experience, there is a lot I can teach her that the teacher can’t. She is grateful for the help, and we bond as friends.

I don’t stick around after class. I hardly know anybody to stick around for. Besides, I needed to work on my thesis. I go straight home. Shortly after Sam gets there, we go to Gran’s. We often eat there. She has also been at the school district’s board meeting, and I need to know how that turned out.

At supper, she states how anticlimactic the meeting was. She showed up, expecting at least a bit of discussion about me, but that didn’t happen. My name was brought up, and the board voted to have the Principal deal with me as he sees fit. It didn’t appear as though most of the board members knew what they were voting on, other than there was a kid that excelled and didn’t belong in his current grade.

First thing Friday morning, I stop by the school office and let them know I am dropping metalwork. I then have 20 minutes until class starts, so I head over to my English class to work some more on my thesis.

The cute girl from the front row also shows up a few minutes early, so I set my thesis aside and ask, “You are in my gym class, aren’t you?”

This time she is the one with the mousy answer, “Yes.”

I hold out my hand for her to shake it, saying, “My name’s Trent.”

I notice how soft her hand is when she shakes mine. It feels so fragile. She has a little more confidence in her voice when she says, “Dahlia.”

“Now that is an appropriate name.”

She blushes a bit, but not enough for anybody else to notice. She asks, “How do you mean?”

“Dahlia is Hebrew for a flowering branch. It suits you.”

“Thank you, I guess.”

“You’re welcome. I was disappointed in gym class yesterday. Every time I went to ask you to be my partner, some other girl would ask me before I could get to you.”

Her blush deepens. It is obvious; she has next to no experience with guys. It is a shame, considering how attractive she is. It is adorable how her tongue is tied, and she is incapable of more than a few words at a time.

“Really!!!”

“You are attractive, humble and seem to be a hard worker.”

“Hard worker?”

“Granted, I had only seen you in English and gym yesterday. You were focused in class, but most teachers can tell you what a kid’s grade is going to be simply by where they sit, the first day of class. Where you chose to sit is where the girl that is going to try hard sits. I also noticed that you had difficulty in gym, but you never gave up. It is one of the reasons I wanted to dance with you. I wanted to help a beautiful girl out on my first day.”

The more I talk, the redder her face gets. Yes, it is common for a 14 to 15-year-old girl to be awkward around guys, but she is especially so and is not used to compliments.

I am starting to dislike her dad. I know it sounds random, but hear me out. Girls in general, especially young girls, often have self-confidence issues. Society places a lot of their worth on their looks. It is also ingrained in them that all dads believe their daughters to be beautiful, no matter what they look like. If the one man that has to think she is beautiful never says it, then it affects a girl. It is not much different than him, saying she is ugly. It causes a lot of self-doubts, and even the best-looking girl can come away believing she is hideous.

She isn’t just beautiful; this girl is driven academically. Boys are intimidated by her. She sees her friends being asked out, but boys do n’t try to be more than casual friends with her. She takes it to mean that she isn’t worth dating. Her low self-worth saddens me.

I am willing to bet that she is only getting a B in this class. It is not because she can’t get an A. It is because she has no confidence and isn’t willing to risk giving her honest opinion.

I have a desire to help boost her confidence, but given all the restraints I have on my time, I am not sure how much I can do.

Mrs. Avery, our teacher, overhears our conversation and comments, “Now that is a sweet thing to say to a girl.” This causes Dahlia to blush even more. Her embarrassment and lack of confidence cripple her to the point where she can’t talk.

I decide it is a good time to back away and leave her be. Pushing her too hard will have the opposite effect that I desire. Just before I head back to my desk, I tell her, “Don’t make it so hard for me to find you in gym today. I would like at least one dance.”

After that, English is uneventful. Dahlia and I sit too far apart to talk, and passing notes is juvenile.

I look forward to woodwork. I am making fast friends of Carol and Blair. I don’t click quite as well with Kevin, but I am under the impression he doesn’t have many friends, so he probably values our friendship more.

Blair is much better at woodwork than she is metalwork. It looks like she has some experience. Her ability to quickly get things done in class gives us more time to socialize.

Since Carol and I bonded over lunch, she too is a lot more talkative in class.

Poor Kevin. He was so happy he got his pieces cut right. When he gets back to the bench, he starts trying to shape the wood with a rasp. It is evident that the teacher had instructed him on how to use it, as he is holding it correctly, and the motions of the arm approximate what he is supposed to do, but his stance is horrible. I have to stop him.

“Kevin, you can’t file the wood like that. You have no control, and your box is going to turn out fugly.”

He looks frustrated, exclaiming, “The teacher has shown me how to do it several times, but I just can’t get it.”

“You are doing everything right with your upper body, but your feet are screwing you up.”

“What do my feet have to do with my hands?”

“When a butterfly flaps its wings in China, it affects your life here. Just because you can’t see the relationship doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

He looks even more confused as I get us a practice piece of wood from the scrap pile. When I return, I continue, “Here, let me show you.”

I place the wood in a vice and take the rasp from him.

“Stand with one foot in front of the other. The forward foot and knee point parallel to the path you are trying to cut. You can do one of two things with your back foot. Either point it in the same direction as the forward foot, in which case keep your hips square. Or, your back foot is perpendicular to your forward foot. In this case, your hips are 45 degrees to the cut. This aligns your body to give you more strength behind your arms, so you have more control.”

I let him try it for a short while before I add, “When you slide the rasp forward, don’t rock on your feet. That causes an uneven amount of pressure through your stroke with the rasp, and you can’t file off an even amount of material. Bend your knees slightly and glide forward.”

