Date: Tue, 10 Nov 2015 22:50:36 -0800 From: Douglas DD DD Subject: Rough Edges Chapter 22 Welcome back. As Phil waits to face the music for his outburst in math class, he is torn between taking his anger out on everyone around him until he gets expelled from school, or do something new--come up with a solution to his dilemma. Teen angst pushes him hard to lash out at the unfairness of his situation. Enjoy. Please be safe. And please donate to the Nifty Archive to help keep it free and available for our reading pleasure. CHAPTER 22 TESTS As expected, going back to school was hectic. The staff, the students, and everybody else with business in the building flooded me with congratulations on the championship. Every player approached me before the first bell. It was as if they had to let me know they were alive and had survived the Sunday night party. But, with finals coming up, there was still math to be taught. I know it seems weird that I was a math teacher when math didn't seem to be my strong suit in sixth grade. But the potential was there. I was never bad at math; in fact I was an A student. It was just that some of it seemed elusive and I was making things harder than I needed to. Phil had a way of making some of the concepts I was fighting make sense. I often thought Phil would have made a great teacher, but he liked the idea of being an engineer and building and fixing things. Mr. Rodman, my sixth grade math teacher, who was obviously an idiot, had problems relating to tweens and seemed bored with the subject matter. But it was Mr. Wainwright, my seventh and eighth grade math teacher, who really opened my eyes. The man wasn't even thirty, yet he was a master teacher. He was my example of how to teach and how to treat kids. Mr. Rodman was my prime example of how not to do it. Phil and I worshipped Mr. Wainwright, who was an inspiration to both of us. Sadly, he was too good to teach middle school math for the rest of his life. He now teaches at a large high school in Kirkland, Washington. That is a brief capsule of how a kid who needed his new best friend to show him how to divide by two and three digit numbers ended up becoming a high school math teacher as well as teaching community college math classes part time. I will never forget the day Mr. Rodman kicked Phil out of math class, and neither will Phil. He says he still entertains fantasies of running into his old teacher somewhere and punching his lights out. As Phil stomped out of the classroom yelling and cursing and slamming the door, the rest of us sat in stunned silence. It was Jung, who broke the silence. While he was quiet and polite, he was not afraid to stand up for himself and others. "Phillip did not cheat, Mr. Rodman. He got a perfect score with his own hard work," Jung said. While he didn't raise his hand, he did display his usual quiet and polite demeanor. "And just who asked for your opinion, Mr. Kwon? We both know that Mr. Miller is not capable of coming up with a perfect score on his own. In fact, since you had the other perfect score in the class, and you sit adjacent to him, maybe I should be suspicious of you abetting him." Before Jung could reply I spoke up. Like Jung, I was compliant and polite, but I had a little bit more of an edge to my personality than he did. "Mr. Rodman, that is just wrong. Phil is good at math. He was helping me with it. You need to apologize to him." I had an A on the test, missing two while getting one bonus question correct. I was also pulling down an A in the class. Telling Mr. Rodman that Phil helped one of his best students was not what the math teacher wanted to hear. "Perhaps you would like to join your friend in the office, Mr. Sanders." I was getting on a roll and was not about to quit—yet. "Just look at his worksheet and you can tell he did the problems." "This is the last I am going to say on the matter. Phillip was among the first to finish his test. He is simply not good enough to work his test that fast and get a perfect score, or even a passing score for that matter. As for his worksheet," Mr. Rodman picked Phil's test up off of the floor, "there is no need to look at gibberish. Here is my opinion of that worksheet." He then proceeded to tear Phil's test into shreds, dumping the remains into the wastebasket. "The next person who opens his mouth on this closed subject goes to the office." Okay, I was wrong about Mr. Rodman being just an idiot. He was an asshole as well as an idiot. He thought he was better than he was and that teaching sixth grade math was something beneath him. That made him different from Mr. Wainwright, who simply loved numbers and loved teaching about them. He would have been just as happy teaching first graders to add five plus four as he would teaching probability theory to college students. Mr. Rodman was close to having a rebellion amongst a class of preteen sixth grade students. If not for the fact that this was an advanced math class consisting of mostly good students and good kids he would have lost us. As it was he'd lost