What if I tried out? I would definitely lose, so there was no harm there. And it would calm mom down. Maybe this could be my spontaneous thing. With newfound confidence, I nodded. "Yes, Mr. Carrozza." I said, as if speaking with my voice for the first time. "I would like to try out for the Student Council."
He fumbled with his words. He certainly was not expecting this. Finally, he produced a piece of paper from his desk, and put it gently on my desk. "Well, I must say, good luck." He said, then added, "See me after class."
I looked at him with confusion until he pointed to the lower section of the paper. The higher section required all of my personal information, and the bottom half was for my marks, comments, and signatures from teachers. I should have been nervous, but I was actually excited. I had no clue why.
"Alright, everyone, enough about tawdry school activities." Mr. Carrozza said sternly as he walked back to his desk. "Open your books to page 147. You should see 'The properties of a convex lens.'"
Everyone turned back to their desks immediately. I'd know, I sat at the back of the class. Well, everyone except one girl. His eyes seemed to be locked onto the paper I was holding. I glanced at her from the blackboard to see a look I couldn't identify. It seemed like… confused intrigue. Her full lips seemed curved into something just short of a smile, as if she was wondering why someone like me would want to be in the Student Council. Her brown, wavy hair covered one of her hazel eyes, and for a fellow grade nine, I had to say her body looked damn good, from what little I saw of it. Still, I didn't want to be caught staring and apparently neither did she. Even though I'd been looking at her for a good second, she suddenly snapped to attention and turned back around. Curious, but too shy to even think about it without scolding myself, I turned back towards the class.
***
After class, I stayed behind, as Mr. Carrozza instructed me. When he looked up from his desk to find me still sitting there, he looked puzzled for a second, then his eyes lit up. "Ah, of course, master Watson." He said, half-joking, as he got up from his desk and overlooked my paper. in a distracted voice, he added, "Yes, you're one of my best students, you know."
"Thank you, sir." I replied flatly.
"Oh, no need for the 'sir!'" He shot back playfully. "It makes me feel old." He stopped what he was doing, shot a look straight up at nothing in particular, and added gravely, "My God, I am old." Strangely, he just chuckled and went back to the paper. One signature later, he sighed happily and returned to the desk. I read his kind words aloud and thanked him again, and he happily shooed me away. I left the classroom feeling a lot better than I normally did while I was in school.
***
Math class felt difficult for me, in terms of approaching the teacher. True to his name, Mr. Graves took his job very seriously, and not only canned any and all jokes his brain ever thought up since the '90s, but also made you feel scared just by asking him a question. When he was finished giving the lesson, with as much fake confidence as I could muster, I walked up to his desk and cleared my throat nervously.
"Uh, Mr. Graves?" I started weakly.
He looked up from an assignment he was marking with one eyebrow cocked. "What can I do for you, Adam?" He asked very seriously.
"Um, I was wondering if you could…" I trailed off and held up the paper. "Could you please… sign this?" I managed.
He looked it over in my hand. "I suppose." He replied. He lowered his eyebrows and his eyes met mine as if they were going to fire missiles. "But next time, please ask me after class. You may have interrupted some students' concentration."
I turned to the class. Many, if not most, of my fellow classmates were staring at me as I sat at Mr. Graves' desk.
"Sorry." I mumbled lamely. The class collectively chuckled, and I immediately felt weak in the chest. Great. I tried to say one little thing, and already people were laughing at my stupidity. I must have looked like a real ass. A low-down, stupid-
"Adam!" Mr. Graves said sternly as he held out the paper. I emitted an audible 'oh' and grabbed the paper. "Thanks." I said to him,
"You're welcome." He said, returning to his paper. "And Adam?"
I held back. "Yes?"
"May I offer some advice?"
"Certainly, sir." I replied.
"Student council is about popularity and ability. But ability only counts with the teachers. With students, it's popular. That's going to be your main hurdle. Don't worry about the teachers. You're a good student. Worry about how you're going to come across as popular." He looked up from his paper, admitting a look of genuine concern, the first time he let any sign of emotion show in his classroom. "No offense, of course." He said with a tone matching his uncharacteristically concerned face.
"None taken." I said. He was speaking the truth. When I made my way back to the desk, I felt a hand on my shoulder behind me. I cringed. This was it. Someone was going to hit me for something stupid I said.
"Man, Mr. Graves is such an asshole." I heard a voice whisper sympathetically from behind me. I turned around to see a guy with a nearly shaven head looking back at me, dressed in a black baggy sweater. "Don't you worry about him. You can make yourself popular." He added support.