I demonstrate, and say, “You see how the rasp stays flat through the entire stroke?” He nods his head.

I hand him the rasp and tell him, “You give it a try.” He stands how I demonstrated, and in no time, he has taken a rounded piece of wood and turned it into something perfectly flat. I then show him how to round the wood off using the rasp, turning the flat wood round again. He is pleased with himself.

As he practices, I tell him, “The other big advantage to using your legs like this is you don’t tire so easily. Look at that kid over there using a rasp. He is twice your size. He is standing right but isn’t using his legs as he should. He will tire out in less than five minutes and will constantly be taking breaks all class. You will be able to get through all your pieces without taking a break, so you will be finished a lot faster. A little guy like you can overpower the biggest meathead if you know how to use the muscles you do have.”

Kevin and I don’t socialize the entire class, but we do bond simply by my helping him. He is a good student; it is just, he was never shown simple things like that to help him out. I begin to realize my initial assessment of him was off, and he is a lot more intelligent than I gave him credit for. I’m confident that with what little I’ve shown him, he will get the best mark he has ever had in a shop class.

It was fun to watch Kevin’s attitude change, even just over a couple days. When I first met him, it looked like this class was the worst torture he ever faced. He was sad and depressed. Now he moves with a purpose. He has a ridiculous smile on his face and is excited about his project.

His attitude is contagious, and even the girls get a lot more accomplished than they planned for the class. I am ahead of schedule, so when I am not helping Kevin or chatting with the girls, I am on the lathe. I decided to turn my table legs and put a pattern in them.

At lunch, Kevin still has an ear to ear grin. This time, Blair sits with us. I start seeing our group as the school misfits, the kids that don’t belong in any clique. I admit I still mostly talk to Carol but include Kevin and Blair enough that they don’t feel left out. I had been the loner long enough that I don’t want anybody else feeling that way.

I took note as to where and with whom Dahlia sits. She is a couple tables away, sitting with a group of people I hesitate to call nerds. The nerds have their own table. The group Dahlia sits with are scholastically driven, but not socially taboo.

I arrived at gym class early. To my surprise, Dahlia showed up ahead of me. The two of us chat until class starts. It is cute how nervous she is. She is anxious to dance with me. During the warmup exercises, she doesn’t leave my side. When the warmup ends, Ms. Fine indicates that we should pick a partner and spread out so that we can review the moves we did yesterday. I offer Dahlia my arm and cheesily, asking, “May I have the pleasure of this dance?” She wraps her arms around mine, and we take a spot on the gym floor.

At first, Ms. Fine asks another boy to demonstrate with her, but he keeps messing up, so she calls on me. I don’t keep to the sanitary style she expects of the kids. Doing the demonstration, I kept our dance as sensual as I can. It is difficult, given the limited moves the class knows, but I do my best. When the review is over, I return to Dahlia, so we can practice. Yesterday, I had noticed she had difficulty keeping up with the class, so I tell her about just doing the basic step and letting the guy lead. It was still a disaster. Even still, she keeps putting her feet under mine.

“The reason your feet keep on ending up under mine is you are standing with your feet pointed in. The toes of your feet should be lined up with your knee and pointed forward.”

She looks at me in confusion and asks, “How do you know what I am doing with my feet? You haven’t looked down once. You have been looking in my eyes the entire time.” Most of the Latin dances require you to look the girl in the eyes. I have the habit of doing that with all ballroom dances unless I am doing one of the rare dances where it can’t be done.

I tell her, “It is simple body mechanics. I know what your head, arms, shoulders and hips are doing so I know what your feet are doing.”

“And where did you learn this?”

“I spent a lot of time learning different fighting styles. I don’t know if you have ever been to one of the school’s wrestling tournaments. The wrestlers spend a lot of time on the mat. The guy on the bottom faces the floor and can’t see what his opponent is doing. The guy on top has his chest on the other guy’s back. The guy on the bottom only sees the mat. He can’t see what his opponent is doing. His only way of knowing what the other guy is doing is by feeling the positioning of the guy’s chest on his back.”

“I never thought about it like that.”

“Body positioning is important. It improves accuracy, strength, endurance, and as a dancer, it will help you become more graceful. Take sword fighting, for instance. Say I have a sword above my head, and I want to swing the sword straight down. I need my front foot and knee aligned facing forward. Depending on the style, my back leg is either parallel or perpendicular. That brings my sword straight down with accuracy. If my rear foot is 45 degrees out of alignment, that brings my sword down at a 20 - 25 degree angle. If I try to bring it straight down, I lose accuracy, and the sword moves in an arch instead of straight. Throwing weapons is the same thing. If your feet aren’t aligned, you lose accuracy.”

“In your case, your posture is off, which makes your foot placement off. Add to that how closely our feet pass each other when you have your feet pointed in, it is inevitable that your feet would be placed under mine.”

Ms. Fine notices we are talking instead of dancing, so she comes over and asks, “Is everything alright?”

“I’m just giving Dahlia a little bit of instruction.”

“OK, but make it quick. We only have so much time to practice yesterday’s material. We have to move on.”

“No problem. Dahlia is a smart girl. She has it now.”

I hold my arms up in position, indicating to Dahlia that we should start dancing again. Dahlia comes into position, and I start a count indicating when to start dancing. This time she does much better. Occasionally her feet still find their way under mine, but she has dramatically improved. It is cute how she keeps apologizing. I offer, “If you like, you could come over to my place, and we can practice.”