almost all of our respect and we were on the brink of rebelling. Don Yates, who was an east side student like Phil and had gone to Phil's elementary school, decided to get in the last word. "What you did to Phil really sucks." He then finished with a snide, "Sir." That got him kicked out of class and kept the rest of us quiet. It was ironic that a boy who barely knew Phil was the one to get kicked out of class while his new friends weren't the ones trying to get the final say. I am sure that if the incident had happened a year or two down the line it would have been me and not Don Yates who got sent to the office. But I was not yet ready to sacrifice myself for a boy who had been my friend for only a couple of weeks, no matter how sexy those two weeks had been. Nobody was surprised when Phil wasn't on the bus after school. I felt a strong sense of disappointment realizing that Phil would most likely not be spending the night with me. I doubted he would be spending it with me on Saturday either. Q was sitting next to me on the bus. "Phil really got hosed today. I was ready to say something, too, but Turdman scared me and Daniel. No way I was getting my ass kicked out of school." "Turdman?" "Yeah, he's an asshole and turds come out of asses. If we call him Turdman nobody but us knows what we're talking about and we can't get into trouble." "Makes sense, I guess." "Want to spend the night with me and Daniel if Phil can't come to your house?" "Yeah, I guess. I thought Daniel and Ben were tight." "They are, but Ben is staying at Jung's. I think they want to get to know each other better." I assumed Q meant get to know each other sexually. "What's Perry doing?" "His brother is having friends over. Perry wants to hang with the older guys." I looked back at Perry who was sitting behind us. He grinned and made circle with his left index finger and thumb, then ran his right index finger through the hole. "You are so gross, Perry," I told him. Perry grinned. "Jealous?" "P is the number one Wonkey horn dog," Q said. "Don't forget me." Jung was sitting next to Perry and considered himself to be a stud. Perry didn't say a word about being called "P" so we figured he was in a good mood. The buses ahead of us started moving and the driver closed the door of our bus. But before he could start moving there was a loud rap on the door. The driver opened the door and Mr. McKay, the principal, stepped on board. "I would like to see Larry Sanders, Quinn Baxter, Jung Kwon, and Daniel Turner, please." Q and I gave each other "What the fuck did we do?" looks and got out of our seats. Jung and Daniel followed us. Behind us I could hear a voice saying, "Ohhhh, somebody's in trouble." We must be in big trouble, I thought. I couldn't think of any other reason for us to be called off of the bus before it left the school. I thought about running out of the school after slamming the door to Mr. Rodman's classroom. While Mr. Rodman had already been on my list of people I hated and resented, the test incident encased his position in concrete. In a brief moment of sanity, I decided that leaving the school would just sink my fortunes further, if that was actually possible. So I headed down the hall to the office, kicking a few lockers along the way. I kept waiting for a teacher to come out of his or her classroom to see who was creating the racket, but nobody did. I turned a corner into the main foyer when I came across Tim coming the other way. "Where the fuck are you going, shrimp?" I walked right up to the big eighth grader and punched him in the gut. He bent over trying to get his breath. I didn't wait for him to say anything. I knew he was pissed at me because of how the big "rumble" at the bus stop came out. He had seen me in the hall or the foyer more than once over the past couple of weeks. He would say things like, "I'm gonna get you, you little fucker. You were a traitor." I know I didn't help my cause any with my sucker punch, but it made me feel good. I reminded him that a little shrimp could carry a powerful wallop. I thought punching a person I truly did not like would make me feel better, but I found myself even angrier than I had been before I hit him. After I reported to the office, Mrs. Duncan, the secretary, had me sit on the bench that was situated in an alcove across from the teachers' mailboxes. The school year was only two months old, but I'd sat here at least a half- dozen times. Every teacher and student who walked into the office would look into the alcove to see who was sitting there. The teachers would also give a look that said, "You should be ashamed of yourself," as if sitting on the bench automatically made you guilty of something. Student reaction was mixed depending if it was a good or not so good kid giving the once over. The bench was always a better place to sit if there was somebody else sitting with you who was also in trouble. When you are alone you get to sit here where everybody can see you and feel shame for what you did. On this occasion, I was alone, which