Teacher's Pet

Subject: Teacher's Pet
From: awright@falcon.cc.ukans.edu (Ashley Wright)
Date: 30 Mar 95 22:06:24 CST

Disclaimer This is a short and nasty little experiment in femdom fiction. It involves, non-con spanking, humiliation, discipling, etc of a 17 year old boy, and consentual sex between minors and between adult/adolescents. If this distresses you, then I suggest you skip this one.

This is probably the most graphic and sheerly nasty work I have ever written. There are no bittersweet reminisces of halcyon days on Dalton mountain in this trashy tale.

This story is very explicit and is short on character development, clever dialogue, etc and long of graphic sex. It's basically intended as a jerkoff story, and an excersize in writing, no more, no less...

I'm not a dom and not looking for subs. Some of the activities related in this missive are real hot buttons for me, though.. just to be a tease you can guess which ones :>

With all that in mind, I humbly submit for your approval...

Teacher's Pet

I was settin in my 6th period Pasics of Algebra class, just leanin backwards in my seat and kinda lettin my mind wander and wishin the bell would hurry up and ring so I could go home and get started putting the motor back in my pickup. It was all strewn out acrost the garage floor on newspapers from where I'd taken it apart and cleaned it out and soaked all the little spark plugs and shit in gasoline and put it back together. When I finally got it running again, it was going to be cherry- 5 coats of candy apple lacquer, souped up cab with exposed pipes, mag wheels, fuel injection- the works. I was plannin to take it down to the dirt track Sunday for the drag races if I could get finished in time.

All around me, the other morons in my class were running around in the aisles, throwing paper and books and shit and two fellers weer rassin on the floor. It was just a day like any other day until she walked through the door.

To look at Miss St.John, you would never guess that she was any different than any other lady fresh outta teacher's college. Short, curly brown hair cut in a pageboy style that framed her face real nice like. Good teeth. Nice makeup- not too much. She came in the class with a briefcase under one arm, wearing this short sundress type outfit that really showed off her legs and the swell of her little titties nice. I sat up straight when she came in the room and thought to myself that if this was the new teacher, maybe things would be looking up as far as ole Principals of Algebra goes.

As it turned out, that wicked woman changed my whole life, and made my Junior year a practical living hell, and did things to me I never even dreamed of. Sometimes, looking back I still can't believe it really happened. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I best go back and explain a little. Like I said before, to look at her, you would never had guessed the black, wicked heart that lay inside that beautiful bod. When she smiled and welcomed us, and told the peckerheads who were rolling around in the aisle to please take their seats, she sounded like a kindy-garten teacher, just as nice as pie and she had that overly cheerful way of talking like you do when you talk to a little kid or a retard. I figured she'd last 3 weeks, tops.

Our class is the worst in the school. There's three levels of classes in the school- college bound, where the goody-goodies and brown nosers are; mainstream, where the regular, average dumbfucks hand out; and principals, which is like the slow version of mainstream. That's the classes for me. Not that I'm stupid or nothin' but why bust your ass sweating for a grade when you don't have to? Thenof course there are the "special" classes for the retards but they don't count. Our Principals of Algebra class was full of greasers and jocks, kids from the detention center and regular dumb asses who didn't know the square root of their ass from their elbow at age 17. I liked the class cuz it wasn't too hard and I could sit back and relax and think my own thoughts. Just cause I'm stuck in this shithole til age 18 don't mean I'm gonna bust my ass for them. Besides, this meant I had classes whith my buddies all day, which made for a nice diversion, and being a little smarter'n the average loser in the class I could bring home a nice string of B's and maybe even make some brownie points helping girls with their homework problems. They're so cute when they're grateful.

So, anyway, like I said our class is not your honor roll students or nothin' Most of them are not exactly what you'd call college bound or nothin either. Most of 'em are gonna wind up bustin' their asses at the packing house, or the mill or refinery just like their Daddies. They're like me- stuck in school til they're 18 and can get a job or join up with the service and get outta this shithole town. And as long as they're stuck here, they're gonna have a little fun.

