by Jon Athan
Upon finishing the equation, Hicks clapped and turned towards his students. He puckered his lips and shook his head, dismayed. Aside from a few attentive students, teacher's pets and thoughtful kids, most of his class appeared distracted. Some wrote text messages on their phones, others thought about lunch, and one fantasized about brutal murder.
Hicks glanced at the students near the front and said, “Well, I know some of you are tired of going over the same thing over and over. Believe me, I get it. But, unfortunately, some kids are 'slower' than others and we can't leave any of our friends behind, right?” He nodded at Dominick and shouted, “Dom!”
Dominick erratically blinked and smacked his lips as he awoke from his daydream. He nervously chuckled as his peers laughed at him.
He said, “I'm sorry. I wasn't, um... I wasn't paying attention.”
With an officious grin plastered on his face, Hicks said, “I know. That's why I called on you. You're always off in some other world, thinking about... Who knows, right? I can't tell if you're even thinking.”
“I... I was just–”
“Judging from your last test, you're still having trouble with linear equations. So, let's help you out. Come up here and finish this equation for us. We'll help you every step of the way. Come on, we don't have all day.”
Dominick grimaced as he stared at his teacher, fighting the urge to sniffle and cry. He glanced at the equation. His vision was usually perfect, but the numbers on the board were inexplicably blurred. He could feel a lump forming in his throat, too. He was overwhelmed by his anxiety.
He shook his head and said, “I can't... I can't do it. I don't know the answer. I don't know how to solve it. I'm sorry.”
With one hand on his hip, Hicks said, “Don't apologize to me. Your failures won't affect me. I already know how to do this. Most of your classmates know how to do it, too. If anything, you should be apologizing to yourself. You are depriving yourself of a future. I mean, think about it, Dom: if you can't do basic math, will you even be able to work as a cashier at any fast food restaurant? Huh?”
Dominick remained quiet, trying to bottle his emotions. He stared down at his desk, blatantly ashamed. He could feel the rich and smart kids staring at him – mocking him.
Hicks continued, “Dom, if you want to get anywhere in this world, you better start listening. I'm only trying to help you. Okay? I'm your... your bridge to a better future. Use me. Ask me for help. I'm here for you...”
Mason glared at his teacher from the back of the classroom. Drivel spewed from the man's mouth – indecipherable baby talk. He couldn't stand to hear his condescending speech. 'I'm only trying to help you,' Mason thought, help him by embarrassing him in front of everyone? The man's brand of help was not useful.
Mason said, “None of this matters, so why are we wasting our time talking about it?”
Hicks furrowed his brow and glanced at the back of the classroom. He abandoned the slacker students like they abandoned their academic futures. He was surprised to hear from Mason. He couldn't remember the last time he heard his voice.
Hicks stuttered, “Wha–What doesn't matter?”
“All of this. We've been sitting in this boring class for 15 minutes already. All you did was write on the board and make fun of Dom. It's all pointless. Even this math crap is useless.”
“First of all: watch your mouth, young man. Secondly, you have my attention. You really do, Mason. So, Mr. Genius, tell me: why doesn't math, the most important subject in school, matter to you or your classmates?”
“Math is... is... is outdated. You want us to learn about linear equations and all of this crap like we're ever going to use it. I know older kids, I have older cousins, and none of them use math in their jobs. And, if they wanna be cashiers, then they still don't need Algebra. All of it is done by computers, man. When they're adding things up, subtracting coupons, then adding taxes... Calculators do all of that for us. They do it for us in other jobs, too.”
Hicks huffed and rolled his eyes, then he said, “That is all... incorrect, Mason. Even if you were correct, which you're obviously not, what happens when they take the calculators away? What happens when the computers stop working?”
“You grab a pencil and paper, then you solve the problem. Most people still won't have to solve linear equations to find the price of a Whopper and fries at Burger King.”
The students in the back of the classroom laughed, the shy students chuckled, and the yuppies and nerds simpered. Everyone was amused by Mason's interpretation of life – except for Hicks. The teacher rubbed his brow with his fingertips.
