Making The Grade Part A

Authors note: Making the Grade is my fourth, longest and final story in my Hot Tails in Oak Hills series; the first three are The Reunion, Claiming Emily and Holly, Snowflakes and a Christmas Angel. I hope all of you enjoy the last installment of my seasonal stories. This story has been divided into five parts for easier reading. GEV

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Madison Ledbetter stared out the window of her first period American Literature class, watching as the swallowtail butterfly fluttered its wings as it gracefully landed on the edge of the dogwood petal, the new white blossoms in full bloom on the tree between the two buildings on the Oak Hills High School campus, a welcome sight after the massive snow storm the town had four months ago. It was the first of April and she'd be graduating at the end of next month, but she was still uncertain about what she was going to be doing in the fall. When her parents blew through her college fund, her plans to attend one of the state's universities were no longer feasible and it was too late to apply for scholarships, so she had no choice but to find a summer job and save up what she could, attend the community college in the fall and apply for a transfer to the university next year. That was if she even went to college at all. With everything going on in her life, college was the least of her worries.

She braced her elbow on her desk and dropped her chin into her palm, slowly turning her attention back to the front of the classroom and the back of the teacher as he stood at the whiteboard, writing down the day's homework, her gaze slowly moving from his ass to his back, watching the way his broad shoulders moved under the material of his shirt as he stretched his arm out to reach across the board, her gaze finally shifting to what he had written in blue marker. She made a disgusted face. She hated reading. She tucked the plait of her French braid inside her oversized sweatshirt as she pulled the hood up over her blonde hair, half-heartedly wrote the assignment down on a piece of paper and shut her binder just as the bell rang, gathering up her binder along with her books and sliding out of her seat.

"Remember the first three chapters of

The Grapes of Wrath

. We will be discussing--" Jacob Bradford instructed, but his words fell on twenty-five sets of deaf ears as his students made a beeline for the door as soon as the bell rang, releasing all of them from his torture of the great American novels. He recapped the marker he was using to write on the board and turned around, looking up as a few of the students had already left, the rest of them filing out the door, stopping the one student he needed to talk to. He pushed the rolled sleeves of his button-down dress shirt back up over his elbows and straightened the slightly loose knot on his tie. "Miss Ledbetter, could you stay after class, please," he said, his smooth tenor voice cutting through the mingling voices of his students to get her attention.

"Crap," Madison whispered as she stepped to the side as the rest of her classmates hurried out of the room, receiving a few stares and one or two discourteous remarks from some of the others. She sank back against the wall, hugging her books to her chest as she stared down at the frayed hems of her pant legs and the toes of her scuffed sneakers, waiting. She drew in a deep breath and let it back out, wondering just why she was being held back. She had turned in her last assignment on time, probably didn't get the best grade on it, but still she had done the work. She pushed away from the wall and took a step forward as the last person left the room, leaving her alone with her English teacher.

"Shut the door and have a seat," Jacob said as he walked behind the back of his tidy desk that sat in the front corner of the classroom, hearing the door click shut. He picked up a pile of manila file folders filled with papers from the second shelf of the five-tier bookshelf and walked around his desk, setting them down on the top as he motioned at the empty chair two feet away from him as she started to sit in the last desk by the door. "Up here, please," he instructed, leaning his hips against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his broad chest and one ankle over the other, watching through the lenses of his rimless glasses as she slowly walked up the row of desks and slid onto the chair.

He had spent four years in the military, another four in college and now at thirty years old, he had been teaching English and American Literature for the last five years and in that short amount of time, he had yet to see a student that was thrilled to be in his class. There were a few, but not many, and as he watched this eighteen-year-old student slowly take a seat, he wondered why he still did his job, probably because there were a lot of high schoolers that needed their minds expanded beyond the screen of their phones. And a lot that needed the right guidance. Like the one sitting in front of him right now.

Madison sat her books down on the desk and crossed her arms over the top of them, looking up at her teacher. She hated English just about as much as everyone else did, but a lot of her classmates, mainly the girls, hoped they were assigned to Mr. Bradford's class because he was the youngest and hottest instructor on the entire faculty and staring at him, whether it be at his front or at his backside while he wrote on the board, made the class that much more bearable because after the first two days in his classroom, everyone soon found out that he was one of the strictest teachers and didn't budge for anything.

If a student was lucky enough to get transferred out of his class, they were moved in with the other English teacher, a middle-aged plump woman that smelled of dog and cigarette smoke daily, her classes were easier, but everyone had to deal with the stench. So, Mr. Hottie was the only other option, and everyone prayed that they passed his class. And with the way that he was leaning against his desk, with his arms crossed over his chest, those stern hazel eyes of his boring a hole right through her, Madison had a feeling that she was failing. "Yes, Mr. Bradford," she said, her voice soft.

Jacob relaxed his stance, bracing his hands on the edge of his L-shaped desk and curling his fingers around the wood top, reflexively tapping his fingertips against the underside, looking at her. Unlike the other girls that paraded down the halls in their short, tight outfits that pushed the school's dress code, she always wore loose fitting clothes year-round and baggy sweatshirts in cooler weather, focused more on her studies then trying to attract the attention of the boys her age. But not as of lately. "Hood off, please," he instructed, watching as she reached up and pushed it off her head.