It was during a class period when we were having fun with our old teacher, Mr.Woodman, that we went a little too far and accidently made him have a nervous breakdown. The old fart was like a thousand years old anyway and shoulda been retired to the glue factory long ago. He was "shellshocked" or something from way back in World War One or somethin like that and he had this nervous shaking habit that he would do all the time. If you snuck up on him when the class was real quiet and asked him a question or made a loud noise or dropped the globe or something he would jump outta his chair and just about have a fuckin' heart attack. Well, me and some of the other guys, Lonnie and Buster and Tyrell and that bunch, used to give him all kinds of shit to see him jerk around like a fuckin fish and one day things just got outta hand and after Jordan Winters fuckin threw a book at the window and broke the damn thing, Mr.Woodman just sorta lost it and grabbed Jordy by the ears and bashed his fuckin head into the desk a few times and then he overturned his own desk and hollered at us bloody murder in this awful horse, hysterical voice like a ole woman, calling us all a bunch of little rat bastards and saying he would fix our little red wagons, he would rip our heads off and puke down our throats and all this shit.

Jordy was sitting there white as a fuckin sheet with his nose bleeding and finally Mrs.Hoffines, the typing teacher next door came over to see what the fuck was going on and ran to the office and they called the hospital, the paramedics came and carted ole man Woodman off to a nice rubber room and we had a study hall for the rest of the day. You wonder where Miss St.John comes in but I'm gettin to that part.

After that, we got even worse and nobody in the whole school wanted to sub for us. We broke our old record of sending 4 subs home crying in one week- the last one only lasted an hour. The principal came and took over our class himself and said he was gonna expell anybody who gave him any shit right there on the spot. I just sat there and minded my own business cuz as much as I hate school I sure fuckin didn't wan tto go home and tell my Pa I'd been kicked out. Not in a million years-- he'd tan the hide offa me.

Yeah, my Pa still beats my ass when I piss him off enough. I ain't ashamed of it but it's not something I go telling the whole world either. But I know for a fact lotsa kids i go to school with get their asses beat. Still, when the new teacher walked in and started asking those questions, I like to fall outta my chair.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention-- that's what Miss St.John did, first thing she came in the class after writing her name up on the board and then saying out loud slow and careful, like maybe we ws too dumb to read. She said a little speech- the usual bullshit, "Hello my name is Miss St.John and I'll be your new teacher the rest of the year... I have a masters in educationa nd another in Psychology so don't try any shit with my like you pulled on the ole fossil I'm replacing... oh by the way, how many of ya'll parents still blister their asses at home when they're bad?"

Of course she didn't say it exactly like that. I'm just paranthasizing. But she did say she had all these degrees, and rattled off a big long list, and that she had worked with "problem students" before and her methods had always had a 100% success rate. The she took out two things from her briefcase-- one was a big stack of papers, all stapled together, which she began passing out. I took mine from Jenny Andrews, the girl who sits in front of me, and started to read it over while the teacher jabbered on about her credentials.

It was a survey buit you ain't gonna believe me when I tell yuo what it was about. In big letters at the top, it said "Parent/Student Disciplanary Survery- Linda St.John, 6th hour" then it had a bunch of the craziest fuckin' questions you ever saw, all about shit like:

When my son/daughter breaks an established rule in my house the punishment I use is: (select one) grounding/spanking/paddling/other

Yes or No: I spank my son/daughter on the bare bottom

Yes or No: I paddle my son/daughter on the bare bottom

When was the last time you spanked your son/daughter: last week/ last month/more than 6 months/more than 1 year

I flipped through the pages and the whole fuckin thing was like that. I was damned if I was gonna answer a bunch of questions about how my Pa spanked my ass and then give him a survery that asked him how he spanked my ass! I'm 17 fuckin years old! I looked around and saw by the looks on people's faces that they had read what this survery was about, too.

Miss St.Jon clapped her hands and said, "Okay, people, you've all probably figured out from the survey that my teaching methods rely on corporal punishment. Who can tell me what is corporal punishment?" she said it slow and with a big smile on her face like Mr.Rodgers, fer God's sake!

