Chapter 1

I was looking for a girlfriend who was looking for a guy who was at the least a genius, a track star, and a good kisser. Well one out of three wasn’t that bad: my IQ being 191. As for being a track star, well, I’ve signed up to be on the JV team; it remained to be seen if I’d make it. And as for the kissing thing, well I had played spin the bottle at a party once, in the 7th grade, and I wasn’t actually insulted by any the three girls that tested my skills. But like I said I am really, really smart.

“It is November 1979, and I’m a freshman, read the lowest of the low, at Harmon T. Solis School in Chandler, Arizona. Chandler’s about 25 miles southwest of downtown Phoenix. HTS is really three schools: elementary, middle, and high school but all are on the same overall campus; kinda unusual these days. And now that I’m a resident student of the high school per se, I can say truthfully, that I’ve attended them all.

I live with my mom, Caroline Wyatt, who is a single mom. Oh, and I’m Lee Wyatt, and like I said, the resident genius at HTS. There are a few people, that I’ve met over my short and not quite yet illustrious career, who aver that I’m actually a smart ass; but, as for those people jealousy is a terrible thing.

I have selected a candidate for that girlfriend that I’m looking for. Her name is Penelope Davis: super pretty, dazzling smile, but a little bit tall for me, maybe an inch or two. Still, I like tall girls. It was Frank Sinatra who said that the taller the tree is the sweeter the peach. Well, I think it was him.

“Hi,” I said, coming up to her in her cute little cheerleader uniform. She was a junior varsity cheerleader and it was football season. And since track season had not actually started yet, I was free to ply my wares.

“Huh?” she said.

“That’s okay,” I said “I can tutor you in English too.”

“Huh? What?” she said.

“Now that’s progress,” I said.

“What the hell?”

“Oh my! My manners. I’m Lee Wyatt, resident genius. Oh, and didn’t I say, your future husband, boyfriend, slave? You choose,” I said. She smiled but I think it was kind of a sarcastic smile.

“Look little man, you can hope, but I am so far out of your league that hope is the best you are ever going to be able to aspire to,” she said. She patted me on the shoulder and walked off.

It was only the second month of school, but the rumor mill already had me tabbed as being the class Brainiac. Actually, maybe even the school Brainiac. Well, what other 14-year-old freshman had ever attended Harmon T. Solis and routinely read Joyce, Wittgenstein, and could speak three languages: English, Spanish, and German—fluently; and a fourth one, Chinese, well, not fluently. The above facts, and my intellectual notoriety related to them, soon got me a visit.

She tapped me on the shoulder, again. And, she was smiling, again, and this time it did not appear to be sarcastically.

“Husband and boyfriend are out of the question, but I am willing to take you on as my slave,” she said. “I need help in Biology and Algebra.”

“Done, mistress, where and when?” I said.

“After school, the cafeteria is open till five,” she said. Of course, I already knew that. Students used it as a study hall and snacks were available, though not for free like lunch was.

I rubbed my hands in glee. She saw me do it and frowned. “Like I said, little man...” she said.

“I know, I know,” I said. “But hope does spring eternal; well, according to Alexander Pope.”

“Hmm,” she said, and walked off leaving her slave to hope.

The cafeteria was useful for this first meet up, but after that, not. We needed someplace private. Her home would become the venue of choice. At any rate Penelope Davis, while not completely an intellectual cipher, did absolutely need help. And not just when it came to this or that particular assignment. She really needed to learn how to work, how to study, and how to manage her time and to prioritize her work load. She was about to be educated, and by me, not by the usual mediocrities that were teaching in public schools today these days. Talk about situations. That said...

I was seeing this as an opportunity to sell my social wares to the girl of my dreams, oh yeah. Talk about the full court press. She was about to learn the meaning of the term.

Our third meet up, and it was at her house, with her dad, Mister Rodney Davis, checking in on us periodically, was eventful. She had decided, and I was surprised, that I had achieved the second level of my hopes. I got to be her boyfriend. I was no longer merely her slave.

“Lee, you have done something that I have to say I was more than skeptical that you could do, that anyone could do. You’ve made this stuff actually understandable.

“Homecoming’s in two weeks. You get to take me. And just remember I hate gardenias,” she said. I was all but speechless, well for a long moment.

“Okay,” I said, “no gardenias, promise.”

“Good,” she said, and she leaned in toward me; we were both seated on the couch. She kissed me. That kiss, and I had played spin the bottle in seventh grade remember, was something that I would never forget, not ever.

“I also promise to not be late. Would early be acceptable?” I said.

“Fine, but not too early. It does take a girl a little more time than a guy to get ready,” she said.

“Got it, not too early,” I said. She smiled. She had me and she knew it and I loved it.

I’d been her slave, and now I was kinda her boyfriend, maybe. But husband... ? That would have to be years down the line, us being 14-year-old kids, but if I could work it, sooner or later, I would be. Oh yeah!

Homecoming was fantastic. My mom had to drive us, but a lot of the frosh had the same handicap, so it wasn’t all that big a deal. We danced. We learned to hate Hawaiian punch. We slipped outside and kissed our lips raw. Went back inside and danced some more, and everything was cool. Well, almost everything.

She did get asked to dance by other guys during the evening, and she did dance with them. Hell, I could relate, she was beautiful; there was no way I was going to be able to dominate every minute of her life no matter what I did. I swallowed and lived with my worry: worry that some tall, dark and handsome jock would cut my time with her. But, at least on this night, none did.

Mom picked us up at 10:30, her dad-imposed curfew, and I walked her to her door. Hoping not just for another kiss, but for a positive response to a question I was getting up the courage to ask.

“Question?” I said.

“Okay?” she said.

“Movies next Saturday?” I said. She smiled. Christmas vacation began next week and I planned to bother her a lot, if I could, over the two-week period. I mean if she’d let me get away with it.

“Sure,” she said. I could feel a mile-wide smile crease my features.

And we did go to the movies—eventually numerous times and they were seriously romantic interludes.

We got seats on the far left of the auditorium; and no, I do not remember what the movie was about. I don’t think she did either. Well, we didn’t spend a lot of time watching it.

Our row was toward the back and on the left side of the theater. Pen was in a seat against the wall and I was next to her one seat in, my arm around her. We leaned into each other kissing off and on for the whole movie. At one point I let my right-hand risk sliding in on her left breast. She gave me a look kinda challenging me to be man enough to try massaging it.

Chapter 2 »