Date: Tue, 15 Nov 2005 17:15:59 -0700
From: jlhobson@gmail.com
Subject: Ten Minutes From Providence: Part 2

(This story is complete fiction. All characters are figments of my
imagination. As stated previously, this story does not contain sex...if
you're looking only for that, this story is not for you. If you're
looking for something with more "artistic" content or an actual story,
read on. This is the second installment. E-mail me at jlhobson@gmail.com
if you have any comments ideas, or suggestions. Please see the
introduction/foreword for more background information relating to this
story)

Chapter Four


    "Ok, I've survived the Suck-Squad and something that closely
resembles a vampire in my first two periods of this God-forsaken school,
what next could possibly match that?" I thought.
   I knew the rest of the day would be better. It had to be, I had the
rest of the day with Kyle. P.E. was next, and that had always been one of
my favorite parts of school, so I figured the day had to be looking up.
   Little did I know at the time that parts of me would grow to hate the
class, and love it at the same time. Some things would certainly become
painfully apparent to me during that year, and I didn't have a clue at
the time. All I knew that after second period, I had the rest of the day
with my best friend, P.E., and lunch , and that's all I thought really
mattered in life. The Three F's ruled me - friends, food, and fun were
all I cared about.
   As I headed back down the narrow, crowded hallways with people stopped
dead center in ahead of me, you couldn't help but notice the sounds that
filled your head. All of the constant conversations about nothing, the
lockers slamming, dropped books, and of course, security yelling at
people to move along while they stood there, clogging the halls even
more.
   I looked down at my map looking for the way to the gym. Of course,
with my luck, my math class and the gym were on the total opposite sides
of the school, and I didn't think I'd ever be able to get there in the
five minutes they give you to cross the school from class to class.
   After fighting my way through the riot of masses they call 'passing
time', I finally reached the gym.
    "It's about freaking time," I said to myself. "I swear the people
that designed this school either got off on confusing people or were
complete idiots."
   I opened the double doors of the gym, to see students sitting on the
pulled-down bleachers and four teachers, two men and two women, in shorts
and t-shirts.
   The gym itself was pretty big. There were two sets of bleachers,
formed around the main gym floor with a track on the outside of the floor
going behind the walls, and above the gym there was a shooting range,
weight room, mat room and a wall with the scoreboard attached. There were
several basketball hoops, and there were water fountains spread out
sporadically. On one side of the floor was the boys locker room, and on
the other side there was the girls locker room.
   By the time I examined the area, I could hear someone calling me.
   It was Kyle.
"Jason! Hey, Jay, get up here!" He yelled.
   I made my way up to the bleachers. Of course, Kyle was at the very top
row, and if you have ever forgotten, middle-school aged kids aren't
usually very polite or understanding, so I had to force my way up.
    "I hate this school," I told him. "I'm waiting for the 'fun' they
talked about at orientation last year to start."
    "Do you ever stop complaining?" Kyle asked me. "What's been so bad
about today anyways? Did my Prissy-Little-Princess get her paws wet?"
    "Uh, no." I said back. I could tell he was enjoying this, he was
beaming.
   About this time, Becky Stewards walked in, saw us, and headed to where
we were.
    "Oh crap," Kyle said. "She's coming towards us!"
    "I thought you liked her," I said with bewilderment. "Isn't the
entire point to get to know her so you can start going out? I mean, if
you avoid her, how can you be her anything?"
    "Well, I haven't seen her since the end of last year," Kyle
explained. "You know, I wanted to make a good impression, again, and I
didn't expect to see her today. And now you're about to pee your pants."
    "Right. Well, anyways, she sits next to me during my first period," I
said. "We talked a lot today. Actually, she helped me against Gephurn and
his goons earlier. She's pretty cool."
    "Oh, no way!" Kyle said exasperated. "You mean to tell me you sit
next to one of the hottest girls in our class, she talks to you, and
you're not trying to hit on her? Unbelievable."
    "You know, Ky," I said. "There's something called being a 'friend,'
without a 'girl' ahead of it, like us.  Just because I don't want to jump
on everything right away that I see like you want to do doesn't mean I
don't like them."
   Becky had finally made her way up to us, so of course our conversation
stopped.
    "Hey guys!" She said. "Long-time-no-see, eh Jason?"
    "Yeah, what has it been? A whole hour or something." I said.
   Kyle was looking at Becky, like he wanted to say something, but then
decided against it.
    "So how was your summer, Kyle?" Becky asked.
    "Oh, um^ÅFine, I guess. Didn't do much but sleep and bike with
Jason," Kyle stuttered, obviously impressed with himself that he was able
to string a response together."How was yours'?"
    "Oh, it was good," Becky said back. "I visited some family and went