Jenny Andrews raised her little hand and said in her whispery little voice, "Uhh, spanking?"

Miss St.John smiled at her like she was a good puppy dog or something and said, "From now on, you young ladies and gentlemen will address me as "Ma'am" or "Miss St.John", but that is correct--" she looked at the roll sheet, "Jenny. I believe in spanking as an important tool to motivate you and help your minds remember that actions have consequences. And I believe that without co=operation at home, my methods will not work. That is why I gave you the survey, to fill out, along with your parents, and return to me by next Monday. If you fail to do so, or your survey isn't signed by your parents, you will receieve a failing grade in this class."

She just smiled real big when she said this, like she was tellin' us we weer all gonna get some ice cream or somethin'. Well, of course almost everybody started yelling stuff and standing up in their seats, but she just stood there, not yelling or nothin, with that funny smile on her face until everyone finally got so nervous they all shut up. Poor little Jenny Andrews, who's shy as hell anyway, just blushed as red as a beet and scrunched down in her chair like she was mortified about having to turn in a survey all about how her parents spank her. I stared at the back of her pretty little blushing neck and imagined what she would look like over her mama's knee- or over mine. I bet they do spank her. I imagined her with her little panties around her ankles, crying and kicking while heer butt bounced under her Mama's hand, and me sitting back behind 'em so I could get a good view of everything. I was really starting to enjoy this idea and getting hard when Miss St.John pulls out this big fuckin hairbrush and puts it on the desk where we can all see.

"Boys and girls, this is a hairbrush-" (duh) "and before the end of the term I have a feeling you wuill all be well acquainted with it. I told you I believe in corporal punishment at home and in school- and when yuor parents sign that survery they will be giving me permission to use corporal punishment on you if I see you need it." People started getting riled up again- sure, they paddle kids at my school but they only use that as a threat and none of us had been spanked by a teacher since kindeergarten. And with a fuckin hairbrush! Next she would be sayin she expected us to get over her lap. I tuned her out then, and leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms real bored like. This new teacher might be pretty but class would sure be a drag now that she thought we weer some kinda preschoolers who would stand for having their little bottoms smacked. Probably she would stand us in the corner too. Hmmm, I thought, well we'll see about this. I suspected that Lonnie and Jordy and Buster and some of the other boys would have the same ideas about me. Mayeb we could meet young Miss St.John after class alone in the parkinglot some night and let her know how we felt about her "policies"....

I smiled a little at the thought of this. She did have a great bod and I imagine running my hands roughly up those creamy thighs, maybe stuffing her little panties in her mouth to shut her up... then again, if she was gonna spank kids in class, there was always I chance I might get to see jenny, or some of the other girls, getting their licks. I wondered if they'd cry...

I was so hard thinking about this that I couldn't wait for the bell to ring. I planned to drive one-handed all the way home,a dndecided right then and there I wasn't gonna give this fuckin survery to my Pa. I would forge his signature on it- hell, I've done it plenty of times. Anyway, he's a busy man, why waste his time with stupid shit like this?

I looked up in tiem to take the paper Jenny was handing me again. Another fuckin paper! Geez, this Miss St.John apparently didn't know we were supposed to be saving the fuckin trees. Maybe she had stock in a paper mill. I took the paper and scowled at it, expecting more of the bullshit I'd been hearing this last hour, but was surprised to see it was covered with equations. All around me, people were cussing under their breath, taking out their pencils and getting to work. Fuck! On top of everything else, this bitch was giving us a quiz!! I decided right then and there that me and the boys were definitely going to have a little "unscheduled conference" after school with this one.

I sighed real loud and dug around in my desk for a fucking pencil and started filling out the problems. About number 3, I began to realize this quiz was a bitch, way harder than the pud stuff we were supposed to be learning. Shit, on top of everything else, this woman was expecting us to fucking work! I was so pissed I was grinding my teeth and could feel myself blushing. That's one way I take after my pa-- when he's pissed off, he blushes red as a beet and his blue eyes seem to glow. That's when you best watch out man, cause he'll take you over his knee and have your britches down in a flat second, before you even open your mouth to explain. I thought to myself wouldn't Miss St.John like to know that.