He had a clearer view of her now and he looked down at her, at her baby blue eyes that were filled with a lot of apprehension. "I will get right to the point. It has come to my attention at our last faculty meeting that you are considerably behind in all your classes. You currently have a failing grade in three of them and barely staying above an F in the other three, one of those being mine. The only one you are passing is yoga, which is an easy enough class to pass, you just have to show up."

He tented his fingers over the seven-inch-high pile of folders, looking at her over the top of his glasses. "This is all the work that you must complete by the middle of May to pass your classes, or you will not graduate. I have a two-hour study group Monday through Thursday after school starting at three-fifteen to help any student that needs it. I'm giving you the opportunity to bring your grades back up. If you are not through that door by that time, I'll assume that you want to fail. It's the only offer you are going to get, Miss Ledbetter, so you better take it, or you will be repeating your senior year."

She swallowed. Hard. She knew her grades were slipping but she didn't know how bad. She had mainly Cs on her last quarter report card with only one D, enough of a grade to pass and graduate, but not the grades she needed to get into college. And if her mother knew how bad she was failing--she hid her last report card from her--she'd be in even deeper trouble, so she should consider herself lucky that he didn't contact her mother and came straight to her first. She looked at the pile of folders stuffed full of sheets of paper under his fingertips and then back up at his stern face. Mr. Hottie was a hard-ass but at least he meant well. "All of that? By the middle of May?" she croaked, repeating what he had just said even though she had heard him perfectly clear. That was a lot of work, but she had done the damage to herself and now she had to pay the price.

"You better buckle down because you have seven weeks to complete all of this plus your current assignments and your final exams," he said, flattening his hand on the pile of assigned papers that had been given to him by her other teachers. None of them had be willing to give her the opportunity to get her grades back up, just letting her slip through the cracks of the education system. But he had seen what her mind was capable of when she was his student for sophomore English. "Now that we have that settled, Miss Ledbetter, care to explain to me why a straight A student all through high school is suddenly failing? Your grades were perfect the first semester but now you're just barely scraping by. Is everything okay? Anything you say will not leave this room."

Madison drew in a deep breath and slowly let it back out, looking up at the one and only teacher that remotely cared about seeing her pass her classes, the only teacher that even questioned why her grades had suddenly dropped. Only her best friend knew what was going on with her family situation and he was sworn to secrecy. She sat back in her chair and dropped her hands into her lap, looking down at her purple polished nails, wondering if she should really say anything, and then turned her gaze back up to him. The concern that she saw on his face and the genuine care to not see her fail had her trusting him. "My dad got sent to prison just before Christmas. My parents were shopping in downtown Riverton when they were jumped by four guys in the parking garage. One had a knife on my mom and the other three went after my dad. Someone in one of the buildings heard the fight and called the police but when the officer finally showed up, my dad only had bruised knuckles and all four of the men were unconscious on the ground. Both my mom and dad claimed it was self-defense, but the officer took one look at the size of my dad and the men on the ground and arrested him the spot. The officer never bothered looking for the knives.

"My dad is a fourth Dan black belt and when he went before the hard-nosed judge, and because there were no weapons recovered, the judge used my dad's training against him and ruled it as second-degree assault. He got ten years," she said, her voice barely audible. She sniffled and reached up, wiping the tears away with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, looking back down at her hands. "The first lawyer took half of my parent's savings, and they used my college fund to hire a different lawyer so we can try for an appeal. Without my dad, money is tight right now, my mom works in medical billing and coding at the hospital and she's having to pick up extra shifts when she can. I'm the one keeping up with everything around the house and we go up to see my dad on the weekends. I just don't have time for homework. So, what's the point in even trying anymore?" She looked up at him, at his face that was no longer stern, his eyes not as harsh. "May I go now," she asked, sliding out of the chair and gathering up her books, clutching them to her chest.

Jacob let out a long breath. No wonder her grades had plummeted, she probably felt like she no longer needed to succeed. He looked at her as she stood by the desk, her arms wrapped around her books as she clutched them to her chest. "I'm so sorry, Madison," he said, quickly dropping the formality he used with all his students, suddenly feeling like shit for having been so harsh with her. "I totally understand that your situation at home right now is not the best and you're struggling, but don't give up. Failure is for the weak and that's not you. Get your grades back up, graduate and make your parents proud, especially your dad. If college isn't in your future, there are other options out there. You've come this far already, Madison, don't fail your parents and especially don't fail yourself."

He looked at her over the tops of his glasses as he reached across his desk for a pen and a note pad. "If you get half of the work done from each class, you'll pass with a C, all of it and you'll be back up to an A," he said as he quickly wrote across the top sheet of paper, excusing her from being tardy to her next class, and pulled it off, handing it to her. "You may go," he said, dismissing her as he straightened to his full height of six-feet two-inches, pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose with one long, thick finger.

