I didn't expect this many reviews on such an "out there" premise. I strive to create something no one else would think of. Thank you for your support!

Trivia Time: Reid didn't pick Estlin out of a hat (nor did I). Where does it come from? Google it, if you have to. First reviewer gets named in the next post.

Chapter Three:

Spencer:

Pig manure, feathers, and glue. That was what I was covered in. Everyone knew who did it, but I had no proof. Because, I had been subject to similar pranks, I had a change of clothes, a cooler of water, and soap. Still reeking to high heaven, I doused myself in Axe that I had confiscated from a student. I was clean enough when students came in two minutes before the before the before the bell rang.

I still stunk enough that kids made faces when they approached me. A few pretended to gag. My attempt at minimizing this was by calling them up to get their graded quizzes back. I stayed away from the students, and didn't ask any of them to come to the board to finish equations. Still the kids laughed at me, no matter how much I glared at them.

By lunch time, the assistant principal had seen the video and dismissed me from monitoring duty. Owen Collins wasn't much better liked than I was, though he seemed to avoid the kid's ire more than I did.

Eating lunch by myself, I tried not to wallow in self-pity. There was a time when kids liked me. The teachers thought my ideas were innovative. The principal didn't hate my guts. I actually enjoyed teaching kids the basics of pre-college math. Life wasn't terrible.

Things changed about seven years ago. A new principal came in and managed to acquire a grant for a bigger, better, football arena. The divisions changed, new coaches were brought in and suddenly, the Glen High Blue Eagles were state championship material. Kids were going to schools like Notre Dame and Texas A&M on football scholarships. Cheerleaders were also being recruited along with the marching band. Football was king, above all else.

That meant giving the jocks a break or losing your job. Offering extra tutoring sessions. The biggest mistake I made, was giving the star quarter-back Lionel Hastings, who was by all accounts worthy of the NFL (though I had my doubts) a failing grade, causing him to be benched from the state championship. I had no choice, he skipped out on study sessions, and flunked tests by wide margins. The team lost by the largest margin is school history. I became a pariah after that.

The quarterback's father was the town sheriff. I have been ticketed seven times, for everything from dim taillights, not stopping fully, and going below the speed limit, going a mile above, and one flagrant case of an officer misreading my registration sticker. The quarterback is now a deputy sheriff and I know if I see him somewhere, such as the only grocery store in town, to drop everything and walk out.

He married a woman ten years older than him, who had a son from a marriage with a now-deceased armed service member. She took on his name. Her son's name is Liam, and my daughter is dating him. The woman in question is Daria Hastings, who became principal last year after serving as assistant principal in Preston for a number of years. They had a vendetta against me.

I sighed. Not all schools were poisoned by athletic programs, but this one was. The occasional sympathetic teacher would ask me why I stuck it out this long. Truthfully, I had no where else to go. I was Spencer Estlin, a University of Las Vegas graduate, who fell in love with an Idaho girl when I went camping here. That was the story everyone knew. Everyone believed.

Discarding plastic wrap from my sandwich, I put away my lunch bag.

"Three million hits, Mr. Estlin!" a kid shouted as he came in. "I wish could get that many views!"

I taught AP Math and the Seniors. Both my daughter and I were praying, Jacob Lowell would agree to switching levels next year so I'd avoid teaching her. Lowell hadn't said anything about it, but I had heard from students he was easily bribable with sweets. Baking him a three-layer cake was not entirely out of the question.

The kids made a point of holding their noses as they walked past me. I ignored them and proceeded with my lessons.

…

I emptied both the shampoo and shower gel bottles onto my body, went through the hot water, and ended up freezing. Still, I smelled, but not nearly as bad. A little cologne should cover the rest of the scent.

There was still time to make a vegan pasta recipe I had found online. This was just a phase, both Gracelyn and I knew it.

"Oh god," she said when she came in. "I can't tell which smells worse, you whatever you made."

"It's vegan pasta," I said.

"No thanks," she said dismissively. "The smell alone makes me want to puke."

"It's vegetables," I said. "You like carrots, celery, and tomatoes. What's wrong with it?"

"The fact you made it," she said.

I had been tortured and shot at by some of the worst monsters in the country. Sometimes I wondered if I was staring into the eyes of another one, of my own making.

"Go to your room," I said. "I'm keeping the pop tarts by my bed so good luck finding something to eat in the house."

She stormed out.

Counseling, medications, father-daughter camping trips. Nothing seemed to hold us together. She started hating me at ten when I became the town pariah. She learned it was better to also hate rather than face being bullied. I can understand that on some level, but even in private, she hated my guts.

I went to bed and closed my eyes. I pictured happier times. Singing "Heroes." Holding Henry for the first time. Gracelyn's first cheer routine. Marrying Amy. Happy days.

…

Gracelyn was already up and out by the time I woke up. She had an away game to cheer on. I proceeded with my regular routine.

As I raided the vegan aisle, the parents I ran into acted as if I still stunk. This town doesn't forgive or forget. I picked up Jell-O and pop tarts. When I stopped at the deli asked for turkey sliced thin, he gave it to me extra-thick. Stopping in the frozen food section, I picked up a vegan pizza and ice cream. My daughter's skinny waistline worried me at times, so I wasn't afraid to pick up extras, even if she ate them while I wasn't looking.

"Hey Spencer," Selina said cheerfully as she checked me out.

Selina was part of one of three of the only Lesbian couples in town. Her daughter was a genius, and I believe she was passing answers to mine for money.

"I hear you got slimed again," she said.

"It happens," I said with a shrug.

"They really should do something about the bullying of teachers in that school."

"I'm the only teacher who gets bullied," I said.

"That isn't right," she said.

"Excuse me," a man said. "My son was the running-back on Lionel's team. You deserve everything you get."

He slammed his shopping cart into me. I fell face-forward.

"HEY!" Selina shouted.

"It slipped," the man said.

She came over and helped me up.

"You don't deserve any of this."

"I know," I said.

She quickly packed my groceries and I walked away. I could hear her loudly saying that the man's discount card wasn't working and it was against a new policy to use the store card.

This was my life. I didn't like it. But I had to stay for Gracelyn. Deep down, she was still my little girl. Abandoning her, like her mother, wasn't an option.

…

I was praying at the local Methodist church when I felt a tingling on the back of my neck. Looking around, I saw no one. The sensation came every few years. It was a reminder I was never truly safe.

Did I think my life or Gracelyn's was in danger? Not really. Not after so many years of seclusion. Hopefully, Cat's hitmen trust had dissolved or found other targets. Hopefully.