He smiled – a smile of frustration – and asked, “So, what do you suggest we teach you? Should I teach you how to juggle so you can join the circus?”
As he doodled on his worksheet, Mason said, “I don't know. Teach 'em about life. Teach them how to fix cars or computers. Teach them how to design crap, like on Photoshop. You know, teach them things they can actually use. If kids want to be scientists or 'teachers,' they should be able to choose to take classes like this.”
Hicks sighed as he glanced at the whiteboard, disappointed. He didn't feel responsible for Mason's hatred of authority. He wasn't really disappointed in himself, either. His ego would not allow that. Instead, he was disappointed in Mason's parents.
Hicks said, “You may not believe it now, you're in a rebellious stage and all, but there are many respected professions for mathematicians. They–”
“Respected?” Mason repeated without taking his eyes off of his paper. “Like what? Like being a teacher? No, that's bullshit. You're not Einstein, man. You get paid as much as someone working at McDonald's. There's no way someone would really respect you.”
“Watch your mouth, Mason!” Hicks barked.
Oohs and aahs erupted in the classroom. A few students even pulled out their cell phones, ready to record the escalating confrontation between teacher and student. Mason had clearly dug himself under Hicks' skin.
Hicks adjusted his collar and said, “I've warned you about cursing in my classroom.” He walked towards his desk and retrieved a stack of pink slips. He said, “You have a detention coming your way. Let's see if everything you know can get you out of this.”
Mason chuckled and leaned back in his seat, unperturbed by the threat.
As Hicks filled out the slip, Dominick turned back and loudly whispered, “Hey! Thanks, Mason!”
Mason waved and nodded – no problem. He glanced around the classroom. His peers stared back at him. The classroom fame was welcomed with open arms, but he wasn't looking to become a celebrity. He wanted notoriety. Standing up to a self-righteous teacher did not bring infamy. No, he knew he had to do something worse.
Mason furrowed his brow upon spotting a student staring back at him – George.
George was one of the 'cool' kids in school. He was a freshman, but he was respected by students in every grade. He inherited his older brother's high school fame. His black hair was slicked back. He regularly wore sunglasses, indoors and outside. His clothing was fitted to his lean physique. He was stylish compared to his fellow classmates. He smiled and nodded at Mason, blatantly applauding his bad behavior.
Mason returned the smile, unfazed by the attention. George could open doors for him, but he wasn't interested in popularity. Prom king wasn't the title he sought. He glanced over at Hicks, who was still writing his detention. He made a gun with his hand and pretended to shoot his teacher, then he returned his attention to his doodle. He wasn't going to stand and grab the slip, either. If Hicks wanted to give him detention, the man would have to bring the slip to him.
Mason focused all of his attention on his drawing – a stick figure sprawled on top of train tracks.
Chapter Five
Gym
Donning gray t-shirts and red mesh shorts – their school colors – a group of male students ran into the locker room to change after gym class. The female students could be seen jogging into the neighboring locker room from the s
hared entrance. Male and female, most of the teenagers were drenched in sweat and out of breath.
Mason approached his locker in the back of the room. He glanced over at his classmates as he twisted the dial on his padlock. He didn't care about their physiques – muscular or obese, he thought nothing of them.
Andrew paced back-and-forth in the aisle. He muttered, “I swear, man, I'm going to jump that little bitch. I'm going to fuck him up after school if I see him...”
Mason asked, “Who?”
Andrew responded, “Saul, man. He was playing dirty like a little bitch. I'm going to get him, man. I swear, I'm going to rock him.” He banged on a locker to his left and stared up at the top of the aisle. He shouted, “You hear that, Saul?! I'm going to fuck you up, punk!”
“Shut the fuck up, bitch!” Saul shouted from another aisle. “You're not going to do shit! Keep calling fouls and crying like a little bitch, punk!”
“Asshole. I should get him right now, man. I'll shank him with... with...”
