Smokey Saga #65:
"
Who's Teaching Whom?
"
*****
Saga #65 was originally going to be a sequel to another story, but that's off. I shan't disclose which it was, but that sequel would've turned out far too similar. So here's another original: new characters, new plot, new storyline, new events, new lesBDSM scenario. Yes, my odd-numbered stories still denote
lesBDSM
; you'll want to know that going in. This one's dedicated to my fellow grammar officers, and also to anyone who has ever been picked on for being different or unique—be it in the way of our protagonist, or any other. And of course, you know the drill: your feedback's always welcomed, valued and appreciated.
*****
Knowledge Is Power (Cool Schooling)
Thursday, March 3rd, 2016, 8:15 a.m.
Another day opened to bloom, before the great green Earth and the city of Juniper. The frosty chill of winter lost no severity illuminated by daylight. At 28°, the cold weather stopped just short of precipitation, keeping establishments active as scheduled. Retail shops would open for business at their appointed times. Offices were up and running, thousands of daily laborers on the clock. And the doors of county schools—including those of Juniper High—were as wide ajar, with students and faculty at equally hard work.
The students in Juniper High's classes of 2016 to '19 were all between thirteen and eighteen. Most were disenchanted by the parameters of organized education. Most of these same most considered themselves "too cool" for school, prioritizing lesson plans below pursuits like dating, dances, sports, cars, and sports cars. Freshman and sophomore grades relied on their folks or the bus for transportation. The majority of juniors and seniors drove themselves, using their designated lot adjacent to the admins'.
18-year-old senior Dale Sunderland parked her car, grabbed her backpack and threw open the driver door. She stood to be slapped in the face by the chilly breeze. She enjoyed the cold. It made her eyes water, her nose run, and dashing into a heated building quite a comfort. But it also made her feel so free, so good, so powerful. Like she could do anything. Unfortunately, she couldn't exactly do just anything weekdays from 8:00 to 3:00. She could finish high school, and not really a whole lot else.
Fortunately, thought the young senior as she got inside and straightened her tie, she stood at the fore of the pro-school minority. Dale was uniquely fond of getting up each day to attend class after class. Her real name was Danielle. She nicknamed herself by putting her first and last two letters together. She liked the idea of being called something that could be a boy or a girl's name. She discouraged no one from calling her Dale rather than Danielle. Some of school's authority figures did so, others stuck with her bisyllabic, birth-given handle. Friendly peers called her Dale without a second thought or effort. Less friendly classmates ribbed her for using a "boy's name." But enduring these remarks was a small price to pay. If she understood the dynamics of sexuality, she was a lesbian. She'd gone through puberty like everyone else, and had no romantic interest in teenage boys, or males of any age. Nor saw she anything wrong in it. It was not unlike wearing her neckties. Dale kept her lucky neckties stuffed in a separate backpack compartment, and usually wore one per day. Each was knotted casual and loose to maintain informality. If a tie clashed with her outfit, or didn't seem to bring enough luck, she simply swapped it out for another. Besides, Dale felt she looked pretty damn sexy in them. But unlike her penchant for men's neckwear, she wasn't ready to come out and share her homosexuality yet. She felt it more suitable to exercise discretion for now.
The buffet of teenage girls appealed to her, but Dale failed to compute at first that her female classmates may not
like
like her back. It was a tricky time in her life with lots of unanswered questions. But many still could be answered, so Dale refused to allow the jeering taunts of bullies to interfere with her studies. They were doubtlessly just jealous, of any number of favorable traits Dale possessed. Being smart and learned gave her a sense of prestige, and power, something no amount of derision could erase. Her primary duty and goal at school was an education. Socialization, though pertinent to one's image, fell secondary.
So while riding out the rest of the year, she did her best to ignore class clowns who went out of their way to annoy her. Honestly, it wasn't so difficult. She simply went about her course material and paid no heed. When bullies or mockers failed to suck the rise they wished out of her, they'd inevitably lose interest and turn on a different, easier to upset target. Still, there were those one or two rare individuals who seemed to have homed in on her, inexplicably setting about to make
her
life a living hell, whatever it took. With apparently nothing else to do, Dale would think. Well, she'd make it one tough task for these sad, bored entities. And she certainly saw nothing necessary in the way of revenge, on their feeble attempts at torment. Merely pitying them for two more months would suffice.
Regardless, for each creep wandering the same halls, sitting in the same rooms, doling out the same insults, there was a friendly person to cancel the rude one out. These were the folks who were worth her time, Dale easily processed—they, as well as her teachers. Dale was no teacher's pet, and she didn't always ace her academic challenges, but she loved what founts of knowledge and facts her teachers were. She didn't know if the teeches had the same effect on everyone—she doubted it—but they lit small fires in her, inspiring thirsts for all different areas of study, making her want to continue learning indefinitely as she saw fit. Each of her four years at Juniper High, she'd been assigned new teachers for a more challenging shade of the same core subjects, and her own electives. Dale appreciated the diverse merits every teacher brought to the proverbial table—or desk—and she also personally liked each of them...al
most
.
In daily order, the fifty-minute periods took her through the usual subjects: art, history, music theory, biology, phys ed, algebra, and her final class of the day, advanced English. Mind them, all her teachers up to this point were pretty likable. But each weekday at 2:00 p.m., a dark cloud settled over Dale's happy scholastic realm. A dark cloud that made her hate her own native language.
