Chapter 3: Meeting Melissa

I didn’t need an alarm clock, as long as my sister was at home. “Hey, jerkface, time to get up,” she yelled as she pounded on my door. A delicate and fragile creature, was Mindy.

I washed my face and brushed my teeth, grabbed my books and stumbled down for breakfast. That done, I was off for the bus with the admonition not to overdo it from my mother. I wondered if she would still be telling me that when I was thirty.

The bus ride was pretty much the same as yesterday, except all my friends were asking me about Melissa. They were making this into a much bigger thing because that was the closest romantic (read: sexual) connection any of them had had with a girl, so in a sense they were living vicariously through me. They were seriously disappointed when I finally convinced them that we were not “doing it” and no, I hadn’t seen her boobs. Or anything else.

Today, first period was French, with Mme. LeBlanc. She was at least third-generation American but held onto her French culture like a shield, and insisted that we address her as Madame LeBlanc. The effect of French culture was lost the moment she had to speak English and her Bronx accent shone through. So we were to conduct all communication in class in French, where her accent was, I hope, more France and less NooYawk.

I supposed I would find out if I ever got to France and began to speak the language. If they all fell down laughing, I would be seriously disappointed in Mme. LeBlanc, considering all the effort I had put into it thus far.

And so we began. She queried (in French) how we were all feeling this fine morning, and we answered “Très bien, Madame.” And so it went, with the conversation becoming slightly more complex, the phrases longer, and the responses accompanied by much hesitation and eventual collapse into English, to which she would reply “En français, s’il vous plaît.” I had always been frustrated by this approach because how could you learn French in this way if you couldn’t already speak French?

I mentally shrugged my shoulders and kind of drifted along with the drone of the back and forth. But now it was like I was tuning in on the conversation, hearing it like a French person, as if from a distant radio in another room. I could tell when someone was mispronouncing a phrase, and could almost hear the way she would correct it.

But I wasn’t going to get off easy today. Apparently the French did not view a coma and a hospital stay as a valid reason for not speaking French, so she looked at me and said, “M. Carter, est-ce que vous avez des frères et sœurs?” Asking me, I think, if I had siblings.

I panicked for a moment, then heard the distant radio pronouncing the phrase, and I replied, “Oui, Madame, j’ai un sœur, enfant du diable.” -- I had a sister who was the spawn of the devil. It took a moment for the phrase to be translated into English in the class’ collective mind, then everyone burst out laughing, many of them having met my sister. Mme. LeBlanc, while trying to suppress a smile, complimented me on my pronunciation. I think she did, anyway. It was in French.

For the remainder of the class, I was hearing the distant radio in my mind, listening to the class conversation, and mentally editing each person’s response for what I thought was the correct pronunciation that I heard on the radio, feeling somewhat relieved when Mme. LeBlanc would repeat the response with the corrected pronunciation. I was correct more often than not.

Next period was Science. It should really have been more accurately titled Science For Dummies, because there was so little detail that it was like a high-speed flyover of the simplest topics of various life and physical sciences, with all the interesting rough edges rounded off so no one would hurt themselves by thinking too hard about it.

I wonder how we actually produce any scientists here if this is the introduction students get. Those who don’t like it will continue to dislike it, and those who might have been interested will surely change their minds from boredom. But it was a requirement for grade promotion, so everyone had to take it. I had already read the book, I could take the final exam now, but no, I had to sit there for the rest of the term and listen to the lecture.

I was seated toward the back (assigned seats; I normally would have chosen to sit further front). I listened with part of my mind and started people watching with the rest of it. Melissa was in a different section due to her class schedule, so I couldn’t look at her. Some cute girls here. There was a petite blonde a couple of rows ahead, new this year so I didn’t know much about her, but really hot with full lips and an impressive pair of tits for someone I assumed was fifteen-ish. I’m sure the upperclassmen were already hitting on her.

In the row in front of her but to her left sat Darla Bruschetti who had jet black hair and the most amazing deep blue eyes. She also had an astounding bubble butt that was really riveting to watch disappear down a hall, but she knew it and now mostly wore loose skirts to divert the attention of males in the vicinity. But I had seen her in yoga pants and would not soon forget that image.

You know what they say about an idle mind, don’t you? It’s true. I didn’t intend to start anything, I just wondered what it would feel like to squeeze the blonde’s -- Cathy, that was her name! -- boobs. I could imagine sitting in a dark corner, nibbling on her neck and casually running my hands over those incredible breasts, giving them a little squeeze and pinching the nipples. And hearing her moan. Wait, she moaned. Those seated near her glanced over, and even the teacher looked up. She had her eyes closed and was squirming in her seat.

The instructor paused and said, with some concern, “Ms. McKendrick, are you quite all right?”

There was a delay while she caught her breath, and then she said, “Sorry, sir. Could I have a hall pass? Perhaps I’ll visit the nurse’s office.” She got it and stepped out of class, looking the tiniest bit feverish.

Oops, my bad. I’d have to be careful of these little experiments and where I ran them. Just then a warning bell went off in my head. What was that for, I wondered? And as if answering my silent question the instructor said, “Mr. Carter, would you explain to the class what the book means when it talks about natural selection?”

Like I said, I’d already read the book, so it took only a moment to remember that section of the text and give a summary, which seemed to satisfy the class and the instructor. But that was good to know; when a person’s attention was focused on me, I could feel the focus and wouldn’t be caught unaware.