"Now, this is a placement test, just so I know how much work I have cut out for me," Miss St.John piped up after I'd been sweating on problem number 4 for about 5 minutes, "so don't be afraid if you don't know all the answers. The problems you don't finish, I expect you to take home and look up in your books as homework."

Great. Fucking homework on the first day, and she smiled just like she was saying "peach pie" when she said it, too. I gave her the meanest look I could and was pleased to see her eyes widen in surprise and she actually shut her mouth. Good. I decided right then and there I wasn't doing no fucking homework, and I happened to glance over at Jenny's paper.

Now, besides being pretty, Jenny Andrews was the smartest girl in our class, and the only one who actually had ever turned in her work. She could probably be in the college bound classes if she wasn't so damn shy. And her parents are real fucked up- they hardly let her out of the house and make her wear dresses that look more like they're for a 6 year old than a 16 year old. They're real religious and don't let her date or nothin'. And I know they whip her. I've passed by their trailer before and hear her cryin' and the sound of a belt or somethin' smacking against bare flesh. I know that sound well enough, I reckon.

So I craned my neck and wrote down as many answers as I could see of Jenny's paper. I was pleased to put down my pencil and paper just before the bell rang, and nearly everybody else in the class groaned. Somebody muttered "shit" and Miss St.John gave them this "ah-ah, spanky spanky" warning look.

"Anyone who is finished, please place your test on my desk before you go home. I hope everyone has a pleasant evening and remember to have your parents sign and fill out those surverys- due Monday or it's a failing grade." Miss St.John sat behind her desk smiling at everyone as they went by. A lot of folks were grumbling stuff and I heard the worlds "fuckin bitch" and "dumb cunt" when I walked up and put my test on her desk. She looked at me real surprised and I just gave her a big smile and said, "I hope you have a very fine evening yourself, Miss St.John," before I walked out.

Part 2: Miss Hastings Makes an Offer

Well, I sweated through all the rest of my classes, wonderin what in the hell the new teacher wanted with me after school. My last class was gym and in the mood I was in, I didn't really feel like grabbin onto another guy and rollin around on the floor with him wearing just our skimpy little rassling outfits, so I told the coach I just wanted to sit out.

Well, naturally, he goes and throws a hissy fit about it, yellin at me that I better get my skinny ass out there and pin the hell out of that fat boy, Jonny Miller, before he personally kicks my butt from here to Ponca City.

"Dalton, I dunno what in the hell's the matter with you, but if you expect to rassle in the next meet, you better git your ass out there and show me you got what it takes," he hollered at me, pointin his fat finger at my nose.

"I don't give a damn about the next rassling meet," I said, "and I got more important things to worry about than grabbin Jonny Miller's fat sweaty ass, so if you _don'tmind, I'm gonna sit this one out." Well, then the coach got all pissy and yelled at me that I better watch my smart mouth, and if I thought I was too good to rassle with the rest of the boys, then I could just take a demerit and run laps for the rest of the period. Well, that suited me just fine, but I don't know what he had to make such a big deal out of it for. He knows I'm one of the best damn athletes in that sorry class of losers. I reckoned he just didn't want to have to get up off his lazy butt and rassle fat ass Jonny Miller himself. Besides sweating like a damn hog, Jonny's one of those crybaby fellas who start hollerin the minute you touch em. Plus, he weighs like 300 pounds, so all he has to do is friggin' roll over on you and you'd be dead. So, I walked off to start runnin my laps, and sayin "Fuck you," just to myself, ya know, but I accidently said it too loud and the coach was all over me again.