No one really talked to me before without due reason, so I just stammered as a response. He broke out into a grin and added, "And I loved the way you said 'sorry.' Classic, man." He held out his fist. I'm not proud to say it's only from movies that I knew I had to do a fist-bump.
I felt a strong wave of relief wash over me. He taught me saying 'sorry' was cool, not pathetic. But… Was Mr. Graves an asshole? I actually liked him a lot more after our conversation today. Maybe it was because he knew how to cut the bullshit and speak the truth. I didn't know.
"I'm Carson, by the way." The guy behind me whispered.
"Adam. Adam Watson." I said back.
"Good to meet you, man. Good on ya going for Student Council. It's usually only pricks and sluts that would try out anyway. I'd vote for ya."
I was genuinely scared by this guy's kindness, but that feeling was a shadow in comparison to the pride in knowing I had secured one vote. "Yeah?" I said, unable to hide my smile. He simply nodded. I nodded back, and turned back to my assignment.
***
My English teacher was overenthusiastic, to say the least. You could barely ever catch her without some sort of smile on her face. When I presented the paper to her, words were not needed – all she did was smile enthusiastically and take the sheet.
"I'm very impressed with you." Mrs. Jackson said in a way so sweet that I began to doubt her sincerity. "Very impressed." She handed me back the sheet, the comments section coated with completely overstated accounts of my success in English class. I smiled at her, probably a bit more weakly than I should have, and took a seat.
This time, it wasn't so ceremonious. Nobody had any reason to look up from their reading at me, and I preferred it that way. I scanned my eyes over the class from my seat at the back and noticed the same girl again.
I never even knew she was in two of my classes. This time, I had more than a second to observe her, and it would be criminal of me to describe her as anything less than beautiful, even from the back. She was wearing an adorable dark green dress which hugged her curves nicely. Even from the back, I could tell that she had to be at least a B cup, if not larger. Her waist seemed to disappear into her chair, although the chair itself wasn't that wide. I could tell, she was absolutely gorgeous, and I found myself wishing that she would do something. Turn around, stand up, anything to help me get a better look at her.
My wish was granted as her back stiffened and she stretched. She rolled her shoulders as she moved her head from side to side, moving the hair out of her face. Being diagonally across from her, I barely saw the outer details of her face.
Even as she worked, she had the beginnings of an adorable smile constantly on display. Near the corner of her mouth moving up to her nose were just the right amount of freckles to look adorable. Her hair, brown and beautiful, practically shone, and cascaded down her head down to her waist, and complimented her face amazingly. Her nose was a perfect shape, and what little I could see of her eye was perfect too. She honestly looked like a painting.
Before she had the chance to turn around and notice me, I turned back to my reading, but noticed a fluttering feeling in my heart that I couldn't quite place. For the first time, I had a crush.
***
In hindsight, I had no clue why I had picked drama class as an elective. I enjoyed watching movies, and shows like Whose Line Is It Anyway, but I had the acting skills of a dead cat. I read s like they were an ingredients label on a Boring Sandwich, and could improv about as well as reading s. Not to mention my shyness was a huge impairment on my ability to participate.
However, I had to give the class some credit – the teacher was fantastic. His name was Mr. Salvador, a Spanish-born man who allegedly went to theater school in Paris of all places. He always had a serious expression, topped off by a small pair of glasses and little-to-no hair at all times. He first got my respect when he outlined that unlike other drama classes, he would not focus on Shakespeare and taking apart s to find their deeper meaning. In fact, the guy was unpredictable and unusual in his exercises to boot. The first thing he did with us was go on the auditorium's stage and tell the class who we were – without using words. Needless to say, I didn't have a hard time telling the class I was shy.
Getting him to sign my paper would prove to be the most difficult out of all the teachers, though, since he began class the same way every day – arriving later than all of his students, walking to the stage, sitting on its edge, facing us, and simply saying, "Hello." Then he began the lesson immediately, without interruptions. His voice was authoritative, yet calming – almost like a fatherly figure. I imagine he was the subject of a lot of Electra complexes in the school.
Then he would dive right into the lesson. He got us to go onstage and all divide up into pairs, firstly. Our class had an odd number of people… three guesses who managed to not find a partner.
"Adam." Mr. Salvador called out.
"Yes?" I called back.
He made an outward gesture with his arms. "Where's your partner?" He asked me.
Sarcasm was my first language, and as a result I've learned to impulsively use it with everyone, authority or not. "He left." I replied.
He gave me a puzzled look. "Where'd he go?" He asked, then looked around. "I thought we were all accounted for."