Confessions Of A Parochial School Student.

I sat in the library attempting to read. I should have been preparing for the essay Mr. Lismore had assigned at the end of his class. He seemed to have no concerns at all about the other teachers and their assignments, I found myself thinking with a slight mental growl. I couldn't seem to concentrate, though. Every time I'd attempt to read a paragaph the words would swim before my eyes in an ocean of black and white.



Sometime during the hour, Vanity sat down with a well-worn copy of Nabokov's "Lolita" and I groaned inwardly but otherwise pretended not to see or notice her. Though, I did wonder how she'd managed to sneak that into the school as I was pretty certain it had been on the banned list for years.



But, then, this was Vanity Sinclaire, to whom rules had never applied. I felt her gaze over the pages of the book and heard the soft, self-rightous giggling of her ever-present entourage.



"Have you read this, Althea?" she suddenly asked, pushing the book across the table at me. I spared the book a cursory glance before replying that, yes, of course, it was a fasinating, if disturbing book, why did she ask? The underlining ice below the surface of politeness between us would freeze the surface of the sun.



"Oh, no reason," she shrugged and glanced at the three girls standing around her, "It just seemed like your cup of tea."



I waited for the titters to die down before agreeing that I did, indeed, enjoy it when I'd read it last year but have since moved on.



I stared at her for a moment, unblinking, before she finally looked away. I would not give her the satisfaction of knowing that I knew exactly to what she was attempting to elude. Which, of course, was completely...insane.



I may have begun to...I don't even know what it was I was feeling...deleveloped a crush on a teacher, but that didn't mean that he...returned my feelings? He didn't treat me any different than any other student here. I mentally shook my head and disregarded Vanity's uneducated guesses.



I wasn't that transparent, was I? Perish the very thought. I forced away a shudder at the idea of my nemesis knowing of my newfound epiphany.



"We're not in grade school anymore, Vanity. This kind of thing is pathetic, you know." I said coldly.



"You're the one who's pathetic!" she screetched, suddenly, realising that she must be way off-base, and standing up so fast the chair fell backwards behind her. I thought she was going to say something about the scene in the bathroom, but she just stood there, glaring at me, crimson-faced before taking a deep breath and shoving past a younger student on the way towards the double doors and out into the corridor.



I knew she was off to find another potentially reputation-ruining speck of dirt she could use against me. I sighed and looked down at my book, knowing that it would be fruitless to attempt to study now. I sighed again and ran my fingers through my hair.



"Jesus, what the hell's her problem?"



I started at the voice and looked up. I grinned lopsidely as my best friend, Penelope Connelly, sat down across from me in the chair that Vanity had just vacated. (Rescuing it from the floor first, of course.) Penny had the uncanny talent of being able to appear in a room without disturbing so much as a speck of dust.



When we were younger she used to sneak up on me and scare the living daylights out of me. I've gotten used to her suddenly just being there and now it rarely surprises me to turn around and see her grinning at me from behind her mane shoulder-length of strawberry blonde friz and hazel eyes.



"You know you could get into serious trouble talking like that," I said, instead of answering her question, "This being a catholic-based school and all..."



"That's the point," she said and took out her bic pen, chewing on the cap. She had gazillions of chewed-up pens in her pack. Normally I would have teased her about it. But, today, seeing her working the end of the pen brought a tiny tightness to my lower stomach.



Behind my mind's eye I saw Mr. Lismore seated behind his desk, grading papers during a moment of classroom silence, absently sucking on the end of his pen, rolling the smooth plastic over his bottom lip before taking it between his teeth and worrying the tip, the slickness of his tongue appearing only slightly as he removes the writing intrument to mark another paper.



"Al?" Penny was waving her hand in my face, "Hey, where'd you go?"



I blinked the image away and began to gather my things. "No where," I said, quickly, "Isn't it about time for lunch? I'm starving. Come on, if we hurry we can get our regular table."



"Althea," she said in a near-whisper near my ear as I shoved books and pencils back into my back-pack, "If you need to talk about Mr. Lismore..."



"Why would I need to talk about him?" I didn't pause in my activity, but my insides froze like a rabbit trapped on the highway by the bright glint of an on-coming semi.



"I know about the detention, Al," Penny said, her voice slightly raised, and I knew my response had been more than a little defensive, "He's not known for being very nice. If you're scared, it'd be completely understandable..."



"Oh, come on," I scoffed, "He can't be that bad." I unfroze inside, relieved that she was only offering moral support.



"He made Missy Andrews cry and then throw up in the girl's bathroom once." she countered, raising her brows at me. I rolled my eyes. Missy Andrews would throw up if you looked at her cross-eyed.



That proved nothing. But, she wasn't finished. As we walked she regailed me with tales of Mr. Lismore's cruel and saracastic wit, of those students who'd been unlucky enough to have risked and faced his considerable wrath. With every story she told she seemed to be taking a disturbing amount of sadistic glee in telling me.



"You don't really know how bad he can be, Al," she said as he reached the lunchroom doors, "You've only had him as a teacher for one year..."



"Well, so have you!" I hissed, "And this is a great way of preparing me for my detention with him, by the way."



"Sarcasm ill suits you, my friend," she retorted before linking her arm through mine and weaving us through the crowd of the noisy student body towards the stacked trays.



To Be Continued...