A warm, wet, tongue licks my face, waking me up. Stitch locks eyes with me, and whimpers softly. That's his way of saying that he needs to go to the bathroom and wants breakfast. I let him out before going to the bathroom myself. My biological father is the "retarded" one. Autism hasn't affected my intelligence. Eye contact is one of my weaknesses, it's hard to hold eye contact with anyone, even mom and dad. And I hate being touched, unless I'm the one to initiate it.
I was number six out of the top ten in my high school class, earned my Associate of the Arts degree, never majored in anything because I don't know what I want to do. Right now, I'm substitute teaching for Hulsey Highschool, my old school. Mrs. Farley is on medical leave, her twin sister is in dire need of a kidney, and she is a match. So I'm filling in for her for at least two weeks. Thankfully, Mrs. Farley is the schools art teacher. Art is one of my favorite subjects, so this will a be cake walk. One week I had to substitute for Mr. Addison, the Algebra teacher, and that was an absolute disaster. I may have graduated number six in the top ten of my class, but I barely passed Algebra.
My students love Stitch. Hulsey high doesn't discriminate; they allow me to teach and have him with me. Twenty-two years old, five foot three, and I've spent most my life in school.
I pull on my favorite pair of black jeans and Golden Girls T-shirt. I scarf down a cheese sandwich and chug a Pepsi. Pack my favorite lunch, Peanut butter and jelly sandwich, cheese sticks, apple slices and sweet tea. My diet has always been limited; I only try new foods if I force myself.
"Stitch, work time." I whistle. Dropping to my knees, I dress him in his service dog vest.
A car honks outside my door, my ride to work is here.
"Stitch, come." I say lightly tugging on his leash.
An old, golden, 2005 Taurus sits in my driveway. Nana, my step-grandma is happily waiting to drive me to work. I get Stitch into the back seat and order him to lay down. As fate would have it, my stepdad was sterile, he loved me like his own, so it didn't faze him. His whole family adopted me. Nana has always encouraged my education and drive to learn.
"What class are you teaching today?" She asks.
"Art class for at least two weeks." I say pulling my hair into a ponytail.
"Have a good day." She says dropping me off at the Highschool.
"You too, Nana." I say walking into the building.
The floor smells like wax, they must have buffered the floor last night. Hulsey High consists of grades nine through twelve. The school colors are white, black and blue, the mascot is a Hippopotamus, I'm not kidding. Posters cover the walls. Vote Trevor Blake for Senior Class President! Elect Avery Johnson for Senior Class President! Say No to Drugs! Brittany Lucas for Prom Queen!
Gross! I graduated with her bitch of a sister, Ashley, she bullied me every chance she got. Now she works at Dollar General, is addicted to meth and had three kids she put up for adoption. Brittany is just like her sister, a bitch and a bully. And Brittany just so happens to be in my first period Art Class.
As I walk to the art room, I notice a piece of paper taped to a locker with words Fat Loser written on it. With one fluid movement, I rip it off the locker. Hulsey High's existence revolves around track and baseball, and they always turn a blind eye when the athletes bully the other kids.
Not far from the locker, is a petite red head sobbing her eyes out. She's not stick thin, but she's not fat. Her eyes are a striking ocean blue. I don't recognize her; she must be new here.
Brittany's boyfriend looks at the girl with a longing in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Ginny, Brittany is just this way sometimes." He apologizes profusely.
As interesting as teenage drama is, I think I'll pass.
Mrs. Farley's room smells of wax and paint. Her tables are stained with dry paint. It really takes me back; I loved her class the most. I set up my laptop on her desk and read the instructions she left behind. Ok, so first period's assignment is to decide the subject of their colored pencil drawing. This should be fun.
The bell rings, and eight students shuffle in. Hulsey High is a small school; each grade is lucky to have thirty kids at any given time. I begin taking roll call.
"Samuel Brown?"
"Here." He replies.
"Cotter Everidge?"
"Here." A female voice responds, making my head jolt up.
Cotter is a girl? I don't recognize her, she must be a new student. Not sure why I just assumed that Cotter would be a boy. It's twenty-twenty-one, there's people naming their sons Sunshine. Nothing should surprise me at this point.
"Andren Farmer?"
"Here."
"Doug Farmer?"
"Here."
Andren and Doug Farmer, identical twins, and total sweethearts.
"Ginny Harris?" I call out, not recognizing that name.
I look up to see the same red head that Brittany's boyfriend was trying to comfort. Brittany is staring daggers at her. Ok, now it really makes sense. Brittany is jealous of Ginny because obviously her boyfriend wants the new girl.
"Amy Lark?"
"Here."
"Brittany Lucas?"
"Here."
"Xander Nelson?"