A dark cloud named Mrs. Geena Larkin.
*****
And Starring Cameron Diaz As
...
Thursday, March 3rd, 2016, 1:59 p.m.
Unaware how close to the top of the hour it was, Dale walked her friend Carly down the hall, just prior to final period.
"So what do you wanna do after school?" Carly asked. "Wanna hang out?"
"Ah, don't think I can today," Dale declined. "My Mom and Dad're still going through their nuclear Dale-College-y phase. I swear, they're gonna make me apply my ass off till I get snapped up, even if it kills 'em—or kills me. Whichever occurs first."
"Bummer, Summer."
"Don't bring up summer before it's time, chick-pea; 's bad luck. But ask me again in 24. They usually give me a break on the weekends."
Brrriiinnnggg!
Gasp
. "Crap!" exclaimed Dale. "I'm late for Barkin' Larkin!"
"UGH," Carly rolled her eyes. "God help you, babe. A'right, go! Go! Run like the wind!"
Dale's buddy-girl Carly had Larkin in the mornings, and so knew too how frustrating she could be. So she and Dale helped each other study with tests on the way. As to their teacher, Geena Larkin was 40, brunette, tall, thin, and a no-nonsense serpent in the classroom. She'd been teaching twelve years, and established herself as a force to be reckoned with in Juniper High. She was fair in her grading, but less so otherwise. She did not consider high school students equals, nor regard them as such. Her philosophy went along the lines of, "You're in my classroom, you're playing by my rules." And her rules did not preclude mistreating students, be it by ridiculing those unprepared for class, calling on those with unraised hands, or embarrassing them in front of their peers. Or admonishing the tardy.
She didn't normally pick on punctual kids who had their books, pencils and homework handy. Or those who readily raised their hands to answer a question—even if their answers were wrong. She admired initiative. But when it came to students with a sloppier school ethic, Mrs. Larkin could be downright mean. So could high school kids, but they lacked the clout to steer their fates or grade their own papers. Some students speculated at the woman's past, what happened to her to make her this way. Maybe she was disillusioned by an abusive authority figure herself. Maybe she was sent against her will to boarding school, or the armed forces. Hell, maybe she was just a callous lady who existed in the school to torment students and make their lives miserable. Come to think of it, while they called her Mrs., none of her students even knew for sure if she was married. Dale Sunderland's guesses were as good as anyone else's.
She finally made it to the door, bounding in as the clock neared 2:02. Teech Tough-As-Nails had begun scrawling on the blackboard.
"Now as we left off yesterday, the difference between a clause and a fr—"
She turned to the door, along with twenty-four classmates, as Dale slipped in. She'd have done her utmost to get in undetected, but it was futilely impossible. She had to open the door, which already drew attention. She took a glance to see each seat except hers occupied.
Crap
, she repeated to herself. She wasn't late very often, but she was hoping not to have been singled out today.
Mrs. Larkin paused chalk-scribbling. "Well,
well
. Danielle Sunderland. So good of you to
deign
to join us."
Sigh.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Larkin, for being one entire minute late. Oh, excuse me; one and a
half
. How
dare
me."
Larkin crossed her arms. "I be
lieve
you mean to say, 'How dare
I
,' Danielle. Subject versus object pronouns: a common slip-up, and yet a most careless, elementary faux pas to boot. Another stunt like that, young lady, and the cap is yours."
She gestured behind Dale to the infamous stool in the corner, atop which sat a very tall, very literal, very real dunce cap. The vertically printed letters eliminated any ambiguity. The threat of its humiliation alone normally compelled students to shape up in Mrs. Larkin's class. As some unfortunate kids had learned firsthand in their weaker moments, she was
not
afraid to use it.
Dale threw out a breath. "Right. Right. Sorry, Mrs. L." She took a step towards her seat.
"Ah—" Larkin placed an arm in her path. "Just a moment, Danielle. As you've chosen to be tardy today, allow me to catch you up."
"Yeah, I didn't
choos
—"
"No no no, that's quite all right. At least you've shown the common courtesy to be on time for
most
of the year." She finished what she was writing on the board. "'Fragment.' Yes, there we are. Danielle?"
She held the chalk out to Dale.
Aha
. The reprimand thickened.
"Perhaps
you
may explain for us the difference, in sentence structure, between a clause and a fragment."
Both stood still a short while. Dale's cheeks obligatorily turned a bit red. As if by denying Larkin the satisfaction of seeing her squirm, she'd make the teacher do something even meaner to her later. She then turned a tad miffed. She did her homework, and thought she had a decent idea what the difference was, but shouldn't be made to unfairly prove herself like this. Furthermore, Larkin had the deck stacked on her. Dale wasn't used to being up in front of everyone like the teacher was, and nerves could interfere with her performance. How typical of Mrs. Geena Larkin's antics. She tried to think of a way out of this that wouldn't embarrass her too much.
She took the chalk and discreetly, politely laid it back down on the slate. "Perhaps
not
," she said. She pivoted on her heels and marched to her seat before Mrs. Larkin could stop her again. Her nose and ears felt a little hot, and it may have appeared she'd chickened out, but at least she was sitting down and ready to work. She refused to let one sadistic teacher break her spirit. She was going to finish this course along with her others, she was going to graduate, and she was going to bid Juniper High—and Geena Larkin—a
fond
farewell.
