| Straight: Student and Teacher: Confessions of a Parochial School Student (1/14) |
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The last bell sounded, shrill, yet expectant. I was at my locker, digging through it in search of both my books and the paper I'd spent weeks preparing for and writing. Where are they? I thought to myself in a minor panic, where are they?! I was normally not this unprepared! I finally found them. The books. Not the essay. I groaned, picking up a text on Grecian history that had fallen from the stack of books piled hap-hazardly on the top shelf of my locker. I shoved it into my book bag. I would need for it my second class. Thoughts of Greek History with Mr. Turner faded from my mind at the realization that I was now overly late to my first class and I didn't have my assignment with me. That I must have left it at home in the rush to get to school on time. Great. Perfect. A wonderful start to a wonderful day. Why did I have to be late to his class? Why did mornings have to be so damn early!? Ugh. And he expected me to function? More than function. To enter act intelligently. Gah. I hadn't even had time for breakfast this morning! "Althea," I started at the sound and saw the principle approaching, making certain the corridors were empty of students, "Don't you have some place to be right now?" she tapped a pudgy finger pointedly upon her watch face and I gathered up the rest of my things, slammed the locker door closed and spun the lock. "Since this is only the second day of school, I won't write you up. But, hurry along, young lady!" I didn't have to be told twice! As I rushed down the hall, I mentally considered the uniform we, the girls, were forced to wear; plaid blue and green pleated skirt, matching tie cinched at the neck, white blouse, white knee socks and optional dark blue sweater or jacket depending on the weather. The boys wore essentially the same save for slacks instead of skirts, dress shirts, wider ties and more masculine jackets or sweaters. My skirt came to my knees; and my legs, (still slightly tanned from the summer sunshine), were bare between the tops of the socks and the hem of the skirt. I've been told they were my most attractive asset, and I wished that I could have worn my new black sling-backs with the half-inch heel to better show off the slender curve of my calves. Instead I, as every other girl in the school, had a choice of brown or black loafers. In the ancient times of my grandmother, who'd also attended St. Al's as a girl, gleaming black buckled shoes were the norm. I'd worn my hair down today and it was constantly falling across my shoulders into my eyes. Belatedly I wished for a barrette. Ah, well. Wish in one hand... "So, you finally decided to join us this morning," a familiar, rather cold, voice issued from the front of the classroom after I had opened the door to let myself in. There were about twenty students in the room. Nearly all of them wore expressions of various stages of apprehension and fear. I knew why. The teacher, Mr A.S. Lismore, was not known for his leniency. He'd only been teaching at St. Aloysius for three years but in those three years he'd quickly acquired a certain reputation. Rumour had it he was King's College and Sheffield University educated and even |
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coitus interruptus
