Who's Teaching Whom?

Smokey Saga #65: "Who's Teaching Whom?"

*****

Saga #65 was originally going to be a sequel to another story, but that's off. I shan't disclose which it was, but that sequel would've turned out far too similar. So here's another original: new characters, new plot, new storyline, new events, new lesBDSM scenario. Yes, my odd-numbered stories still denote lesBDSM; you'll want to know that going in. This one's dedicated to my fellow grammar officers, and also to anyone who has ever been picked on for being different or unique—be it in the way of our protagonist, or any other. And of course, you know the drill: your feedback's always welcomed, valued and appreciated.

*****

Knowledge Is Power (Cool Schooling)

Thursday, March 3rd, 2016, 8:15 a.m.

Another day opened to bloom, before the great green Earth and the city of Juniper. The frosty chill of winter lost no severity illuminated by daylight. At 28°, the cold weather stopped just short of precipitation, keeping establishments active as scheduled. Retail shops would open for business at their appointed times. Offices were up and running, thousands of daily laborers on the clock. And the doors of county schools—including those of Juniper High—were as wide ajar, with students and faculty at equally hard work.

The students in Juniper High's classes of 2016 to '19 were all between thirteen and eighteen. Most were disenchanted by the parameters of organized education. Most of these same most considered themselves "too cool" for school, prioritizing lesson plans below pursuits like dating, dances, sports, cars, and sports cars. Freshman and sophomore grades relied on their folks or the bus for transportation. The majority of juniors and seniors drove themselves, using their designated lot adjacent to the admins'.

18-year-old senior Dale Sunderland parked her car, grabbed her backpack and threw open the driver door. She stood to be slapped in the face by the chilly breeze. She enjoyed the cold. It made her eyes water, her nose run, and dashing into a heated building quite a comfort. But it also made her feel so free, so good, so powerful. Like she could do anything. Unfortunately, she couldn't exactly do just anything weekdays from 8:00 to 3:00. She could finish high school, and not really a whole lot else.

Fortunately, thought the young senior as she got inside and straightened her tie, she stood at the fore of the pro-school minority. Dale was uniquely fond of getting up each day to attend class after class. Her real name was Danielle. She nicknamed herself by putting her first and last two letters together. She liked the idea of being called something that could be a boy or a girl's name. She discouraged no one from calling her Dale rather than Danielle. Some of school's authority figures did so, others stuck with her bisyllabic, birth-given handle. Friendly peers called her Dale without a second thought or effort. Less friendly classmates ribbed her for using a "boy's name." But enduring these remarks was a small price to pay. If she understood the dynamics of sexuality, she was a lesbian. She'd gone through puberty like everyone else, and had no romantic interest in teenage boys, or males of any age. Nor saw she anything wrong in it. It was not unlike wearing her neckties. Dale kept her lucky neckties stuffed in a separate backpack compartment, and usually wore one per day. Each was knotted casual and loose to maintain informality. If a tie clashed with her outfit, or didn't seem to bring enough luck, she simply swapped it out for another. Besides, Dale felt she looked pretty damn sexy in them. But unlike her penchant for men's neckwear, she wasn't ready to come out and share her homosexuality yet. She felt it more suitable to exercise discretion for now.

The buffet of teenage girls appealed to her, but Dale failed to compute at first that her female classmates may not like like her back. It was a tricky time in her life with lots of unanswered questions. But many still could be answered, so Dale refused to allow the jeering taunts of bullies to interfere with her studies. They were doubtlessly just jealous, of any number of favorable traits Dale possessed. Being smart and learned gave her a sense of prestige, and power, something no amount of derision could erase. Her primary duty and goal at school was an education. Socialization, though pertinent to one's image, fell secondary.

So while riding out the rest of the year, she did her best to ignore class clowns who went out of their way to annoy her. Honestly, it wasn't so difficult. She simply went about her course material and paid no heed. When bullies or mockers failed to suck the rise they wished out of her, they'd inevitably lose interest and turn on a different, easier to upset target. Still, there were those one or two rare individuals who seemed to have homed in on her, inexplicably setting about to make her life a living hell, whatever it took. With apparently nothing else to do, Dale would think. Well, she'd make it one tough task for these sad, bored entities. And she certainly saw nothing necessary in the way of revenge, on their feeble attempts at torment. Merely pitying them for two more months would suffice.