suited me just fine. I am sure I would have punched out anybody sitting on the bench just for the fun of it. At least I would be expelled from school for something I actually did instead of for getting an A on a math test. I was surprised when Don Yates came in and sat next to me on the bench. He told me he'd told off Mr. Rodman for me. But nobody in the office seemed to know why he was there, unlike me. I guess Mr. R didn't have time to call down to the office, or didn't want to be bothered. Don left for his seventh period class when the bell rang. Instead of slugging him, I thanked him for standing up for me. I sat on the bench until ten minutes after the start of seventh period. I was certain that Mrs. Richards, the assistant principal, was a sadistic bitch who wanted students to sit and suffer as everybody coming into the office between periods stared at them. I know now she was waiting to talk to Mr. Rodman between periods to get all of the "facts", although subjecting us students to public humiliation was certainly a part of her strategy. I sat and stared at the teacher mailboxes as sixth period ticked away, then I sat through the four minutes between periods, and I sat for another agonizing ten minutes before Mrs. Richards finally escorted me into her office. By then I was so angry I was quaking. This wasn't my first dealing with Mrs. Richards. When you got into trouble, she was the one you saw. While Mrs. Richards tried to exude an aura of reasonableness and caring, she was a bitch and we all knew she was a bitch. Once again, looking back, I can see that she was actually pretty good at her job. "I am very disappointed to see you here again, Phillip," Mrs. Richards said in her calm, reasonable voice that was guaranteed to piss me off even more than I was. Plus, I hated being called Phillip. At home being called Phillip almost always meant I was in trouble. Being called Phillip didn't do anything to help my frame of mind. "It's not my fault," I said raising my voice to make sure my anger showed. "It's never your fault...it is always somebody else's fault. Time for you to take some responsibility for your actions, Phillip." "Rodman is the one responsible. He's an ass...er...a jerk." "Phillip, if you calm down, we might be able to have a reasonable discussion. Otherwise, I'll just call your parents now to let them know I'm suspending you. And, yes, I have already talked to your mother, but so far I'm leaving my final decision open. But, I can only take so much from you, and you have tested the limit." I looked at her, putting on my best sulky expression, but said nothing. My foot was involuntarily kicking my chair. "Let's see, you yelled at Mr. Rodman, you called him names, you cussed at him, you threw something at him, and you slammed the door leaving the room. Did I leave anything out?" I maintained my silence. "Is there anything you wish to dispute?" Listening to what Mr. Rodman told the assistant principal raised my anger another notch. I wanted to dispute everything. I wanted to stand up, lean across Mrs. Richards' clean desk, get into her face and scream at her. I'm sure she could see the anger erupting out of every pore of my being, but she gave me an impassive look, as if she expected me to say something. I had something to say, all right. I wanted to scream, "I didn't FUCKING CHEAT ON THE TEST! I FUCKING EARNED THAT A!" But something else happened instead. I paused for a moment, just like Troy kept telling me to do. I paused just like Mrs. Richards was doing. There are turning points in everybody's life. They can happen at any time, even when one is an angry pubescent boy. What happened next was so different from what was running through my mind, I was stunned at what I had done. Instead of getting up and leaning in the face of my adversary like I'd planned, I edged forward slightly and said in a quiet, if shaky voice, "I didn't cheat on that test, Mrs. Richards." There was another pause. Mrs. Richards gave me a perplexed stare. "What test?" she finally asked. Then I realized what had almost sent me over the brink. Mr. Rodman hadn't mentioned the test when he spoke to Mrs. Richards. She had no clue as to what I was talking about. I took a very deep breath. I could feel tears welling up, which I quickly fought down. Tough boys don't cry, was my rule. "My math test. Mr. Rodman passed them back to us and I got a hundred because I worked hard and studied for it. But he gave me an F and said I cheated." "And that was why you became angry?" "Yes, ma'am." I whispered, my training in being polite to adults actually showing through for once. "What did you throw at him?" "Nothing. All I did was throw my test paper on the floor. You can ask anybody if I threw anything at him. They'll all say I didn't." "Phillip, your progress reports all say you are failing math. Just how did you manage to get a perfect grade on a chapter test in a class you were failing?" My anger started to well up again. "So you don't believe me either," I scoffed. "You don't believe I can work