Chapter 3. Randy's POV. He's distracted from school wondering if something's wrong with him. Thanks for all the great reviews! You guys rock! Standard disclaimers apply......
Chapter 3: Randy
I slid into my chair on the back of the room with a smile. Second period. Math, my favorite subject. It's not that I love math or anything, but my teacher is the greatest.
Breakfast had been a little tense at home. Mom and Dad were still uptight about my health, Dad shooting off rapid fire questions and Mom feeling my forehead ever ten seconds. I put on a good show though. I was cheery, polite, cracking more jokes than usual. I'm pretty sure Mom's convinced I'm okay. Dad's a little harder to fool, no matter how dumb he is. The truth is I don't want them to really know how tired I've been lately. Sometimes just getting out of bed seems impossible and by last period I'm practically a zombie. Still I don't want my folks to worry about me more than they already do. They tend to worry about me a little more than they worry about Brad and Mark because of all my health problems. It can be really annoying.
Mr. Peters, my math teacher walked in, his long arms swinging by his side. Something about him had appealed to me since the first day of school. He never seemed to take anything too seriously. He was always smiling and cracking a joke, jokes that were always funny, even if they were at somebody else's expense. Nobody was safe when Mr. Peters went on a roll. I was the butt of many of his jokes because he liked me. At least that's what he said. He treats all his students with an extreme level of respect, like we're adults or something. Most importantly, he doesn't judge us.
"Morning class," Mr. Peters greeted everyone, sliding into his desk chair. "How was the homework?" Most of the class groaned and somebody threw their shoe. Mr. Peters laughed and threw it back. "Invest in some Odor Eaters," he told the kid. Everyone laughed.
The math homework had been pretty difficult. I looked down at my own work and frowned. I was in the accelerated math class and my homework looked like second grade work. I hadn't been able to find a pencil the night before so I'd used a pen, and boy was that obvious. Half-finished equations were scribbled out, numbers scrawled illegibly even to me, who wrote the damn thing! I sighed. Well, at least I didn't have to hand it in. Mr. Peters makes sure we've done our homework, gives us the right answers, and moves on to the lesson.
I tried to recall doing my homework last night. I hadn't remembered making such a mess of it. But then, I couldn't remember much about last night. I remember Dad waking me up on the couch, something at the dinner table, somebody puking or something, and then going down to my room. I couldn't remember anything in between. It was as if it never happened, though my messed up paper sure proved that something did happen last night. I wondered if all my homework looked like that.
"Randy," Mr. Peters called.
"Uh, yeah, I have my homework," I mumbled. Some people laughed. I didn't stop to wonder why.
"Okay," he muttered, shaking his head.
"Dude, he called your name like ten times." A kid next to me, Jake, was the speaker. "And he was taking attendance, not asking about the homework."
"Oh," I mumbled, slightly embarrassed. So that's why they were laughing.
The whole day dragged on like that. In English class I didn't even have my homework. I thought I'd remembered doing it so I told Ms. Jones I'd left it in my locker. Boy was she steamed when I came back without any work. That got me a detention.
But still, there was some good to the day. I got to walk Mary to her fifth period class and we made a date for the movies Saturday night. It was nice to just be able to walk with her, holding her hand, hoping mine wasn't too sweaty, and enjoying her company. I didn't even mind too much when Mr. Peters walked by and said, "Ah, young love," while holding his hands over his heart and sighing like Mom when she watches "Love Story." I turned red and Mr. Peters laughed like a hyena, but I didn't mind so much. That's what a girl like Mary can do to a guy.
Mary is, and I say this with mucho respect for her intellectually, a total babe. She's short, shorter than me, and really athletic looking. She has gorgeous curly hair that's strawberry blonde and wild. And she has the sweetest smile a girl is allowed to have. But, I'm into her personality too. (Really!) Mary's really into sports and even likes old time WWF wrestling like I do. She watches the Three Stooges and The Simpsons and loves Dave Barry even more than I do. She's smart too, really smart. I've only been dating her for a week, but already I'm wild about her.
It was a struggle to stay awake through fifth and sixth periods, biology and English lit. But I knew seventh period would be worst; gym.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gym class is usually a lot of fun. Due to my schedule, I have gym two days in a row; Tuesday and Wednesday. I'm in class with all the other kids taking all honors classes. There are maybe two people in the class who can throw a football. Those two people are Mary and me. The other kids just kind of run back and forth and pray the teacher isn't watching them specifically. It makes for a great ego boost.
