"David Funicelli! What did you just call me?" Miss Hatch stood, her small hands fisted at her sides, the color high on the otherwise light-olive complexion of her face as she stood at the front of the class trying to teach Literature to her seventh period full of teenagers that, for the most part, didn't want to be there, didn't give a shit about the material.
"Nothing, Miss Hatch," David lied, the grin on his face showing his lie for what it was. Another five guys around David were doing their best not to bust out laughing, and others snickered or tittered behind cupped hands. Everyone in that class, as well as pretty much every kid in school, and many of the faculty also, knew Miss Hatch's unfortunate nickname, and most of them called her that behind her back, when discussing her, wondering how many dicks she sucked, wondering how big of a slut she was to have such a nickname. As Miss Hatch, still upset, regaining her composure with difficulty, the pain in her eyes obvious to anyone who cared to look close enough to see it, continued to teach about authors from a time when being an author brought little income. Andy Domingo saw it, plain as day.
The class ended, and Andy took his time, shuffling his papers together, tucking them in the pocket of his binder, using a folded piece of paper as a bookmark for his copy of Charles Dickens' Bleak House, and carefully depositing the binder and book in his scuffed, worn backpack. Andy had been held back a few grades, most recently being his senior year, quite embarrassing for him, as he had just turned eighteen, and was still in high school, unlike his friends, who had already graduated and were either getting into colleges or getting jobs. His dad, if the asshole was still around, would probably give him a bunch of shit for this, just as he had when he'd flunked eighth grade, but he'd taken off about six months later, and Andy had no idea where he'd gone, nor had he given a shit. Andy's mom worked hard to provide for them both, busting her ass at the tire recycling plant, figurative and literally. Andy held down a part time job at the same plant, slinging tires into the Monster, a shredding machine that ate up old tires and spat out rubber crumbs.
So, here he was, repeating his senior year, having to be tutored in math, and taking Literature for the second time, though, this year brought an unexpected surprise: Miss Hatch. Miss Hatch had gone to this same high school when she was a teen, before going to college in Massachusetts for a teaching degree. She came back to her hometown the past July when her mother fell ill, and remained here, teaching at the high school while taking care of her mother. Immediately upon her return, that nickname started, and Andy had trouble understanding why, beyond the simple word-play, people would attach such a horrible nickname to such a timid, petite, bookish woman. He didn't share in his classmates' enthusiasm for making fun of her, and he had little patience for others who did. She was an awesome teacher, and thanks to her, he didn't require a tutor for Literature. In fact, he had one of the highest grades in this class, and he owed it to Miss Hatch, who inspired him to try harder, to do better in class. Having a crush on Miss Hatch might've been a part of this inspiration.
As most of the other students filed out of class, sneering and joking along the way, Andy shouldered his backpack, adjusting the strap, which was always slipping loose, and slowly made his way to the front of the class, working up his courage to say what he felt he needed to say to the tormented woman who now sat at her desk, her teeth clenched, but her composure still in place, at least for the moment, until she was alone, and then nobody could witness the sob-fest that was most likely about to take place. She froze as she realized that one of the students wasn't making his way to the door.
"C-Can I help you, Andy?" she cleared her throat, straightening a pile of homework into a semblance of order, trying to keep herself occupied as so to not betray the tremors of anger in her hands.
"Miss Hatch," Andy started, and then hesitated.
She clasped her hands together tightly in front of her, perhaps anticipating some more torment, "Yes, Andy? I'm a little busy right now."
"I'm sorry... forgive my language, but... those guys are assholes."
She flinched, and then realized what he'd just said, "W-what?"
"And David's the worst of the bunch. I think he redefines that word, and... well..."
To his dismay, tears had begun to form over the lower lids of her big, grey-green eyes as she stared at him, caught completely off guard.
"I didn't mean to... to stick my nose in your business... it's just that, well, I... can't stand the way they talk about you, and that nickname... I don't believe any of it, and I just wanted to tell you that. I know it probably doesn't mean much to you..."
She wiped at her eyes, and, from somewhere within that might've atrophied over the years, she found a genuine smile for him, "Thank you, Andy. Just... thank you. That's so sweet of you to say, and it means a lot to me."
He nodded, captivated by that smile, by the sudden spark of joy that transformed her into someone he could fall for... and was falling for. He wasn't stupid, he knew that teacher/student relationships were illegal, and teachers would bear the brunt of the punishment if discovered. But still...
"Andy," she spoke unevenly, her voice choked up a little with emotion, "I think you're the first student I've taught that... has actually shown some real kindness to me, since I came back to Longford. And, not surprisingly, you're also one of my best students. I know you were held back, and I'm guessing that you had some real difficulty with the class, but, the way you've done in my class, I don't for the life of me see how."
"Mrs. Gonzales taught it last year, and I guess... the way she taught class... I just couldn't seem to understand any of it. That's why I'm glad you're teaching it this year... you're just a much better teacher than she was. That's probably why she retired, but I don't know for sure. If you also taught math, I wouldn't have any problem graduating this year."
Miss Hatch blushed, humble, and replied with a shrug, "Unfortunately, I'm just awful at math. If not for calculators, my checkbook would be a complete mess. It's too bad I can't have more students in my Lit classes that are half as nice as you; maybe then I wouldn't be at the end of my rope here. I just don't know how much longer I can cope with all the horrible things people are saying behind my back, thinking I don't hear it."
"You know, you ought to make an example of David, maybe show the others you won't tolerate the stuff they're saying."
"I can't let them see that it affects me as bad as it does," she lowered her eyes, frowning slightly.
"I think it only tells them that you won't do anything about it, that they can just walk all over you. If you show them you won't stand for it, maybe it would help."
Miss Hatch sighed sadly, "I... I just can't. I appreciate your concern, Andy, you have no idea how it warms my heart, but I don't think I can do that... I just couldn't... go through that sort of circus, all that attention..." she shuddered, "I just couldn't..."
"I understand," Andy nodded thoughtfully, "Putting yourself in the limelight like that, on display for everyone to see... I would testify, though, as a witness. I hear it all, from a lot of students."
"It would all be hearsay, though, your word against his, and he would only have his friends tell people that you were heard saying the same things, just as guilty as they."
Andy's brow furrowed with anger, "I've never-"
"I know that," she placated him, "And you know that. It would simply be a defamation of character, making you an unreliable witness. I'm sorry, Andy, I... I just can't... and I wouldn't do that to you, either. Not to mention, the consequences of your attempting to testify, your peers would put you through the wringer."