hard and am smart. Ask my fifth grade teacher why he put me in the advanced math class." "Then why were you failing?" "Because...well...because I don't like Mr. Rodman because he doesn't like me." "Did you give him reasons not to like you?" "I dunno...maybe." I wasn't ready yet to become rigorously honest about my behavior, even though she knew what the answer to her question was. "I think the answer is yes." "Mr. Rodman keeps saying I'm dumb, and then when I got a hundred today he said I was too dumb to pass the test so I must have cheated." "Did he say how you cheated?" "He said he didn't know how, just that I did." "So, how can we prove you didn't cheat?" she asked. I liked how she said "how can we prove" instead of "how can you prove." "Just look at my worksheet. All of my work is there. It's not like I was copying answers. I did all the work." "Did you tell Mr. Rodman that?" "I never got the chance." "You never got the chance because you lost your temper. Does that sound about right?" "Yeah, I guess." "I'll be right back." Mrs. Richards walked into the main office, leaving her office door open. She said something to one of the eighth grade office helpers and returned to the office. "Phillip, I have no doubt that you are a much smarter boy than a lot of teachers have been giving you credit for. But you are also your own worst enemy. Did doing failing work in Mr. Rodman's class simply because you didn't like him benefit you at all?" "No ma'am," I said a bit sulkily. Mrs. Richards continued to give me the standard lecture about achievement and behavior. I wanted to say something about how I had done exactly what she wanted me to do by getting a perfect score on my test, but we were interrupted by a knock at her door. It was the student helper she'd been talking to earlier. "Thank you, Stacy," was all I heard. Mrs. Richards closed her office door and sat in the seat next to mine. Instead of looking at me across a vast expanse of wood, she looked at me eye to eye, person to person. "We seem to have a problem, Phillip." "What?" I asked warily. I wondered what other lies Mr. Rodman was making up about me. "It seems that you ripped the entire test to shreds after tossing it on the floor. It looks like we can't check your worksheet." I was stunned into silence. I was so angry I couldn't get anything to come out. I wanted to punch somebody like I'd punched Tim on my way to the office. I wanted to destroy something. I wanted to spit in Mrs. Richard's face. Even worse, I wanted to cry. Mr. Rodman probably tore the test up between periods and blamed it on me. The anger that I had stifled earlier was now ready to take control. But, one more time Troy said, "Pause before you act." "I didn't tear the test up, Mrs. Richards. I swear that all I did was throw it on the floor. I swear it." "Phillip, sometimes when a person gets very angry they do things they regret and they forget they did what they did. I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but the destruction of your test tells me a great deal." Her voice had lost a lot of its reasonable friendliness. "Now, young man, tell me the real story of that test." Her voice was now cold and threatening. "Tell me the real story of what happened with that test." As I'd said earlier, everybody has turning points in their lives. I was teetering on the verge of one of mine. So far, listening to Troy's voice had me in the same place I'd been—that of a cheater and a liar. It was time to go back to what worked for me. It was time for me to tell Mrs. Richards what I thought of her, what I thought of Mr. Rodman, and what I thought of her stupid school. It was time for me to call a bitch a bitch. But then I was struck by another revelation; I wasn't alone. There was a boy in my class who said he was my friend. He was a boy I had slept with and kissed. In two short weeks he'd started becoming as important to me as Andy had been. And, to top it off, there were two other boys in that class who were that boy's friends and who were becoming my friends. We were all Wonkeys, which had to mean something. Mr. Rodman had always had me where he wanted me. I was the angry loner and he was the teacher ready to take advantage of the tough little kid who wore his anger on his sleeve. As far as he was concerned, I was alone and nobody was going to care enough about me to cross him and stand up for me. But Mr. Rodman was wrong; I was sure of it. I had friends who would stand up to him by standing up for me. While those weren't the exact thoughts that coursed through my mind, it pretty much summed up what I felt. Even Don Yates, a boy I barely knew, had stood up for me in class. "I can prove I didn't tear up my test," I said with quiet determination. "Tell me," Mrs. Richards said dubiously. "Just ask my friends." "Your friends aren't in that math class." "Huh?" I had no idea what she was talking about. Larry, Jung, and Daniel were all in my class. "I have a pretty good idea of what goes on in my school, especially regarding students who end up in this