(Excerpt) Threat to Graduating (v.4- 4/3/14)

Jay’s home room teacher handed him a note, folded in half, with ‘Mr. Harris’ written on the outside in spidery handwriting. Unfolding it, he read, “Pls see me ASP re grad reqmnts.”  It was signed “P. Phelps.”

Miss Phelps (nobody knew what the ‘P’ stood for) was the academics counselor for his part of the alphabet. At five-foot-nothing and a hundred pounds, she looked afraid of her own shadow. Looks, in this case, were definitely deceiving. Rumor had it that she had already been a school counselor when Mr. Tubman, the principal, had gone to this same high school. More than once Jay had seen Mr. Tubman turn tail rather than argue with her.

Jay knocked gently on her office door. From the other side of the door a raspy voice screeched, “Well don’t just stand there, come in, come in.” As he entered, Jay could barely see the top of her blue-tinged hair over the stack of year books and folders on her desk. Two vein-streaked hands parted the piles and Miss Phelps came into view. She stared at Jay, cocking her head first to the left, then to the right. She closed her eyes and appeared to drift off.

“Uhhh...Jay Harris, ma'am.”

Her eyes opened and blinked rapidly. She looked down at the large calendar pad on her battered oak desk, then back at Jay. “You must be Mr. Harris.”

“You sent for me?”

She looked up at the ceiling in thought. “Yes…of course I did. Can’t imagine you’d just drop by to bring me chocolates or pass the time of day.” Her face crinkled into a smile and a cackling sound escaped from her throat.

God, was that a laugh or is she choking? Jay felt light-headed and realized he was holding his breath. He exhaled slowly as her face returned to normal. “You wanted to see me about something? Perhaps graduation?”

“Yes…yes, of course. Let's just see here now.” Jay saw his name on the folder she flipped open. “Hmmm.” She ran her fingers down a list of his classes that had a grade next to each entry. “Hmmm…A…B…B+….A….” Her finger paused at the last class in the list. “Ah, here it is…yes.” She looked up at Jay, who was still standing. “Well sit down…sit down…hurts my neck to be looking up at you. Lands sake!” Jay sat in the ancient wooden chair in front of her desk.

“Better…much better. Now about your grade in Physics. A grade of ‘D’ won’t do, Mr. Harris, won’t do at all. If you expect to walk across that platform with the other Seniors, you need at least a ‘C’.”

Jay felt his face and neck getting blotchy and sweat was dripping down his sides. “Sorry, Miss Phelps. I’ve tried and tried to learn the stuff Mr. Montgomery is teaching us. I use the same formulas as other kids. But my falling bodies never hit the ground the same time as theirs do.” Jay added, “And my boats never reach the opposite river bank at the right point either. Same river current, same wind as everyone in the class. My boats go too far downstream…or not far enough.”

Miss Phelps made a scolding sound that reminded Jay of frogs mating. “Well, we can’t have that can we. World would be a disaster, wouldn’t it? Falling bodies and boats acting willy-nilly and breaking the laws of physics. I shall get you a tutor from Midwestern College.” She scribbled a note in his folder, then threw the folder into the Out box.

When Jay didn’t immediately leave, she stood and leaned across the desk towards him. “Is there something else, Mr. Harris? You aren’t going to propose marriage I hope. Really would be quite unsuitable…more like January-December than May-June, wouldn’t you agree? You may return to class.”

Jay stood up so quickly he knocked the chair over. “Sorry ma’am. Thank you ma'am.” He righted he chair and retreated from the office, forgetting to close the door. The sound of giggling followed him down the long hallway.

 © 2014, Charles Edward (Chuck) Pierson. WORK IN PROGRESS. Except as provided by the Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.