"Dalton!!!" he hollered, "I've had just about enough of your smart ass attitude!! You get into the locker room and wait for me in my office!!" Shit, I thought, now on top of everything else, I'm gonna have to listen to the coach bawlin me out about my "attitude". Well, I figured he could go to hell, I had more things on my mind to worry about than him. Gettin that demerit really pissed me off too, I'd gone all semester without gettin one. Now he'd probably say I couldn't start in the basketball game Friday or some stupid shit like that. All the other sorry ass losers in that class were standing around with their mouths open, wondering what I was gonna do, but I just left the gym all nice and polite, with the coach still hollerin at the other boys which I could hear all the way down the hall to the locker room. I admit, I did think about just cuttin out early and going down to the river, but I figured that'd only get me in more trouble later. If I got suspended from school or somethin, my parents would really skin me alive.

I sat down on one of the wet benches in our locker room, which was all gloomy and damp and funky smelling, like there might be mushrooms and stuff growin in the corners where you couldn't see it and all, and started taking off my gym shoes. I was so pissed off, I threw one of the shoes across the room and pegged the stupid poster of Smokey Bear telling us how it's not cool to smoke or chew. That sneaker slammed old Smokey right in the nose, pretty good shot, and I was just gettin ready to try the other shoe when the door slams open and in comes the coach, huffin and puffin like a damn rhinocerous, with his face all red and sweaty. That ole boy could really use some kinda Slim-Fast plan.

"Dalton, you get your skinny butt into my office. You and me are gonna set things straight once and for all," he ordered, so I got up and collected my shoes and headed into his little office. It was a little bit brighter and smelled less like jockstrap sweat than the locker room, but it was still pretty skanky, with this old Aspercreme smell and charts and posters for the Food Pyramid and testicular self exams and shit hanging up on the walls. Coach sat his fat butt down in his squeaky vinyl office chair, and he pointed for me to sit in the metal folding chair next to the desk. I sat down and concentrated on Miss October from the Sports Illustrated swim suit calendar hanging on the wall behind his head, and he started layin into me, going on about my bad attitude and smart alec ways, and how I was too big for my britches and all that crap.

"You'll stay after school for me today and do calesthenics for an hour to make up for not participatin in class," he said.

"Sorry, coach, I'm already coming in for a meeting with my algebra teacher today. And besides, I haven't used any of my free days in gym, check your grade book," I pointed out. We're supposed to get 3 free days not to dress out for gym, for those losers who forget their jock or don't want to get sweaty and all that. The dang girls can get out of it anytime they want to, just saying they're on their period.

The coach flipped through his gradebook and saw that I was right, and that made him madder. He knows that all the boys think he's a stupid ass sorry sonofabitch.

"Well, you're still gonna have to learn to keep that smart mouth shut, boy," he said, "you know I could have you thrown out of this school for that kind of language you used back in the gym?!"

"Well, I guess if you did that, sir, I'd have to say how you were using the same kind of language to me and the other boys. I don't guess that'd look so great on your next teacher evaluation sheet." You don't pull that kinda shit with me. The coach was really gettin' hot, he stabbed his chunky old finger right into my chest and growled at me with his eyes all squinched up, "You just watch yourself, boy. If you ever want to play in another game for this school, I'd suggest you straighten up and mind your p's and q's."

"I'm sittin' here as polite as pie, coach," I said, "it seems like you're the one who started all this, yelling profane language at me when all I said was I wanted to sit this class out." I put my hands behind my head and leaned up againt the cinderblock wall, and gave him a real nice reasonable smile. Only the coach just wasn't one of those reasonable guys, I guess I'd crossed over the line there, cause he stood up real fast and banged his fist down on the desk so hard that his coffee cup and desk organizer and all that stuff rattled around, and he hollered at me, "That's it, Dalton! Git up and get your hands on that desk!! You'll learn to give me some goddam respect if I have to beat your ass black and blue!!" Shit, I thought, I was in for it now. I better do some quick sucking up in the hopes that I could get myself out of this situation. By now, the rest of the class was comin in for their showers, and the locker room was full of steam and nekkid fellas whacking each other with wet towels and throwing their jockstraps around.

"Aw, c'mon, coach, I haven't even gotten any demerits before today," I tried to reason with him, but he had the paddle down off it's hook and was just slappin it into his fat hand, looking at me like he'd like to murder me.