Mason said, “Alright, I'll help. Take my pencil. I'll hold him down, you stab him. It's the perfect plan... if you're not scared.”
Andrew clenched his jaw as he gazed into Mason's eyes – eyes devoid of humanity. He was talking shit, bluffing to sound cool around his peers. He could see Mason was serious about stabbing their classmate, though. For a moment, he even considered going through with it.
Dominick said, “Just chill. No one's going to stab anyone. It's not that serious. It's basketball. That's all.”
Without taking his eyes off of Mason, Andrew nodded and mumbled, “Yeah, it's just basketball. It's not serious.”
Dominick examined his friends with a furrowed brow. Mason huffed, disappointed in Andrew's lack of resolve. He opened his locker and shuffled through his clothing. Andrew turned towards his locker and turned the dial on his padlock. With each turn of the dial, he glanced over at Mason – suspicious. The situation was defused for the moment.
Looking to change the subject, Dominick said, “Hey, Mason. I know I already said it, but I just... I don't know, I just wanted to say thanks again. Thanks for taking the heat off of me in Hicks' class. He always acts like an asshole to me.”
“Don't worry about it. I don't care about his detention or any of his bullshit. I wish I could get him back, though. Talking back in class... That doesn't do shit to him.”
Mason glanced towards his left, curious. George, his cool peer from math class, approached him. The teenager strutted across the locker room wearing only his shorts, flexing his muscles and ogling his own abs on every passing mirror. The young man leaned on a locker near Mason. He nodded – what's up?
He said, “I saw what you did in Hicks' class. You made him look like a fuckin' idiot. What's your name, man?”
“Mason. Mason Williams.”
“Cool. I don't think I've seen you around before. Where do you kick it at lunch? The cafeteria? The courts? A club?”
“You haven't seen me in school before?” Mason asked, amazed. “We have, like, three classes together.”
“Yeah? I guess you don't talk as much shit as I thought. Are you down?”
“Am I down? 'Down' for what?”
George chuckled and swiped at his nose, casual. He said, “Down for anything, man. Down to scrap, down to drink... You've got a plug or what?”
“Nah. I don't smoke. I'm naturally 'high' all the time.”
Mason chuckled and shook his head as he grabbed his shirt from the locker. He was amused by George's questions. He had clearly caught his attention, but he wasn't impressed by the popular teenager. Talking about smoking weed was child's play to a child killer.
With a smug smile on his face, George said, “I like you, man. I think you're down, I really do. Listen, I'm having a party tonight at my pad over on Vineyard Avenue. I know you know the place. Everyone's going to be there – freshman, sophomores, juniors, seniors, everyone. I want you to come through, man. Even if you don't have a plug, I'll find someone else. You can bring your friends, too.” He nodded at Dominick and asked, “You hear that, Dom? You can come. It's good.”
From over his shoulder, Andrew grinned and said, “I don't know if Mason can go, Georgie. He's probably going to be watching some more of his extreme horror crap. You know how he is. Or, maybe you don't but... whatever.”
Mason said, “No. I think I'll actually be there... if I have time. I've been planning something, you know? But, I'll try to be there.”
“There's one condition, though,” George said, smirking. He pointed at the entrance of the locker room and said, “I want you to prove you're down. I want you to go around the corner and look into the girls' locker room. Tell me what Jessica's tits look like.”
As George and the teenagers laughed, Mason glanced over at the entrance of the locker rooms. Over the loud laughter, he could hear faint female voices – chattering and gossiping. He would only have to walk around the corner to peek into the neighboring locker room. He wasn't afraid to do so, either. In fact, he scoffed at the insignificant challenge.
He said, “I'll do it.” He tossed his shirt back into his locker, then he marched down the aisle. Determined, he repeated, “I'll do it.”
His classmates clapped and patted his back, loudly cheering for him. Perverted curiosity didn't lead Mason to the neighboring locker room. Talking back to a teacher brought some school fame, peeking into the girls' locker room would bring notoriety – and that's all he ever wanted.