"Here."
I lay the roll call sheet on the desk. "Ok, class, today your assignment is to figure out what you want to draw for your colored pencil pieces."
Cotter giggles, "Ok, where's our substitute teacher? I'm new here, but you're obviously a student too."
"You're looking at her." I reply. Short, baby faced and in my early twenty's causes many to confuse me for a student.
"Really?" Ginny asks. "You look so young."
"Thank you." I reply. "I used to go to school here, and even took Mrs. Farley's class."
"Awesome." Cotter gushes.
"As most of you know, I'm a really laid backed substitute. I'm going to play some music while ya'll decide what to draw. Take a school computer and look for something to draw. Something clean." I say, giving Xander a warning glare. He once used the class computers to look up very naughty things.
He casts his eyes down in shame.
About twenty minutes pass, and Ginny timidly walks up to the desk. "Miss Bolton, I have nothing. I don't know what to draw."
"What a surprise. Maybe you should draw your fatass eating." Brittany mutters under her breath, assuming I couldn't hear her.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Ginny's eyes starting to water. Then she looks at what I'm sketching. "What are you drawing?"
"A cryptid. Some call it a Rougarou, some call it a werewolf, some call it the Michigan Dogman."
"Cryptids? What are those?" She asks.
"Folklore. You know, bigfoot, Loch Ness monster, Chupacabra and so on" I explain as I continue sketching.
"You actually believe in that type of stuff?" Doug asks.
"Yes and no." I sketch in the Dogmans fur. "There's no actual flesh and blood evidence of the Dogman as far as I know, mainly stories that conveniently have no evidence. But the world is full of mysterious things just waiting to be discovered. I honestly believe scientists are experimenting and doing things they shouldn't. Who knows if cryptids are real or not. I just want to see things that no one has ever seen before."
"Well, you're an amazing artist, your sketch is very realistic." She compliments. "Uhm, maybe, could I try drawing your dog?"
"Sure." I give her permission. "Stitch, sit." I order. He rises from the laying position into the sitting position. She pulls out her phone and proceeds to give him his own personal photoshoot.
"Suck up." Brittany fake coughs. "Teacher's pet."
Ginny really tears up. I know what it's like to be treated like this. Ok, that's it, I'm about to put the teach in teacher.
"Ginny, pay Miss Lucas no mind. She's just bitter because her High School sweetheart has his eyes on something sweeter." I say bluntly, making Brittany's jaw drop.
Everyone looks stunned, oh well.
"Weston is a really sweet guy, you two would make a cute prom couple."
Ginny smiles at me through tears, while Brittany starts to tear up.
"Doesn't feel so good to be bullied, does it Miss Lucas?" I stare her down.
Put in her place, she puts her head down in embarrassment. "No ma'am."
Sighing heavily, I start walking around the room. "Alright, listen ya'll. Graduation is a few months away, and it will be a whole new world. Brittany, you bully Ginny right now, when one day she could be the very doctor who saves your life. Weston is your sweetheart now, but it doesn't mean he's your future husband."
The room is silent as I continue pacing. I'm mainly pacing to spy on Xander to make sure he isn't looking up inappropriate things, he's not. At this point Ginny and Brittany have switched places, She's not crying, and Brittany is sniffling like she's having an allergic fit.
Oh hell, now I feel bad. Many people believe that autistics lack empathy; but they're wrong, Autistic people tend to be blunt though, case and point. I have a soft heart. I motion Stitch to come let Brittany pet him.
"When I was a senior, I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. I still haven't fully figured out what I'm doing. Right now, I'm happy just being a substitute teacher. Four years ago, Mrs. Farley told me that life is like art, the finished piece never turns out the way you thought it would." Part of me feels as if my words are falling on deaf ears. When I was a senior and teachers gave us their sage advice, I shrugged it off because I thought they were being over dramatic. Man, was I an idiot.
"Brittany, be kinder to the other students or I will report you to Principal Reed." I warn.
"Yes, Miss Bolton." She sniffles.
"Now, class, always remember that bullying, and cruelty in general is absolutely unnecessary." I end my lecture.
I will not tolerate any bully shit on my watch. Ashley already chose her path, and maybe one day she'll turn her life around, but her sister still has a chance.
Eventually third period rolls around, and a group of tenth graders walk into the room. Most of them are together, couples, it stirs a bit of jealousy in me. I'm twenty-two without prospects. Autism makes for a hard sell, plus I don't want to have children. I like men, even dated a few, but it's never felt right. I've never felt understood or loved for myself.
Most of my dates have been grabby, and I got the feeling that they'd take my virginity, then leave. I want more than that, I deserve more than that.
I envy true love and find myself wondering if I'm capable of it myself.