office a lot. I've observed whom you've been hanging around with lately." "Not for the last couple of weeks you haven't," I told her emphatically. "And just who is going to stand up for you?" I heard the bell ring ending the school day. I knew that Larry, Jung, Quinn, and Daniel had to stand up for me now before I got accused spending the weekend convincing them to lie for me, or more likely in her mind, threatening them to lie for me. I gave her the three names. Once again she left the room, and came back with Mr. McKay, the principal. She gave him a quick synopsis of what she needed. I looked impatiently out of her window at the line of yellow buses. The flow of students was increasing as they loaded the buses for home. The two administrators blabbed away. I wished the two of them would quit talking and get my friends before the buses left. "We need to inform their parents," Mr. McKay finally said. "I'm on it," Mrs. Richards told him. "Those are four really good kids," the principal remarked in a manner that said, "And what are they doing hanging around this loser." Mr. McKay left the office and Mrs. Richards got on the phone. Fifteen minutes later I was transferred to Mr. McKay's much larger office. The room had two tables together making a large conference table. There were eight of us sitting around the table: Larry, Jung, Q, Daniel, me, my mother, Mr. Rodman, Mrs. Richards, and Mr. McKay. Larry gave me a look that said, "What the fuck am I doing here?" All I could do was shrug. It was interesting how the two of us were able to communicate without saying a word. Mr. McKay took charge of the meeting. My four friends were told they weren't in trouble, that we just needed their help. He told them their parents had been contacted and that Larry's mother was coming to the school and would be their ride home. He then asked the four of them to leave the room and sit on the bench. I cringed at the thought of my friends sitting on the dreaded bench. He also told them they were not to talk to each other and that Mrs. Duncan would make sure not a word was uttered. Larry, Jung, Daniel, and Q were brought into Mr. McKay's office one at a time. Ignoring Mr. Rodman's withering stare with its implied threats, they each told the same story—that Mr. Rodman had torn the test up in front of the class. "Would the rest of the class back you up?" Mrs. Richards asked each of them. "It's what really happened," each of them replied, even after Mr. Rodman questioned their veracity. He told Mr. McKay and Mrs. Richards that each of the four had been impertinent in class after the test incident and had questioned his authority. They were lying to make him look bad and their cheating friend look good. However, the fact that all four of them told the same story and were establishing excellent reputations in the school were factors in my favor. I could tell that Mr. McKay and Mrs. Richards were not pleased with Mr. Rodman, which made me feel good. There was a lot of arguing between my mother, the administrators and Mr. Rodman. Mr. McKay brought things back to order. "I think we have established that Phillip did not tear up the test," he intoned, giving Mr. Rodman the kind of look usually reserved for recalcitrant students. "What we haven't established is whether or not he cheated on the test." "There is no doubt he did," Mr. Rodman said, which brought more heated discussion between the four adults in the room. When Mr. McKay restored order the question was asked as to what should be done with my grade. "Past experience says he is an F student and problem in class. He should get a failing grade," Mr. Rodman insisted. At that point my patience was gone. I'd listened to everybody talking about me and my future and nobody, including my mother, bothered to ask me what I thought. "Doesn't anybody want to know what I think?" I said before the arguing could start again. I was a bit louder than I'd intended to be. The four adults looked at me like I'd just parachuted into the room. "No, nobody really cares," was the first thing I heard, uttered by Mr. Rodman, of course. I could see my mother was ready to say something, but Mrs. Richards spoke first. "Yes, Phillip, we do care." She glared at Mr. Rodman, who seemed to be digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole. "What do you think we should do?" "Give me another test on Monday. Just me and Mrs. Richards in her office." I felt a surge of my old cockiness. "I bet you all I get another perfect score." "Now wait just a minute...," the math teacher started. "Stuff it, Leland," Mr. McKay hissed. I'm sure my jaw dropped in surprise at hearing the principal put my adversary in his place, calling him by his first name to boot. The principal ignored my surprise and looked directly into my eyes. "I rather like that idea, Phillip." I wished they'd all quit calling me Phillip. At least call me Mr. Miller, which had a grown-up feel to it. "So do I," Mrs. Richards said. Mr. Rodman opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. "I'm going to ask