As he watched Mason, laughing hysterically, George shouted, “Get 'em, man! Hey... Hey! If you get caught, come to my pad tonight! You're in, man! You're fucking in!”
***
Mason walked into the foyer of the locker rooms – the shared entrance. There was a single exit to his right. Through the exit, he could see the empty basketball courts and a lush soccer field – a female gym teacher picked up the stray balls outside. An archway to his left led to the girls' locker room. Over his peers' boisterous laughter, he could hear the girls chattering and giggling.
Shoulders and heels raised, Mason hugged the wall and slinked towards the archway. Like a turtle protruding his head from his shell, he peeked around the corner and peered into the locker room. His eyes widened and a devilish smirk formed on his face.
Girls, thirteen to eighteen years old, walked around the locker room. The young girls, freshmen and sophomores, kept their bras and panties on at all times. The older students strutted around the locker room, parading their perky breasts for the peeping Toms to see. A few of the girls even lounged without their underwear.
Wide-eyed, Mason whispered, “Holy shit, they're... they're fucking hot.” He stared down at their crotches and licked his lips. He smirked and murmured, “They're even shaved... I like it...”
Indeed, most of the seniors appeared to shave their pubic hair. Most of them were already adults, so he assumed most of them should have had hair. Despite being partially clothed, he still found himself ogling the freshmen and sophomores. His lust for sex was the only thing on his mind. He examined each girl, weaving and bobbing his head for a better view of their bare skin.
Mason glanced over his shoulder – the coast was clear. He shoved his hand under the waistband of his shorts and boxers, then he rubbed his crotch. Although he sought to be conspicuous, his masturbation was blatant. With only one free hand, he pulled out his cell phone and started snapping pictures of the locker room.
The eight-megapixel camera captured the perfect images. Again, he frankly didn't care about all of the laws he was breaking by photographing his nude classmates. His lust was in control.
Mason leaned back as Jessica approached a friend near the entrance. To his disappointment, the young girl still wore her gym shorts. She was not wearing a shirt, but she was wearing a bra. He took a picture of her breasts as he continued to fondle himself. He was close to finishing, but he couldn't quite climax.
Mason wasn't like his classmates – obviously. His lust was normal for a teenage boy. However, his fe
tishes were worrisome. As he vigorously masturbated, he imagined himself rushing into the locker room and raping Jessica. The idea of overpowering and abusing the girl of his dreams was titillating. That was what he liked, that was who he was.
He pulled his hand out of his shorts as his arm cramped. He put his phone into his pocket, planning on switching hands – his left arm was tagging in to finish the job. Before he could slip his hand into his shorts, he felt a strong grip on his shoulder.
He glanced back and whispered, “Shit...”
Katherine Smith, one of the gym class coaches, caught him red-handed. She shook her head and scowled, infuriated by Mason's perversions. Her curly blonde hair bounced and her tracksuit rustled with each shake of her head.
Despite his capture, Mason was able to sigh in relief. He was in trouble, he couldn't change that fact, but his plans weren't completely derailed. His hand wasn't in his shorts and his phone was put away before Smith caught him. No one would discover the obscene material on his phone.
Smith asked, “What do you think you're doing? What's your name? What class are you in?”
“My name is Mason Williams. I'm in Edwards' class.”
“And, what are you doing here? Hmm? Are you a girl, Mason?”
“No, I was–”
Mason paused as he stared down at his sneakers. A bulb illuminated above his head, an idea formed. It wasn't the brightest idea, but he couldn't help but seize the opportunity.
Mason smiled and asked, “Does it help if I identify as a girl?”
Smith cocked her head back, awed by his audacity. She grabbed his shoulder and dragged him towards the boys' locker room. She shoved him into the room.
She shouted, “Cover yourselves up, gentlemen! A lady is present!” She glanced at Mason and said, “And I'm not talking about you. Get dressed, then meet me outside. We're going to see the principal, we're going to call your parents, and I'm going to make sure you get suspended. You hear me?”