Regardless, for each creep wandering the same halls, sitting in the same rooms, doling out the same insults, there was a friendly person to cancel the rude one out. These were the folks who were worth her time, Dale easily processed—they, as well as her teachers. Dale was no teacher's pet, and she didn't always ace her academic challenges, but she loved what founts of knowledge and facts her teachers were. She didn't know if the teeches had the same effect on everyone—she doubted it—but they lit small fires in her, inspiring thirsts for all different areas of study, making her want to continue learning indefinitely as she saw fit. Each of her four years at Juniper High, she'd been assigned new teachers for a more challenging shade of the same core subjects, and her own electives. Dale appreciated the diverse merits every teacher brought to the proverbial table—or desk—and she also personally liked each of them...almost.

In daily order, the fifty-minute periods took her through the usual subjects: art, history, music theory, biology, phys ed, algebra, and her final class of the day, advanced English. Mind them, all her teachers up to this point were pretty likable. But each weekday at 2:00 p.m., a dark cloud settled over Dale's happy scholastic realm. A dark cloud that made her hate her own native language.

A dark cloud named Mrs. Geena Larkin.

*****

And Starring Cameron Diaz As...

Thursday, March 3rd, 2016, 1:59 p.m.

Unaware how close to the top of the hour it was, Dale walked her friend Carly down the hall, just prior to final period.

"So what do you wanna do after school?" Carly asked. "Wanna hang out?"

"Ah, don't think I can today," Dale declined. "My Mom and Dad're still going through their nuclear Dale-College-y phase. I swear, they're gonna make me apply my ass off till I get snapped up, even if it kills 'em—or kills me. Whichever occurs first."

"Bummer, Summer."

"Don't bring up summer before it's time, chick-pea; 's bad luck. But ask me again in 24. They usually give me a break on the weekends."

Brrriiinnnggg!

Gasp. "Crap!" exclaimed Dale. "I'm late for Barkin' Larkin!"

"UGH," Carly rolled her eyes. "God help you, babe. A'right, go! Go! Run like the wind!"

Dale's buddy-girl Carly had Larkin in the mornings, and so knew too how frustrating she could be. So she and Dale helped each other study with tests on the way. As to their teacher, Geena Larkin was 40, brunette, tall, thin, and a no-nonsense serpent in the classroom. She'd been teaching twelve years, and established herself as a force to be reckoned with in Juniper High. She was fair in her grading, but less so otherwise. She did not consider high school students equals, nor regard them as such. Her philosophy went along the lines of, "You're in my classroom, you're playing by my rules." And her rules did not preclude mistreating students, be it by ridiculing those unprepared for class, calling on those with unraised hands, or embarrassing them in front of their peers. Or admonishing the tardy.

She didn't normally pick on punctual kids who had their books, pencils and homework handy. Or those who readily raised their hands to answer a question—even if their answers were wrong. She admired initiative. But when it came to students with a sloppier school ethic, Mrs. Larkin could be downright mean. So could high school kids, but they lacked the clout to steer their fates or grade their own papers. Some students speculated at the woman's past, what happened to her to make her this way. Maybe she was disillusioned by an abusive authority figure herself. Maybe she was sent against her will to boarding school, or the armed forces. Hell, maybe she was just a callous lady who existed in the school to torment students and make their lives miserable. Come to think of it, while they called her Mrs., none of her students even knew for sure if she was married. Dale Sunderland's guesses were as good as anyone else's.

She finally made it to the door, bounding in as the clock neared 2:02. Teech Tough-As-Nails had begun scrawling on the blackboard.

"Now as we left off yesterday, the difference between a clause and a fr—"

She turned to the door, along with twenty-four classmates, as Dale slipped in. She'd have done her utmost to get in undetected, but it was futilely impossible. She had to open the door, which already drew attention. She took a glance to see each seat except hers occupied. Crap, she repeated to herself. She wasn't late very often, but she was hoping not to have been singled out today.

Mrs. Larkin paused chalk-scribbling. "Well, well. Danielle Sunderland. So good of you to deign to join us."

Sigh. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Larkin, for being one entire minute late. Oh, excuse me; one and a half. How dare me."

Larkin crossed her arms. "I believe you mean to say, 'How dare I,' Danielle. Subject versus object pronouns: a common slip-up, and yet a most careless, elementary faux pas to boot. Another stunt like that, young lady, and the cap is yours."

