Date: Fri, 25 Jun 2010 14:50:50 -0700 (PDT)
From: T Claybourn <silkystetson@yahoo.com>
Subject: you want me to do what ch. 29

Warning the same stuff goes like always if you are not old enough to read
this then don't we dont want to get Nifty in trouble, or me for that
matter.

Thanks for all your support, and Emails Jere thanks for the editing, and
thanks to all my readers who have stayed with me on this..

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School started each day with English, and the teacher looked at us with
disgust. Mr. England was his name; he looked like he had swallowed a sour
lemon; he kind of looked like that guy who sold popcorn on TV. He called us
all by our last names, and, when he came to mine, he looked at me and then
went to the next.

"Your first assignment in my class is going to be easy. Why? It's because I
want to get to know you all better, and this will loosen the tension in
class. I need to know what you already know, and what you need to work
on. You may pick the subject." Easy I thought; I already have it done. "I
want footnotes, rough draft, outline - due Thursday of this week. The final
report will be due next week by the end of class on Thursday. I want it in
word document format. The reason it will be due on Thursday is because I
have another class, and they are due on Friday; I do have a life students,"
he said, as he came by and dropped a flash drive on our desk.  "This flash
is to be used in my class, and my class only; so put you name on the tag
which I will be handing out. At the end of the week, you will drop it in
that box on my desk. " I looked over at his desk, and a shoebox was nicely
covered with that tacky shelf paper stuff, and in black

 letters was our school name, with `H.S C.E.C 1st. per', which probably
meant `High School College English Course First period.'

When I got to my history class, Jon was not there, which was odd, because
he always likes history.  "Dillon, where's Jon?" I asked. He shrugged his
shoulders at me. History was just as boring as it was before the break, so
I just sat there and listened to what he wanted done, and when. At lunch, I
found my gang, and still no Jon. "Ok, where is he?" I asked everyone.  They
all looked at me.

"You haven't heard?" Alice said.

"No, I went away for a few days, and ended up sick as hell, and put to bed
for two weeks," I told her. Everyone looked at each other, then back at me.

"Chad, dude, umm, Jon is in the hospital in another country. That was the
last we heard," Jazz told me. I just looked at him.

"What the hell happened?" I yelled at him.

"They went away on holiday, and got into an accident, and, well, Jon is
still there," he told me. I grabbed up my pack, and headed to an open area
of the school, so I would have a good phone signal. I was going to find out
what happened to my best friend.

"Jack, what happened to Jon?"  I asked, when I heard his brother answer the
phone.

"Whoa, little brother, hold on," he told me. I heard a click, and then
another click, and then, "Where are you at?"

"School," I told him.

"Jon's fine. He's in a hospital. The `rents and I just got home a few days
ago," he told me.  "I called your phone, but Ry answered it, so I told him
what happened. He said you were sick, and didn't want to worry you about
his punk ass," Jack told me. I just shook my head. There will be hell to
pay when I get home, and Ry will be paying it to me!

"What kind of accident was he in? How's your parents?" I asked. I heard him
take a deep breath.

"Little bro, Jon's in rehab," he said.

"What?" I said. I was shocked. "I knew he smoked a lot of pot, but you do
not go into rehab for that, do you ?"

"Listen, bro; after school call me. I will explain everything to you,
alright? And I will try to answer your questions. However, bro, do not tell
anyone where he's at.  I called that dude Dillon, and told him we were in
an accident while we were out of the country, to keep them from coming
over," Jack told me, which I could understand.

"OK, bell just rang, so I got to get," I told him. I hung up the phone, and
went into class; all the gang looked at me. "He'll live," I told them,
giving them a weak smile.

When I got out of school, I headed home. Once inside, I called Jack and
found out everything. It seemed that Jon got into a stronger drug than pot,
thanks to a new friend of his. He was on meth, as well as pot. I was
wondering why he was getting so damn skinny. I should have known something
was up, when he stopped sharing his pipe/bowl. He was even getting stingy
with his joints, so I just rolled my own; that should have told me
something.

"Pet, I'm home," Ry yelled, and got smacked in the face with a
pillow. "What the hell, pet?"  Ry asked, with a shocked expression on his
face.

"Don't you `pet' me?" I told him. "How dare you not tell me my best bud had
OD'd on a drug, and is in a rehab center," I yelled at him, and assaulted
him with yet another pillow, which bounced off his arm, and knocked
something off the shelf onto the floor.

The whole time I threw pillows at him; no wonder they are called throw
pillows.  I ran out of pillows, and I threw the next thing I grabbed, which
was a book, that got him right in the chest.  I was about ready to toss
something else, when I got stopped short, as Ry grabbed my arms with one
hand, and swatted me hard with the other, which relit the sting of the
spanking that I got a few days ago.  When he pushed me down onto the sofa,
I bounced back up, arms crossed, daring him to do something. Ry just glared
at me, and I lost my nerve; so I sat.

"I had more important things on my mind than that little shit at the time
he called. I totally forgot about him, until I saw his sister in school
today.  So forgive me for not informing my extremely sick partner about his
stupid-ass friend, who almost killed himself on an overdose of drugs!" he
snapped. I just looked down at my knees.

"Sorry," I told him.  He sat down beside me, and held me tight against his
body. Then he shifted me to sit on his lap, my head tucked underneath his
chin, and he rocked me side to side for a minute, gently rubbing my hip.