to the mall a lot, but nothing earth-shattering."
   We chatted for a couple more minutes until one of the teachers started
talking.
    "Hey guys! Welcome back to school if you went here last year, and if
you didn't, feel free to ask any questions you have about the school,"
one of the teachers said. "My name is Coach Benson, and this is Coach
Smith (he pointed to the other man). Both of our offices are in the boy's
locker room. And to my right are Coach Jackson and Coach Bryson."
   Coach Benson was a tall white man with graying brown hair and eyes. He
had a very wide smile, and he seemed to really enjoy what he was doing.
He had certainly been doing it for awhile.
   Coach Smith looked young, like it was his first year of teaching. He
was average height with black hair and brown eyes. He looked excited, but
nervous. He stood there silently.
   Coach Jackson was a tall, black woman. She looked like she was in her
late twenties to early thirties. As I learned later in the year, she was
spunky and didn't take anything from anyone. I figured she and Becky
would either really like each other, or be at war constantly.
   Coach Bryson was a fat, white woman with dirty-blond hair and blue
eyes. I couldn't believe she was here to teach us Physical Education, but
she looked nice enough.
   After they talked for a few minutes about rules, they talked about
what would happen everyday.
    "We expect you to be here on time everyday, because time is critical
in this class," Coach Benson said. "You will have five minutes to dress
out at the begining of class, then you will come directly to the gym to
pick up your card from your coach this quarter. After a few minutes you
will go to where ever the activity is, and do that for thirty minutes.
After the activity part of class is over, you will have ten minutes to
shower and re-dress before class lets out."
   I knew it was going to happen, but I still wasn't crazy on the idea of
showering in front of everyone else. I mean, that's kind of a private
thing, and to have to do it everyday in front of everyone at school
didn't seem right.
   Coach Benson kept talking. He mentioned having a "weekly run" that
would increase in time every week, and described the free time that would
accompany it, for the rest of the class after the run.
    He proceeded to describe the sports offered this quarter, and who
would be teaching what, before releasing us to pick one.
    "Now, for the remainder of today's class, please come and get a card
and pencil, and put your last name and first name on the card, along with
any allergies or health problems we should know about, and go to the
coach whose class you want to be in. But be careful, there's no switching
or trading, and you'll be in it for the entire quarter, so chose wisely,"
he said. "By the way, if you're late and don't have a pass, it's a
detention. No exceptions."
    I could hear the collective groans of the students surrounding me,
but figured I'd just have to find a quicker path to class every day.
    "You guys going to do basketball?" I asked.
    "Of course," Kyle said. "What do you think I'd take? Table Tennis?"
    "Cool, me too," I said. "What about you Beck?"
    "Well, I was planning on going out for the girls basketball team, and
this would help me," Becky said. "And, if you boys are going to do it, I
know I'd have some friends, so yeah, I guess I will." Kyle seemed to beam
when she mentioned us as her friends. This was the most pathetic I had
ever seen him before.
   We all picked up cards and shared a pencil to put our names on it. We
also got in the basketball line, which was the longest besides soccer,
which Coach Jackson was the teacher of. Coach Benson was in charge of
basketball, and he certainly seemed friendly.
   After waiting for a few minutes, we got to the front of the line.
    "So, do you boys," Becky glared, "and girl^Å play enough to know the
game?" Coach Benson asked.
    "Everyday for the past three months," I said.
    "Yeah, and you still suck," Kyle said playfully.
    "I plan to go out for the girl's team, and I figure this will help,
but I already know the basics," Becky said.
    "Well, I'm happy to hear you three know how to play. You'll have to
help some of the others who aren't as good at first," Coach Benson said.
   We started to walk away, and he started talking again.
    "Oh, and guys, before you leave, we're getting lockers tomorrow and
in two days we're starting activities, so try to remember to bring a
t-shirt and shorts or sweat-pants, you'll get marked off and won't be
able to play if you don't," he said. "And, deodorant and shampoo aren't
bad ideas, either." He looked at Kyle and I, grinning, when he said that.
What was it with all of these adults being obsessed with how I smelled?
   For the rest of the period, we all walked around the track, talking
about our days so far. Kyle was thoroughly entertained when we talked
about Greg Gephurn and his clowns, and thought what I said about my math
teacher was a hoot.
    "You are such a nerd!" Kyle said. "I'm sure your math teacher is a
vampire. Perhaps you'd like me to get you some garlic and silver
bullets?"
    "Silver bullets are for werewolves, you moron," I said back.
   We all laughed, and kept walking and talking. The day was already
looking better, but we were only through the first three periods.