She gestured behind Dale to the infamous stool in the corner, atop which sat a very tall, very literal, very real dunce cap. The vertically printed letters eliminated any ambiguity. The threat of its humiliation alone normally compelled students to shape up in Mrs. Larkin's class. As some unfortunate kids had learned firsthand in their weaker moments, she was not afraid to use it.

Dale threw out a breath. "Right. Right. Sorry, Mrs. L." She took a step towards her seat.

"Ah—" Larkin placed an arm in her path. "Just a moment, Danielle. As you've chosen to be tardy today, allow me to catch you up."

"Yeah, I didn't choos—"

"No no no, that's quite all right. At least you've shown the common courtesy to be on time for most of the year." She finished what she was writing on the board. "'Fragment.' Yes, there we are. Danielle?"

She held the chalk out to Dale. Aha. The reprimand thickened.

"Perhaps you may explain for us the difference, in sentence structure, between a clause and a fragment."

Both stood still a short while. Dale's cheeks obligatorily turned a bit red. As if by denying Larkin the satisfaction of seeing her squirm, she'd make the teacher do something even meaner to her later. She then turned a tad miffed. She did her homework, and thought she had a decent idea what the difference was, but shouldn't be made to unfairly prove herself like this. Furthermore, Larkin had the deck stacked on her. Dale wasn't used to being up in front of everyone like the teacher was, and nerves could interfere with her performance. How typical of Mrs. Geena Larkin's antics. She tried to think of a way out of this that wouldn't embarrass her too much.

She took the chalk and discreetly, politely laid it back down on the slate. "Perhaps not," she said. She pivoted on her heels and marched to her seat before Mrs. Larkin could stop her again. Her nose and ears felt a little hot, and it may have appeared she'd chickened out, but at least she was sitting down and ready to work. She refused to let one sadistic teacher break her spirit. She was going to finish this course along with her others, she was going to graduate, and she was going to bid Juniper High—and Geena Larkin—a fond farewell.

She took notes as Mrs. Larkin lectured on sentence structure, segueing into verbal transitivity. Dale had to admit, spiteful and derisive as teech could be, she knew what she was doing up there. She was proficient with her lesson plans, and collected more than her share of A and B papers. The more perceptive such as Dale figured there had to be some reason the school'd held on to her for twelve years. She similarly had to admit actually learning a few things from Larkin she didn't know. She may have loathed Geena Larkin as a person, but accepted her as a teacher—both because her lessons were competent and accessible, and because as a high school student, she didn't exactly have her pick of faculty.

Sometimes her eyes and mind wandered a bit, and went momentarily daydreaming out the window. Dale had no attention issues, but now in her latter senior semester, couldn't help wondering where she'd be just a year or three from now. The future, and any number of prospects she could choose to enjoy it, excited her. She wasn't yet sure what she wanted to do for a career, but whatever it was, all she asked was that it not be boring. She hated being bored. She'd rather do homework than absolutely nothing.

"Now then," she suddenly heard Mrs. Larkin sharply intone. "Who can explain to us in what voice, or voices, these are used?"

A few students raised their hands. Larkin optically surveyed the room, and turned her predatory, ignorance-seeking eyes to her right/class' left. Dale tensed up. She'd only been semi-attentive the last few minutes. She wasn't sure what Mrs. Larkin was asking. If Larkin called on her, Dale'd have to ask her to repeat the question. She didn't want to do that. She didn't want to poke the bear.

Fortunately—for her—Mrs. Larkin overlooked Dale. Instead, she called on her neighbor.

"Hmm...how about you, Cara?"

Dale looked to her right, feeling a bit of personal relief. But beside her, Cara Reynolds turned about as red as a beet. Dale took her eyes away, feeling sorry for her as she realized Cara didn't know the answer either. She wanted to be able to somehow jump in and help, but remained at a loss herself. Cara had enough eyes on her as was. She wriggled in her seat.

"...Anytime you're ready, Cara," Mrs. Larkin taunted, smirking cruelly. Oh, she was enjoying this. "Anytime at all."

Cara felt her own face burn. But she would pee herself if she let any more silence elapse. She spoke.

"I...uh...I'm-I'm sorry, Mrs. Larkin...I don't know."

