This all happened my senior year of high school.
There I sat, bored and mentally tortured in the pits of Ms. White's math class, looking out the window at the clouds and obliviously fidgeting with my pencil, while the rest of the class slowly but surely built their mathematical knowledge. Regardless of the fact that my athletic elegibility was at stake, I just could not bring myself to pay attention to the seemingly meaningless numbers and symbols on the board.
"Mr. Jones," Ms. White suddenly said, as my head nervously snapped to attention, "Have you paid attention to a single thing I've said today?"
It was rather obvious to the class that I hadn't, so before I even had a chance to answer, a small wave of laughter flowed through the room.
"See me after class," she said without further discussion, and continued with her lecture.
I tried to pay attention after that, especially to avoid any further embarrasment at the hands of Ms. White.
No one knew too much about Ms. White. This was her first year teaching at the high school, and she was pretty much a stranger to the entire town. She looked to be in her late thirties, but we all knew she was single because she had no rings and wrote her name as "Ms. White," not "Mrs. White." She wasn't a very attractive woman, I will say that much. She wasn't really ugly or hideous or anything like that, she just wasn't attractive. She had shoulder length, plain brown hair and boring brown eyes. She always wore conservative dresses, and never seemed to wear any make-up. She was definitely no one's wet dream, young or old.
"You failed your last test," she told me after the rest of the class had left, "Your soccer eligibility in the spring is in big trouble."
"How do you know? I can fail one class and still be eligible," I responded. I shouldn't have been such a jerk, but this was a touchy subject.
"I checked up on you," she informed me and smiled, "You have no chance in English. But my class... well, it will be borderline."
"Great," I said with obvious dismay, "I'm really not going to be eligible, am I?"
"I don't know," she answered and gave me a cold look, "Looks like you won't be."
"Look," I said with a hint of desperation, "Is there anything I can do to pick up my grade, just enough to pass?"
Ms. White smiled and wrote something down on a small piece of paper.
"You like yardwork?" she asked without looking at me.
"Not really," I answered.
"No?"
"Well, I can do it."
"Good," she responded, "And can you keep secrets?
"Sure, I guess."
"Well, come by my house Saturday afternoon... I'll figure out a way for you to raise your grade."
Saturday afternoon, I showed up at her doorstep with a rake and some garbage bags. When she answered, she smiled and invited me inside. I wasn't very happy about wasting a Saturday afternoon on yardwork, but it would be worse to not play on the soccer team my senior year.
