SENSE Part I (installment #3)

Sense: Part I (continued)

I write. Most often it goes unread, only a lucky few get to skim. This is a piece I've been working on for some time now--not sure if it will be a short story or much longer. I suppose it could be categorized as adolescent lit. It's a work in progress. Suggestions and constructive criticism are welcome. Working title- Sense
Installment # 3 (continued from August 24th)

“You have so much going for you. You are so pretty and mature,” his accent is practically unnoticeable, he glances at her chest, I swear it, “don’t throw it away. It is from obstacles we become stronger. With the help of God, you will get through this.” He is still patting her head. I feel like I shouldn’t be there. I divert my eyes; afraid I will see something I shouldn’t.

“Go now,” he says, “you get off with a warning. Go.”

We both rise from our chairs simultaneously. Her moves happen in slow motion. They appear to be calculated, sensual, dramatic. I look at him and say thank you. He nods. She smiles her hand by her face, waves a little wave using just her fingers. Thanks, she calls out from the doorway.

Walking back to class I say nothing.

“Ya like that huh? Thanks to me, no fucking detention.”

I’m so appreciative. I gesture my chin up as though saying so.

Detention in those days, at that school was a day, or two or three, depending on the severity of the crime, in the library. Even lunch was in the library, which broke more rules of no eating in the library, but they made exceptions. A classmate who would torment and tease you as he dropped off the work for that period, trying to convince you, you just missed the best class in Mr. Simeonides math class. And you would believe it, even though every day in his class 2/3 of the students would nap, propped up on a pencil.

I never had detention. Up until she came along I was able to get out of things. Now I was a moron who stared at her shoes. She did little talking, smiled and she thought I owed her all my gratitude. It doesn’t change the fact that I want to be like her. I want to choke her.

“He ate that up with a spoooon,” pretending to lick a spoon. She glances sideways, noticing my puss, “What the fuck are you p.oed about? We got off. And I’m sure so did he,” she cackles and winks at me.

“Yeah, it’s cool. No detention. Thank the Lord!”

“Nope, just me,” she snaps at my bra strap then turns left into her classroom. And she’s gone.