Chapter Five


   After the bell signaling the end of P.E. rang, the three of us looked
at one of our school maps to find out where our Social Studies class was
and attempted to make our way through the organized chaos of the halls
compiled of confused or lost students with visibly flustered staff trying
to give directions to five people at once.
   We made small talk along the way, although I could tell Kyle still
felt awkward around Becky. Looking back, I can't help but laugh at the
innocent adolescent tension that there was between us. A few years before
and we wouldn't have been caught dead talking to a girl outside of class,
unless it involved the standard yelling we did when we threw snowballs at
packs of girls walking home from school. Of course, then they shrieked
and ran off, which was what we aimed for. Now if a girl ran away from us
shrieking, we'd be nothing less than the laughingstock of the school.
What a difference a few years and some hormones make.
   "This is so stupid," Kyle said. "Why do they make us zig-zag from one
end of the school to the other? I mean, I go from one end to the other,
back to where I started, and then in a completely new direction, to once
again go where I was two periods before."
   "I guess it was too hard to be organized about mapping out the school
or making schedules," I said.
   "It's just their way of making sure we get some exercise in the day,"
Becky chimed in, obviously bored with the discussion.
   As we walked through the doorway into Room 08, home of our Social
Studies class for the next nine months, I spotted Brad talking to the
teacher about something, and he didn't look thrilled about the
conversation. The teacher was a tall, muscular black man who looked like
he was in his early thirties.
   "In a matter of months we've gone from our own little desks with
storage to round tables with brightly colored chairs surrounding it,"
Kyle said sarcastically.
   "Yeah, I really feel as though I've gone up in the world," I said.
   The three of us sat down at one of the round tables in the right
corner of the classroom. There were five chairs surrounding it, and maps
of Oregon and the Western United States decorated the nearby walls.
   After a few seconds, Brad walking over to us with the brightest smile
I'd seen from anyone since the last day of school in June.
   "Hey! Jason! Kyle!" Brad said, obviously happy about something. "If
this isn't good luck!"
   "What? When we walked in you looked like you wanted to rip someone's
hair out," I said. I was confused how in twenty seconds he had gone from
angry and frustrated to bubbly and content.
   "Oh, that," Brad said. "The office changed my schedule, but didn't
tell me, so I ended up going to the wrong third period and got stuck
waiting in the counselors office. They switched some of my classes
around, and I was pissed. They changed my English and science classes
around, so we don't have English together. After I showed Mr. Watkins my
new schedule, I turned around and saw you sitting here, and then
remembered this was your Social Studies class."
   "Mr. Watkins?" Becky asked. "And who are you?"
   "He's the teacher," Brad said, put-off. "And I'm Brad Cretchton, who
the Hell are you?"
   "Becky Stewards," Becky said.
   "Er hi," Brad said.
   Irritated with his rudeness, Becky went back to fidgeting with her
binder, and Brad walked over to Kyle and elbowed him.
   "Man, she's hot!" he said, whispering.
   "Yeah, I think so too," Kyle said. "Romeo over here sits next to her
in Keyboarding, but is too goody-goody to flirt with her."
   "I heard that," I said defensively. "And what's wrong with just being
friends and not trying to go out with her before I know her?"
   "Nothing," Kyle said. "If you're a loser. Girls are status symbols
now, Jay; you know that. You don't want to be stuck with the Pork Prince
in drag, do you?"
   'Pork Prince' was Kyle's favorite nickname for Greg. 'Lardo Loser' was
another nickname we coined for him. I actually did feel guilty about
making fun of him, but Kyle always wanted to be 'cool', and Greg was the
anti-cool. Besides, he did bring it on himself, and being a bully didn't
win him much sympathy.
   "Uh, no," I said. "But that doesn't mean I have to act like every girl
I pass by is in heat."
   "Do you even know how to turn the oven on?" Kyle asked, grinning. I
proceeded to kick him.
   We bantered back and forth for a few more minutes while Brad stared at
Becky, who was either trying to ignore Brad or was so enthralled with
organizing her binder she was oblivious to everything around her.
   "Oh no," I said.
   "What?" Kyle said.
   "Lord of the Lard and his Caveman Clan just walked in."
   "Huh?"  Brad asked, confused.
   "Greg Gephurn and his goons Skyler Burns and Scott Newsom must be in
this class." I guess I never assumed they'd be on the same academic team
as the rest of us.
   I'm not sure if it was the thought of having a class with them, the
sight of seeing them walking to the table across from us, or the
permeated stench of body odor from them that did it, but Brad and Kyle
groaned simultaneously, and Becky looked up from her binder for the first
time in five minutes.
   "This day just keeps getting better and better," I mumbled to myself,
not thinking anyone could hear me.
   "You're telling me," Brad said. "I'd ask for God to put me out of my
misery right now, but I know they'll do it for me soon enough."
   Brad had more or less been a toy for Greg and his gang the last few
years. Brad was always one of the smallest kids in our grade, so he was
summarily one of their easiest targets.
   I could tell Greg wanted to say something, but he saw Becky, and must
have used his brain for once and decided not to do anything but sneer at
us. After all, he still thought she was the Principal's daughter.
   "Okay, class, quiet down and take your seats, please," Mr. Watkins
said. "Welcome to Seventh Grade Social Studies! My name is George
Watkins, and I'll be your Social Studies teacher for the rest of the
year."
   As he continued talking, explaining his rules and the class syllabus,
I looked around the classroom. Each wall seemed to have a theme of sorts,
and it was the exact opposite of my math classroom, where it was so dull
it made a prison cell look creative. Walls were covered with paper,
posters, and maps. I could tell, even if I didn't like everyone in the
class, that Mr. Watkins' class was going to be fun.

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