Clicking the top of my pen repeatedly I stared at the teacher giving a lesson on Catcher in the Rye. I think my Dad had told me he read this book when he was in high school. Going to show you that being a teacher isn’t that hard. All you do is teach recycled lesson plans and read from a manual.
My attention kept drifting from what she was talking about too staring at her breasts and how the buttons of her white blouse strained to keep them from busting loose for all to see. It reminded me of the porn I had watched last night before bed. She reminded me of the porn star to be honest, brunette with large and probably fake tits teasing her students until one was asked to stay late, then they fucked.
Lost in my daydream I didn’t even hear Greg who sat behind me start to talk. I didn’t like him too much and tended to ignore any shit he was talking about. He picked on me and called me names and bullied my friends as well, but he seemed to focus on me more lately. Maybe it was because his family was poor as fuck and my parents just bought me the new iPhone.
“Three O’clock and you’re dead, I’m going to fuck you up.”
His voice was barely auditable, but it was loud enough for me to hear it and the kids sitting around me. But Mrs. Busty didn’t hear a thing. Not that the teachers in this school gave a fuck anyway. They just wanted their paycheck, summers off…ha to think of it they sound like we did. Until Greg had reminded me about what was going down after school, I was having a relatively good day. Now my day was a cross between scared shitless and wanting to run home. You see I wasn’t much of a fighter and the school knew it. I just wanted to go home and play Battle Royale 3 and jerk off to teacher student porn.
I glanced at the clock; it was fifteen to three. My phone in my pocket vibrated. I felt around in my pocket and slid it out just far enough were I could make out the notification. My friend Peter had texted me. It said run. Make up an excuse to leave early and run home. I didn’t think that was a possibility. Maybe if I stayed and got the shit kicked out of me the kids at school wouldn’t laugh at me and maybe one of the girls would actually give me a real blow job for being brave.
Looking up at the clock again, it was now five to three. Where had the ten minutes gone? I was starting to get nervous and not sure what I was going to do. Then the bell went off and it was time whether I wanted it to happen or not. Something was going to go down and it would probably be me with a bloody nose and to the applause of entire school.
I’d then wake up to tomorrow with my images and videos trending on Twitter and YouTube. I would be the next internet super star. My father told me how when he was growing up there was no evidence of anything he did, and he would tell me how lucky he was to grow up in a time before technology. I had told him about Greg, he said that I should keep my head up high and not be scared to knock the shit out of him.
With a deep breath I put my books away clicked the pen for the last time and left the classroom heading to the exit where Greg would be waiting for me. I pushed open the door and I could see him waiting in the playground. I also noticed a nice pair of Raybans sitting on the ledge of the large brick railing that bordered the stairs. It was the classic black frames with Rayban written on the temple and the lenses as dark as night. How could I resist? Picking them up I tried them on. The sunglasses fit perfectly and I felt a warm fuzzy feeling surround my body, it was similar to the feeling I got at Jeff’s house when we’d steal his parents’ edible cookies. I felt good like everything was how it should be, I no longer feared the fight that was a head of me.
I saw Greg standing in the open field by the sign of the school, cracking his knuckles and talking to his friends. Something was said the three of them laughed as a crowd started to gather around them. It was like the entire school had felt my impending doom. The next thing I knew I was right up upon them, face to face. How in the fuck did that happened? I didn’t even know I was walking.
“Look who showed up, I thought you’d have run home to Mummy.”
“Fuck you Greg.” I was shocked and surprised at what I had said. My voice wasn’t shaky and full of fear. Even the adrenaline that coursed through my body was missing. This was fucked up.
Greg reached out to pushed me. I took a step back, dropped my backpack to the ground and looked at him. “Don’t do that again.” Fuck, where was this voice coming from. It was clear I had thrown Greg off his game. I had never acted like this before. Through the dark lenses of my sunglasses I saw him clench his fist, cock it, and he threw it. It hit nothing but air.
To my surprise I had made a fist of my own and I watched it fly through the air. It was like I was playing a video game and the cut scene just slowed down to show this awesome cinematic part.
It was a perfect shot to his temple. I felt my hand make perfect contact, a flash of pain went through me and Greg dropped to the ground. All around me the kids went silent and didn’t move. They were as shocked as I was.
The first sound I heard was that of old buses pulling away from where they had stopped. Not making a scene I picked up my backpack and left Greg laying on the ground and took a few steps back. I didn’t know if he was dead or what. But he wasn’t moving, he was surrounded by his friends one of which went running to get a teacher to come help Greg. I ran and didn’t look back.
When I was out of view of the kids, I looked down at my fist. It was red with swelling and was starting to turn a bluish purple. How would I explain this to my parents?
“Who said that?” I was alone, no one around me but I heard that voice clearly.
“I said it.”
“What…who is I.” I took the glasses off and looked around. Confused. “Hello?” I waited and got no answer from that weird voice. Putting the glasses back on.
“I can help you. I know your thoughts. You want that teacher? We can get her. You want Sally to ask you to the Spring dance? We can make that happen. You help me kid, I’ll help you.”
“Who are you? And how do you know these things.”
“Don’t worry about that. Just make sure you keep my lenses clean, keep me on, and together we will be as cool as I made James Dean.”
“Who the fuck is James Dean?”
Copyright F.C. Janes