The numerous eyes searing Cara like lasers returned to Larkin. At the board, the teacher gave a smug, almost even triumphant scoff.

"Shocker."

Dale's mouth fell open as Larkin left them alone and called on someone else. Whatever their fellow student said must have satisfied the teech, because she nodded, and turned back to the board to continue. But even though Dale and so many others had been subjected to Larkin's abuse over the entire year, she just kept pouring it on, upping the ante. She never ceased to surprise them with the severity of her attacks. Next to the way she treated them in September, this was really rather brutal. The stunned Dale looked back at Cara, who looked like she was about to cry. Dale reached over and gently clasped her hand.

"She didn't mean that, Cara," Dale whispered. "You're better than that. You're smart."

Cara had no immediate comment, but not surprisingly—having turned back to the class—someone did.

"That'll do just finely, Danielle. Hands to yourself, if you please."

Hands to herself? Well, that wasn't an unreasonable request, she supposed. Dale didn't let this bit of supplementary attention derail her. She scribbled down an additional note amongst her class notes, tore it off, waited for Mrs. Larkin to turn back around, "Psst"'d Cara, and slipped it to her. Cara looked up, saw Mrs. Larkin's back turned, surreptitiously took the note and read it.

Don't worry about her, it said. I'm thinking about forming a study group for finals. Wanna join? Call or text me. 952-555-1194. Dale

Waiting for her, Dale kept her head forward, only her eyes looking right. She watched Cara finish the note, turn back to her with a half-smile, and mouth the word, "Okay."

Dale smiled back. It wasn't technically a lie; as she wrote it, she'd just begun considering putting together the study group. It was a good idea, Dale knew Carly would agree, and she had a feeling Cara could use a friend or two right now. And she wasn't off base. They rode out the rest of the period together, and mercifully, the day was over.

"I could walk you outside if you want," Dale offered Cara as the class packed up.

Cara gave a shrug. "A'right, sure, why not."

They exited, pushed the front doors open and stepped outside.

"Well, I haven't asked that many people about joining my study group yet..." In fact, just you, actually. "...But, y'know, I figure we can meet pretty much anytime and anywhere that's good for you."

"Yeah..." Cara kicked at a pebble on the ground.

"...Y'okay?"

They slowed their pace as silence descended. Finally, several feet out into the lot, Cara sighed.

"...She really humiliated me."

"Ohhh...yeah. I'm sorry that happened. But hey, she did kinda rake me over the coals too. How dare I be sixty seconds late."

"Yeah, but you were so cool about it, though," Cara pointed out. "I mean, you were able to just shake it off. I couldn't do that."

"That what it looked like?" asked Dale. "Well, then, I guess I'm a better actor than I thought, 'cause I was pretty embarrassed too."

"Oh." Cara seemed a little surprised, as if she didn't think of Dale as the kind of person who could be effectively ridiculed.

"She shouldn't be allowed to get away with just-just...torturing us like that," Cara groused. "Someone really oughta teach her a lesson."

Dale chuckled. "For a change."

"Yeah. Oh well, there's my car. Thanks for the number, Dale. I'll see ya later."

"Take care, chick-pea. Sweet dreams. See ya tomorrow."

*****

Friday Outings

Friday, March 4th, 2016, 2:00 p.m.

BRRRRIIIINNNNGGGG!!

"Oh my frigging God..." Dale muttered, racing down the hall. She couldn't believe she was late for Mrs. Larkin's class twice in a row. This time it was her insistent bladder which was to blame. "Oh my frigging God..."

Finally, she grabbed the knob. CreeeeEEEAK...CREEEEeeeak—slam.

Dale panted, holding up a single hand. "Sorry. Sorry. I know, I know, I know. Sorry, Mrs. L. I was in the girls' room. Y'know how it is."

She started to her seat. But sure enough, the interruption smacked her like a whap on the nose.

"Actually...just a moment, please, Danielle."

Dale stopped with her back turned, winced, and silently cursed. Why did authority figures maintain such power to make her do as they wished? Well, in Larkin's case, she knew why. This woman filled out her student evaluations and graded her classwork. It was not in Dale's best interests to piffle her off. She had indeed spent the previous evening discussing colleges with her folks. They were proud of her good marks and wanted to see her carve out one bright future for herself. Just deal with it, she forced herself. It'll be worth it after.