But I was in no mood for running. I would've preferred sitting quietly for forty minutes. Anything but soccer. I suppose I'm a decent soccer player. I did pick up a thing or two from Brad. Still, soccer's never been my favorite sport and it's hell on my asthma, with the constant back and forth, back and forth, action. Needless to say, I lagged a little.
Shortly after the game started I was having trouble breathing and I felt a jabbing pain in my stomach. Still, I didn't want to stop. I put on my jets, charged forward right at the guy with the ball and.....he blew right past me. A guy who has trouble tying his shoes just blew by me, while still handling the ball. Will wonders never cease?
"Taylor! Get over here!" Coach Sullivan yelled.
It wasn't uncommon for Coach to yell for somebody in the middle of the game so the game went right on as I jogged to the sideline, sucking in wind.
Coach's gruff demeanor quickly changed. He looked concerned.
"You okay, son?" He asked, looking me up and down.
"Sure. I'm fine. My asthma, I guess."
"Well, why don't you sit out the rest of the game. You don't look so hot and we've only been playing for five minutes." Coach paused and waved his hand around, gesturing at some guy, Derek, as he went to kick the ball, missed, and went flying. "Against these guys. This should be cake for you Taylor. Sit down." He paused again. "Do you need to go to the nurse?"
I shook my head. "I don't need to go out either. I can handle this." I grabbed my water bottle and took a swig of it. "Just need to keep hydrated." I grinned the little boy grin that always won Mom and Dad over.
Coach didn't go for it.
"Sit down Taylor. And don't worry about your GPA. Since this is for a health reason, your grade won't drop." Coach smiled grimly and went back to the game.
I sighed and sat down on one of the metal benches. I hated when Coach did this to me. He was real cautious about my asthma. Probably didn't want some kind of lawsuit or anything. Either way, I couldn't help being annoyed at being on the bench for awhile.
I whistled a Beach Boys tune, cursing Dad for getting it stuck in my head. Coach looked over and laughed.
"A Beach Boys fan?" He asked, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows. "Aren't you a little young for them?"
"My dad," I explained. "Car guy."
"The Tool Man," Coach said, nodding. He laughed. "I love that guy. He cracks me up. And whats-his-face.....Al. The guy with the flannel. What's with him?"
"The world may never know," I replied with a straight face. Coach arched an eyebrow at me.
I shrugged and had to smile. Another "Tool Time" fan.
END OF CHAPTER 3
Chapter 4: Tim's POV. Parent's Night
Chapter 3: Randy
I slid into my chair on the back of the room with a smile. Second period. Math, my favorite subject. It's not that I love math or anything, but my teacher is the greatest.
Breakfast had been a little tense at home. Mom and Dad were still uptight about my health, Dad shooting off rapid fire questions and Mom feeling my forehead ever ten seconds. I put on a good show though. I was cheery, polite, cracking more jokes than usual. I'm pretty sure Mom's convinced I'm okay. Dad's a little harder to fool, no matter how dumb he is. The truth is I don't want them to really know how tired I've been lately. Sometimes just getting out of bed seems impossible and by last period I'm practically a zombie. Still I don't want my folks to worry about me more than they already do. They tend to worry about me a little more than they worry about Brad and Mark because of all my health problems. It can be really annoying.
Mr. Peters, my math teacher walked in, his long arms swinging by his side. Something about him had appealed to me since the first day of school. He never seemed to take anything too seriously. He was always smiling and cracking a joke, jokes that were always funny, even if they were at somebody else's expense. Nobody was safe when Mr. Peters went on a roll. I was the butt of many of his jokes because he liked me. At least that's what he said. He treats all his students with an extreme level of respect, like we're adults or something. Most importantly, he doesn't judge us.
"Morning class," Mr. Peters greeted everyone, sliding into his desk chair. "How was the homework?" Most of the class groaned and somebody threw their shoe. Mr. Peters laughed and threw it back. "Invest in some Odor Eaters," he told the kid. Everyone laughed.
The math homework had been pretty difficult. I looked down at my own work and frowned. I was in the accelerated math class and my homework looked like second grade work. I hadn't been able to find a pencil the night before so I'd used a pen, and boy was that obvious. Half-finished equations were scribbled out, numbers scrawled illegibly even to me, who wrote the damn thing! I sighed. Well, at least I didn't have to hand it in. Mr. Peters makes sure we've done our homework, gives us the right answers, and moves on to the lesson.
I tried to recall doing my homework last night. I hadn't remembered making such a mess of it. But then, I couldn't remember much about last night. I remember Dad waking me up on the couch, something at the dinner table, somebody puking or something, and then going down to my room. I couldn't remember anything in between. It was as if it never happened, though my messed up paper sure proved that something did happen last night. I wondered if all my homework looked like that.