"I want you to do me a really big favor," he said.

"If I can," I told him.

"I want you to stop smoking pot," he said. I sat back and looked at him; he
just gave me a smile. "Love, pot kills brain cells; that's probably why I'm
not too bright, and my kid cousin had to help me do my High School work,"
he said, and gave me a kiss on the top of my head. "Thanks, by the way," he
told me. I just giggled.  "Anyway, I don't want you killing anymore brain
cells, and besides, once Jon gets out, he will probably be looking at you
for support, and if you still doing it, he'll go right back on it," he
said.

"No problem," I told him.  "Well, I think it's no problem. I mean, as I
said, I don't do it all that much, but when I get stressed, it helps me get
unstressed."  Ry gave me a hug, and then stood me up and turned me around.

After dinner, I took a shower and got ready (more or less) for bed.  Ry was
on the main computer, doing his work, so I grabbed up my laptop and I laid
down on the floor of the front room, and wrote out my rough draft of what
my English teacher wanted.

It was the last period, which was one of my fun classes, with leather
crafts. I was just bringing my stuff out when I heard, "Chad." Mr. Adams
called me, and I turned to look at him; he motioned for me to come over to
him. When I got to him, he handed me a pass. "Go see Mr. Gentry," he told
me.  I grabbed my bag and headed to the counselor's building; I had never
been called to his office, so I wondered what was going on. Then I
remembered that Karen was called to his office, when she found out her mom
was killed in a car crash. My heart was thumping hard in my chest, and my
steps got faster; I was thinking all kinds of horrible shit.  Once I got to
the office, I handed my slip to a lady at the desk, and she picked up a
phone, telling him I was there. She then pointed toward a door.  I went in,
and stopped. Mr. England was there, as well as Dad and Ryan; both looked
like they were going to be ill.

"What's wrong?" I asked dad, going over to him.

"Easy, Chad. We just need to talk about something," he told me, and pointed
to a seat. I closed the door and sat down. Dad and Ry both looked at each
other, and then I was handed two folders. I recognized them: one was mine,
and the other was Ryan's. It was the footnotes and rough draft of my report
- the one Ry had me do.

"Oh, hell, no! You didn't!"  I looked at Ry; he just shrugged his
shoulders.

"I did this over Christmas break, `cause Ry suggested I do it, because I
was overdoing the Tylenol, when I was sick during our ski trip, and the
reason it's laid out like this is because Ry said I need to get use to it,
because when I get into college, I will have to do reports this way," I
said. I noticed Mr. England looked at Ry, and then nodded his head.  Dad
came over to me and put his hand on my shoulders. "I had no idea Ry
borrowed it and turned it in as his, because I would have done something
else instead.

"So Ryan is turning in your work as his own?" Mr. England asked. "Do either
of you realize that I could remove Ryan from the school for perjury, and
you as well?"  Ry and I both looked at each other, and then at him. I about
snapped my neck when I jerked around and looked at dad.

"Now wait a minute; he had no idea I took that report. I got behind in my
other classes, and just took it, typed it out, and turned it in," Ryan
said, as he came to stand by me. "You can't do this to him. Me? Yeah, I can
retake your class. Him? No this is too important for him; he didn't screw
up, I did," Ry said.

"Is there anything you can do to keep them both in school?"

 Dad asked.

Mr. England looked at both of us. "You both can do another report,
including footnotes, rough draft, and it will have to be in on time, or I
will not accept either of them, and you'll get an F for it."

I've never had an F in my school career. I got a C once, and I cried for a
week, and did extra credit for two weeks, so I could get an A at the end of
the year, and I was only in the third grade.

"Chad, since yours was on misuse of over-the-counter drugs, I want you to
do one on substance abuse. Ry, you will do yours on perjury. "We both said
`yes, sir', and he picked up his briefcase and headed for the door. "Good
day, boys," he said, and left.

"Hard ass," Ry mumbled. Dad swatted him so hard that it made him jump
forward; Mr. Gentry hid a smile behind the folder.

"DAD! " I yelled, and jumped to my feet.

"Do you want one?" he asked me. I sat back down, getting my ass out of
harm's way. Ryan's swats stung like hell, but Dad's could knock your
tailbone into your pelvis, with little effort.  Dad jerked his head toward
the door, so I got up, grabbed my bag, and left. Ry did the same; he
side-stepped dad to keep his ass out of the way.  Dad told Mr. Gentry that
this will not happen again, and he followed us out. As we walked across the
campus, my friends all looked at me. When we got to dad's car, we all got
in, and he drove me to where my car was parked, and I got out.  Ry got out
and climbed into my car, and we headed home, as dad turned and went home.

"How come you were there?" I had to ask. I loved the idea that Ry was there
to help protect me, but he usually doesn't get involved in my school stuff
when dad is called out.

"Mr. England had me come over to see if he got the same story out of you
that I told him. More or less we told the same story," he told me.

"Pet, I am so sorry. I had no idea you turned that in, and that he was your
English teacher," he said, looking very ashamed of himself. "But I guess
the same color of flash drives and tags would have been a clue, huh?" he
said with a smirk; I hit him.

"Yeah, especially since it says `H. England' on the back of the tag," I
told him. We got home and ate dinner, and then I sat at my computer and
thought about what drug I was going to write about.  I opened my search
engine, and typed in `Meth Abuse', and started making notes.