Mom stood in front of the class, removing her trench-coat, scarlet-faced, as she wore the grass skirt and coconut bra per Mr. Wilson's demand yesterday.
"Alright, class," Mr. Wilson called out, "You're probably wondering why your glass of water of a teacher is wearing such provocative attire. Fret not. For you see, through no fault of your own, I've been noticing a lackluster performance in this class. So to boost morale, she's going to give you a treat. She will perform a belly dance as I ask a few questions that'll be on your next test. There's a prize per each correct answer." This is bullshit. What kind of principal is this? This is how you improve on productivity? I hope you burn in hell for this, you son of a bitch.
He plays some music and points to mom who begins her dance, still red in the face, but trying her damnedest to hold herself together.
"First question," he says, reading a cue card, "What is density?" Everyone's hands rocket in the air except mine. "Hmm, Saints," he called out, pointing to me. I don't say a word. "Okay, someone who knows," he scans the room, "Willis."
"Mass over volume," a student answered.
"Correct," Mr. Wilson stated, calling him over. He blindfolds the student and turns him toward mom, gently shoving him. The student extends his arms, walking towards mom and stops when he grabs a hold of her stomach. Before he gets any more ideas, Mr. Wilson says.
"Alright, that's enough. One touch per student. Save some fun for everyone." And that was the whole class period. Watching horny teens molesting my mom was torture. I don't even care that the class thought I was dumb. I hate it here. May couldn't get here quicker.
Mr. Wilson is a huge, power hungry, fuck nugget. He just started working at the school a few months ago because our old principal was involved in a car accident. God rest his soul. He wasn't the best principal, but he showed that he'd sell his soul for this school. Mr Wilson: not so much. He shows favoritism with female employees and students, gropes them whenever he can, and is even known to blackmail them into sleeping with him to keep their jobs or maintain their good grades. Unfortunately, his mind is just so sick and twisted that that's letting them off easy.
My mother is the latest example of this. Not only with the show that he'd made her perform, but he docked her pay and lowered my grade when she initially refused. What's even worse is that the performance in the class wasn't bad at all. Sure there were a select few that had their grades below hell, but the rest of us got our shit done. But in order to fulfill his desires, he gradually lowered everyone's grades over the months. Some of us won't pass the class because of this. Even worse, colleges will laugh at some of them after one look at their transcripts and seeing that they nearly failed such a basic science class. It's fucking stupid.
When the school day's over, I go directly to mom's class and console her while she sits at her desk and cries. This puts so much stress on her because her job and my graduation is on the line. I help her to collect her things while trying to joke with her to at least shed a glimmer of light. That is until Mr. Wilson shows up.
"Woo-wee!" he started, "That was some hot dancing, Saints. You'll have to tell me where you learned such a dance." Mom glares at him with tears in her eyes. "Anyway, you," he says pointing at me, "What good is a class if you're not gonna learn from it? You didn't know a single answer."
"I didn't wanna show off in front of the class," I responded sarcastically.
"While I do appreciate your consideration," he retorts, "It's still no excuse for not answering your principal when he calls on you. Now, the next time morale is low, I'm going to have to step in again. And I need everyone to cooperate. Everybody needs to pull their weight to get the ship moving. Are we clear?"
"Yes," I answer.
"'Yes' what?" he asked sternly.
"Yes, sir," I say, coldly.
"Good," he said, pleased. "As you were." After he steps out of the classroom, I flip him off.
When we get home, mom immediately goes into her room and cries. I'm just too pissed to do anything. I pace around in the living room to figure out what we can do to get out of this mess. I then spot a portrait of us with dad. I pick it up and sit on the couch.
'Please tell me what I can do,' I mentally ask dad. I still can't believe he's gone. He was a cop who was a victim of a suicide bomber. But instead of a funeral to honor him, the whole department celebrated. They kinda hated him because of the life that he had and by extension, us. So putting this sack of shit behind bars was out of the question.
I then hear a thud coming from mom's room. I rush up the stairs and to their door to investigate. I open the door to see my mom next to her bed, holding a wine bottle. She's developed a bit of a drinking habit. I go over to her and pick her up to put her on her bed. She giggles as the wine is taking effect and I take the bottle out of her hand.
"Hey," mom said in her drunken state, "I bought that fair and square. Gimme." She extends her arms and squeezes her hands. I sigh and say.
"Mom, how much of this did you drink?" She thinks about it, counting on her fingers and says, "Just a bit."
"Well, you're dealing with that 'just a bit'," I respond, "I don't want you to get sick, ok?"
"Alright, alright," mom said, rubbing her eyes and head, "When you're right, you're right. You're such a good boy." She hugs me and I hug her back.
"Hold me," she said. Slightly reluctant, I chalked it down to her wanting a hug from someone who cared about her most in the world. I lay down in the bed and she climbed on top of me. I embrace her, rubbing my hand up and down her back and she lies her head on my chest, eventually getting up and throwing up in the bathroom while I hold her hair back. After two minutes of ferocious vomiting, she cleans herself up and lays down in bed, falling asleep. I tuck her in and kiss her forehead.
Next week approaches and surprise surprise, the morale is better and here comes Mr. Wilson, sarcastically clapping.
"Well, well, well," he starts, "What do we have here? Some smart cookies who are reaching their potential because of a little motivation. And speaking of which, Ms. Saints, if you would, please?" Mom sighs and removes her trench-coat, revealing her coconut bra and grass skirt, holding her arm and blushing. "Thank you," he continues, playing music as mom begins her dance, "Now just as last week."
He pulls out his cue cards and shuffles them. He pulls out a card and says.
"What is Newton's first law?" Everyone else's hands shoot up, but mine. He looks at me and smirks. Fuck. He then does the expected and says, "Tucker." Without ever breaking eye contact with me.
"Oh, uh, every object will remain at rest or in uniform motion in a straight line unless compelled to change its state by the action of an external force." the student answers.