"Bend over the desk, boy, before I lose my temper!" he hollered, and I figured I was just SOL. Well, I resigned myself to takin a licking, figuring that it was better than doing calesthenics, anyway. I bent over with my legs spread apart and my hands flat on the desk. I knew the routine.

Coach came up behind me and kicked my legs a little farther apart.

"Stick it out, boy, less'n' you want to get your tailbone busted," he said, real nasty like, and I gritted my teeth and adjusted so that he had a better target.

"You're a sassy little sonofabitch, aren't you?" he asked, real contemptous. "I been watchin you, Dalton, in class and in practice, and you seem to have this idea that you can do whatever you damn well please."

Just hurry up and give me the damn licks, I thought, but even I wasn't stupid enough to say that out loud. So instead I just stood there and stared straight ahead with my teeth clenched and my adam's apple bobbin up and down about 100 damn miles an hour.

"Okay, Dalton, we'll see just how sassy you are when you can't sit down fer dinner tonight," coach said, like that pleased him. "Unfortunately, the school isn't allowed to paddle you on the bare ass like you deserve, but I hope your daddy takes your britches down tonight and blisters your butt til you can't stand still!" he'd drawn back the paddle during that, and suddenly he brought it down across my ass hard and fast, snapping his wrist at the end so it stung like a mother and made a crack so loud I knew they could hear it in the locker room. I bit the insides of my cheeks and thought about how he could only hit me four more times.

"How'd you like that, huh, Dalton? You don't have so much to say, all of a sudden, do ya?" I decided then that I was quitting the damn basketball team, let his sorry team lose every game, it'd be my revenge.

The second swat was right on target, it landed smack on top of the first lick, and I admit my eyes popped when I felt the impact. I wondered if Aspercreme would work on a bruised ass. After the third lick, which was so hard the coach grunted when he delivered it and it knocked me forward against the desk, my butt was pretty numb, so the worst was over. I knew that it'd be fuckin' black and blue by morning, and hurt to walk, but I figured I'd have all weekend to get better.

The coach was out of breath by the fifth lick, but he was still pissed because I hadn't cried. Some of these little mama's boys go in there for licks, and they're already cryin before he even gets out the paddle. When they come out they're all bawlin and snot-faced, but I had a little more to me than that.

"Get out of my office and get dressed," coach said, glaring at me with his face sweaty and red. I figured that he'd better cut down on the doughnuts or he was gonna have a heart attack someday soon, but I just got out of there and muttered, "Nice job, you fat ass sonofabitch," and got out of there quick with him yellin, "That's it, Dalton!! You are out of this class!! I'm gonna talk to the vice-principal about you, Mr.Smart ass, and then we'll see what he has to say about it!!"

I took my stuff out of my locker and left the locker room before the bell. Well, if I was out of the class, it didn't make no sense to hang around any longer, did it? I stopped off quick in the boy's can to check out the damages to my butt before heading down to see Miss Hastings. It was pretty blue, all right, with purple and red places where he'd really laid it on. I debated telling my folks, since they were totally against me getting licked at school. I knew if I told 'em, they would come down to the school and kick ass, but then they might kick my ass for saying "fuck" to a teacher. My Ma had this thing about respecting your teachers, and she might even wash out my mouth with soap if she heard about the stuff I'd called the gym coach.

The bell rang and I dragged my pants up over my aching ass and managed to get 'em buttoned up. I hurried down the hall to my algebra classroom and got there just as the class was getting out; from the looks on their faces and the little bits and pieces of conversation I caught as I waded in through the crowd I got the idea that she'd given them the same "survey" as us. She was erasing the board when I came in, and I got a couple of nice looks at her legs when she reached up to get the top part. She turned around and gave me that teacher smile when she saw me, the one that means, I'm not mad, I'm just concerned. Shit, this just wasn't my day. Now what, I wondered.

"Oh good, Junior, you remembered our meeting. And you're right on time! I do insist on promptness." she had a thick file on her desk which I'd only seen about a million times before in the counsellor's office. I knew it was my permanent record. I sat down real careful in one of the desks and hoped this wouldn't take too long, my butt was already beating like a damn drum or something.

