Chapter 6: Breakout Club

7:32 P.M. Wednesday, Halloween, October 31, 2063

Of the forty-five girls I taught that year (three classes a day, remember?), thirty-eight showed up. George, one of the other coaches, had forty-one, and Sam thirty-two, for a grand total of one hundred eleven girls. Only fourteen of them actually showed up at six and stayed 'till nine, but most did stay for an hour or more. I knew that there were other parties, and that some of the girls would be trick-or-treating (some did this until they had children of their own, and then took them trick-or-treating).

At any time, two coaches had to supervise the hall, and one had to watch the door.

Now, the rules for this party had been read out loud, by me, on Friday of last week, and then again on Monday. The rules, explanations of the rules, the reasons for the rules, and the fact that the rules could not be set aside just because one didn't feel like following them, had been e-mailed to each girl, and to her parents. And on Monday, each girl had been given the same thing as the e-mail, only clearly printed on paper. AND each had been given another copy for her parents. So why was I here, on All Hallows Eve, explaining the rules yet again for various students and parents? And why did this happen every year?

"No, Irene, you can't bring a date. Yes, I understand that you don't mind your boyfriend seeing you in skimpy stuff, but some of the girls here don't want him to see them. Well, you might not mind, but they might. There will be a party later in the year that you can bring a date to. It was in the rules."

What made Irene think that the rules didn't apply to her just because she "didn't mind" I don't know, but she wasn't the only one who tried to bring a date. Four boys, on three occasions, tried to sneak in on their own.

Two girls from George's second class asked about smoking, as did Gloria.

"Not in the hall, you can't. Everybody else would have to breathe your smoke. There is a room at the other end, if you must smoke. It is labeled. But really, it's a filthy habit; are you sure that you want to maintain it?"

"I'm thinking about quitting, but not tonight." The same answer, word for word, from each one. But Gloria had another something to ask. "I suppose marijuana is out of the question?"

I was a bit taken aback by this. Not since my first year teaching, three years ago, had a girl asked if it would be OK to smoke pot at my party. This was unexpected, but I didn't have to agonize over my answer, because I knew what to say.

"Absolutely out of the question. Twenty-two states have decriminalized marijuana, but this isn't one of them."

"Ah, come on, Coach," she tried, "this isn't school."

"Which is why I'm looking the other way on smoking," I told her, "but you get caught smoking pot at my party, I could go to jail. You do what you like when it's your own ass on the line, but not when it's mine."

"Yeah, OK, um, sure," she agreed, apparently shocked to hear her coach use the word "ass" outside of a sexual context.

I'd smoked myself in my teens, and in fact had until I joined the army. Actually, I started smoking more in the army, but quit after a year. I hated it that any of my girls did it, but I could understand how they got started.

"No, Mr. Smith, you can't go into the hall. Yes, I know she's your daughter, and if you want to check on her I can have her sent to this room. Well, Mr. Smith, if you go into the hall, not only will you see Amethyst, but you will see seventy-eight other girls in various states of undress, and most of them don't want Amethyst's dad to see them. Besides, if I let you do it, then I have to let all the other parents do it. How many dads do you want going in there and seeing your little girl? Well, there you go. Boys? There aren't any boys allowed here. Well, there's no sex going on here tonight, but Mr. Smith, you did enroll your daughter in a participatory Sex Ed course. You do realize that eventually she's going to be doing a lot more than just dancing. Yes, sir. Wait here and I'll have her sent to you."