She took his words to heart as she took the slip of paper from him, tucking it into the pocket of her hoodie. He was right. She wasn't a failure and her dad, her mentor, would be disappointed in her if she did just that. He may not get to see her graduate from high school or even college, but she could still make him proud. She had to tip her head back to look up at her teacher, he towered over her five-foot five-inch slender frame. Even when she was in his class her sophomore year, she could never recall him being clean shaven, he always had a three-day stubble that was neatly trimmed over his strong jaw that blended into his short-cropped hair that was several inches longer on top, a lone, stubborn strand of wavy chestnut hair falling over his wide brow, and he was always impeccably dressed, which made Mr. Hottie that much sexier. She swallowed, hoping her words didn't catch in her throat. "Thank you, Mr. Bradford. I'll be here at three-fifteen," she said before turning around and walking from the classroom, leaving the door open behind her.

Jabob walked around his desk and sat down in his chair, his eyes lingering on her. Poor girl really was having a hard time at home and none of the other faculty had taken the time to even ask how she was doing at the first sign of her grades dropping, but hopefully with his help she could get them back up where they needed to be so she could graduate on time with her classmates and not have to repeat her senior year. He picked up the folders on his desk and rolled his chair across the floor, setting them back on the bookcase, catching sight of her as she walked along the breezeway to the main building, pulling her hood back up over her head. He let out a breath as he rolled his chair back up to his desk. At least she was willing the make the effort, he just hoped she stuck with it and completed her work. He hated to see students fail, because that just meant that he failed them as a teacher.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Hey, Dylan," Madison said as he all but pranced his way up to her locker in the common area of the school, opening the door the rest of the way so he could check his reflection in the mirror she had stuck to the inside. She looked over at him as he smoothed a lock of hair back in place, giggling as he made a kissy face at his own refection as any openly gay eighteen-year-old would do. They had been best friends ever since they were seven years old when she had come to his defense, beating up the two older boys that were laughing at him when they saw him doing pirouettes in the back of karate class instead of kicks and punches. Even after his mom pulled him out of the class and signed him up for ballet instead, they remained inseparable; she went to all his recitals, and he went to all her tournaments. She grabbed her lunch bag out of the bottom of her locker and shut the door, locking the dial combination with a spin.

"Why were you late to trig this morning? I'm the only one allowed to be fashionably late," Dylan Casey said with a sassy lift of his chin as he slipped his arm around hers, walking across the common area to find a place to sit so they could eat their lunch. She was the first one he had come out of the closet to, even though she already knew from the time they were seven, but it was nice to know that he had a best friend who always had his back and could kick ass if anyone harassed him about his sexual orientation. He sat down on the bench at the table, scooting over so she could sit down next to him and opened his lunch sack, pulling out his sandwich. "Uh, Mom gave me turkey again," he scoffed. "She knows I gave up meat. Well, I do eat meat, just not this kind. Switch," he said, handing over his sandwich to his best friend. He had told her he had sworn off eating meat at the beginning of the year for health reasons, but he still had his mom make him a sandwich with some kind of protein so he could make sure Madison was getting a least something substantial for lunch, that way he didn't feel guilty having steak for dinner.

She smiled as she quickly swapped her peanut butter and jelly sandwich with his meat one, giggling as he sat there all poised and proper as he unwrapped the plain sandwich she had packed in her lunch, knowing this was going to happen. She had been onto Dylan's charade after the first month following her family's financial setback and she still went along with it, never wanting to hurt his feelings. "That's why I always pack PB and J. I get the better end of the deal," she said, sinking her teeth into the thick turkey, cheese and lettuce sandwich. Her smile faded and she drew in a deep breath, letting it back out. She knew she could tell her friend anything and everything. "Mr. Bradford held me back. I'm failing all my classes. Bad," she whispered. "He's giving me the opportunity to bring my grades back up."

"Ooo, do tell," Dylan said, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with his napkin as he looked over at Madison, his brown eyes and facial expression very inquisitive, even though she was reserved and quieter than she usually was around him. He picked up his bottle of water, taking as sip through the straw. "What is Mr. Hottie laying out on the table. Hopefully himself."

"It's not like that," she squeaked, looking around at their other classmates sitting amongst them within earshot, hoping they didn't hear anything, and with the way that they were paying attention to their own food and conversations, they hadn't heard anything. She didn't think there was a single female in the entire school, whether it be a student or faculty member that didn't have their eye on the hot English teacher even though he was engaged. Even she'd had a thought a time or two and it never hurt to fantasize and that's all it ever was, fantasies, and there was no gossip around the halls that anyone had ever done anything with any of the teachers, just which boy was hooking up with which girl.

He reached over with both hands and grabbed hold of her sweatshirt, pulling it backwards till the front of it hugged the curves of her breasts, tiny waist and her flat stomach, tipping his head to the side as he admired her curves as any fashionista would do and just shook his head. The only time he had ever seen her display her figure was when they had gone to their junior prom together and he couldn't count how many sets of eyes were on her even though she only danced with him. He turned back to his lunch. "Honey, if you would just let me take you shopping, we could show off those perky Cs of yours and that perfect little figure and you wouldn't be failing your classes," he said, matter-of-factly. He picked up his water bottle again only to set it back down when he saw the concerned look on his friend's face. "How far behind are you?"