"Randy," Mr. Peters called.
"Uh, yeah, I have my homework," I mumbled. Some people laughed. I didn't stop to wonder why.
"Okay," he muttered, shaking his head.
"Dude, he called your name like ten times." A kid next to me, Jake, was the speaker. "And he was taking attendance, not asking about the homework."
"Oh," I mumbled, slightly embarrassed. So that's why they were laughing.
The whole day dragged on like that. In English class I didn't even have my homework. I thought I'd remembered doing it so I told Ms. Jones I'd left it in my locker. Boy was she steamed when I came back without any work. That got me a detention.
But still, there was some good to the day. I got to walk Mary to her fifth period class and we made a date for the movies Saturday night. It was nice to just be able to walk with her, holding her hand, hoping mine wasn't too sweaty, and enjoying her company. I didn't even mind too much when Mr. Peters walked by and said, "Ah, young love," while holding his hands over his heart and sighing like Mom when she watches "Love Story." I turned red and Mr. Peters laughed like a hyena, but I didn't mind so much. That's what a girl like Mary can do to a guy.
Mary is, and I say this with mucho respect for her intellectually, a total babe. She's short, shorter than me, and really athletic looking. She has gorgeous curly hair that's strawberry blonde and wild. And she has the sweetest smile a girl is allowed to have. But, I'm into her personality too. (Really!) Mary's really into sports and even likes old time WWF wrestling like I do. She watches the Three Stooges and The Simpsons and loves Dave Barry even more than I do. She's smart too, really smart. I've only been dating her for a week, but already I'm wild about her.
It was a struggle to stay awake through fifth and sixth periods, biology and English lit. But I knew seventh period would be worst; gym.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gym class is usually a lot of fun. Due to my schedule, I have gym two days in a row; Tuesday and Wednesday. I'm in class with all the other kids taking all honors classes. There are maybe two people in the class who can throw a football. Those two people are Mary and me. The other kids just kind of run back and forth and pray the teacher isn't watching them specifically. It makes for a great ego boost.
But I was in no mood for running. I would've preferred sitting quietly for forty minutes. Anything but soccer. I suppose I'm a decent soccer player. I did pick up a thing or two from Brad. Still, soccer's never been my favorite sport and it's hell on my asthma, with the constant back and forth, back and forth, action. Needless to say, I lagged a little.
Shortly after the game started I was having trouble breathing and I felt a jabbing pain in my stomach. Still, I didn't want to stop. I put on my jets, charged forward right at the guy with the ball and.....he blew right past me. A guy who has trouble tying his shoes just blew by me, while still handling the ball. Will wonders never cease?
"Taylor! Get over here!" Coach Sullivan yelled.
It wasn't uncommon for Coach to yell for somebody in the middle of the game so the game went right on as I jogged to the sideline, sucking in wind.
Coach's gruff demeanor quickly changed. He looked concerned.
"You okay, son?" He asked, looking me up and down.
"Sure. I'm fine. My asthma, I guess."
"Well, why don't you sit out the rest of the game. You don't look so hot and we've only been playing for five minutes." Coach paused and waved his hand around, gesturing at some guy, Derek, as he went to kick the ball, missed, and went flying. "Against these guys. This should be cake for you Taylor. Sit down." He paused again. "Do you need to go to the nurse?"
I shook my head. "I don't need to go out either. I can handle this." I grabbed my water bottle and took a swig of it. "Just need to keep hydrated." I grinned the little boy grin that always won Mom and Dad over.
Coach didn't go for it.
"Sit down Taylor. And don't worry about your GPA. Since this is for a health reason, your grade won't drop." Coach smiled grimly and went back to the game.
I sighed and sat down on one of the metal benches. I hated when Coach did this to me. He was real cautious about my asthma. Probably didn't want some kind of lawsuit or anything. Either way, I couldn't help being annoyed at being on the bench for awhile.
I whistled a Beach Boys tune, cursing Dad for getting it stuck in my head. Coach looked over and laughed.
"A Beach Boys fan?" He asked, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows. "Aren't you a little young for them?"
"My dad," I explained. "Car guy."
"The Tool Man," Coach said, nodding. He laughed. "I love that guy. He cracks me up. And whats-his-face.....Al. The guy with the flannel. What's with him?"
"The world may never know," I replied with a straight face. Coach arched an eyebrow at me.
I shrugged and had to smile. Another "Tool Time" fan.
END OF CHAPTER 3
Chapter 4: Tim's POV. Parent's Night