"Junior, I've heard a lot about you from other teachers, and I think that you could be a great help to me." Now this was a surprise. I was expecting her to chew me out for cheating on this morning's pop quiz; I sat up straighter and tried to ignore the feeling that I was sittin on a seat full of sharp little spikes. "You're a leader in the class. The other children look up to you-- if you were to cooperate with me and set a good example, I feel the rest of the class would follow."

So she wanted me to be her henchman or something. Forget that, lady, I thought."Miss Hastings," I said, "I dunno about the other kids lookin up to me or nothin, but I'm not gonna be the teacher's pet."

She gave me a little smile and somethin in her eyes changed. I should have taken the hint, but I hadn't learned as much about her as I was going to later. "Junior, I've been looking at your test scores, and you shouldn't even be in remedial algebra. Your IQ is high enough to qualify you for the advanced classes."

"I'm not gonna sit around in a bunch of classes with eggheads," I said, "the classes I have suit me. They aren't too hard, and I'm with all my friends. Anyway, if I'm so smart, how come my grades suck so bad?" I guess that was just what she was waiting for, she hopped up quick and said, "Because you have no discipline! Junior, I don't want to see a boy with such a potential as yours wind up working at the flour mill. You could go on to college! But I'm afraid if you won't cooperate, I'll have to recommend that you be placed in a class with other students who have behavior problems."

"A special ed class?!" I jumped up out of my own seat at that. I didn't want to be in a class with a bunch of smart geeks, but I didn't want to be stuck with a bunch of spazmos, either. "But I ain't a sped!"

She looked at me real sad, and said, "No, your mind is above average, Junior, but I'm afraid that emotionally you're somewhat deficient. As a matter of fact, I'm afraid I'm going to have to recommend that you be placed in a class where the teacher is trained to deal with your problems."

Now she was talking like I was some kinda freak. Hell, I was just about the coolest guy in the damn school.

"Look, Miss Hastings, I don't wanna be in no special class. I dunno what I can do to make you believe that I can handle bein' in your class... I guess I promise that I'll be good and do my work, and whatever else you ask me and I dunno what else to say to change your mind. Just gimme a chance, please ma'm?" She looked pleased at that, and she said, "Well, Junior, you know I have a lot of background in child psychology. I almost went into special ed myself. If you would agree to come to my house for a few hours a week in the evenings so that I can work with you one on one, I'm willing to give you a trial period." She was standing by my desk by then, and put one hand on my shoulder. I figured that going over to her house for a couple of hours wouldn't hurt, she was pretty anyway, and if it meant I could stay in the class with my friends... I figured that if my grades got good too, then at least my parents would be happy about that.

"Sure," I said, "I'll come over whenever you say. And I'll do my homework and follow your rules in class and everything. I know you've heard a lot of bad stuff about me, ma'm, but I promise if you give me a try, I won't let you down."

She smiled real big and hugged me, and then she said, "Can you come over for your first lesson tonight after dinner? I'll call your parents and explain the situation to them."

I told her I figured I could come over all right, and she gave me a pat on the head and said she knew I'd do fine. Then she wrote down directions to her house and some instructions for me on a piece of paper and folded it up and I stuck it in my back pocket, and she told me to be sure to read and follow the instructions when I came over that night.

Then she walked with me to the door and said she'd call my parents and explain everything, and she reminded me to be on time, and to my suprise she gave me a little pat on the butt on the way out the door, which I really wished she wouldn't have done since it started my ass, which had almost got itself numb, to pounding again.

I didn't much feel like hanging out with Lonny and Jim and Mac and the rest of the guys, so I went out the back way instead of the way we usually take, and ran to catch up with my sister, Lisbeth, who was gettin pissed cause she'd been waitin at her car for about 20 minutes, and we took off for home.

To be continued

How exactly does Miss Hastings propose to help our protagonist aquire "discipline"?! What will she tell his parents? Who will the coach get to replace his star center on the basketball team? What is the square root of pi? For the answer to these and other gripping questions, stay tuned for part three of "Teacher's Pet"!!

Jackrabbit