you to sit out on the bench for a few moments," Mr. McKay instructed. "The three of us need to devise a plan." My mother stayed in Mr. McKay's office. I shrugged and walked out into the main office. By now the school would be devoid of students, so the only people who would see me would be the secretaries and teachers. I didn't really give a shit what they thought. I sat on the bench, once again staring at the mail boxes. Sometimes I would look up at the ceiling for variety. A couple of times I swore I could hear yelling coming from the office. I assumed Mr. Rodman was getting yelled at, although he could be the one doing the yelling. It seemed really strange to think of a teacher getting yelled at. As far as I was concerned, Mr. Rodman deserved it, if that was what was happening. I'd have to ask my mother who was yelling at whom. After about fifteen minutes I was called back in to Mr. McKay's office. "With the help of your mother we have come up with a plan," Mr. McKay told me. "What about my help?" I asked. "The plan is about me, right?" I was back to being an impertinent little boy as I'd already been called that day. "We did get your help. Listen to the plan before you spout off," the principal admonished. Pause, just like Troy says to do, I thought. At least for today pausing seemed to be working better than spouting off. "Here is the deal. You will serve a two-day suspension for your impudence." I took that to be another word for impertinence. "We cannot allow students to yell at and cuss out teachers no matter how much they feel they have been wronged. After school on Tuesday your mother will bring you to the school. You will take a test devised by Mr. Wainwright to insure neutrality. It will be a twenty-five point test with two bonus questions, as was the test Mr. Rodman gave you." So far it sounded good. Well, except for the suspension it sounded good. If I was getting suspended for two days, I figured Mr. Rodman should be suspended for acting like an asshole and making me mad. I wouldn't have to be suspended if he had acted even like a normal teacher, which can be bad enough at times. "If you get a score of twenty-five or better you will get the A and you will be allowed to return to school on Wednesday. You will also remain in the advanced math class." If that meant spending the rest of the year with Mr. Rodman, I wasn't sure that was such a good deal. "If you get less than a twenty-five, you will still get credit for whatever grade you earned and your F will be erased. But, your suspension will continue through the rest of the week as a consequence of your being less than honest on your first test. You will also be placed in a regular math class." That made it sound almost worthwhile to miss some problems on the test. "Either way, upon your return you will start attending Mr. Roth's anger management group fifth period Thursdays." Mr. Roth was the sixth grade counselor. He is another person I looked down on, since he'd been trying futilely to help my behavior improve. However, he is another person from my middle school years whom I can look back on and see that he was good at what he did and ended up having a positive impact on me, even when I tried to fight him. I tried to give Mr. McKay one of my best stares. I was tired of being called a cheater. I tried to pause and say nothing, but the principal opened the door. "Do you have any comments, Phillip?" "Yeah. That last part is totally bogus since I never cheated." I looked at my mother and said, "I can't believe you think I cheated. That so sucks." "That's enough, Phillip." "Well, you asked." I could see Mr. Rodman giving Mr. McKay a look that said, "I told you so." "Sometimes it pays to be judicious when expressing your opinions." "Whatever that means. But it doesn't matter, because I'm not only getting all of the problems right, I'm getting the two bonus problems right..." I paused and looked straight at Mr. Rodman. "Just like I did this time." "That is what we are all rooting for, Phillip." It was the first time Mrs. Richards had spoken since I returned to the principal's office. "Isn't that right, Mr. Rodman?" "But of course," the teacher said, making sure all of us knew he didn't mean it. I was no longer tempted not to do my best. On the ride home I complained to my mother about the final decision. I told her it was totally unfair that Mr. Rodman got away with calling me a cheater when I didn't cheat and for yelling at me when I stood up for myself. She said I should be happy my idea for retaking the test was listened to. I asked if I could still spend the night at Larry's house. While her answer was the expected no, I worked my charms on her and got what I wanted. I was an expert at manipulating my mother. If I had been in Mr. McKay's office with her I'm sure I would have talked her out of agreeing to the deal. Then again, there were four adults against one kid, so maybe things worked better without me. As I said, this day was kind of a watershed for me. More than once I opened my mouth as soon as an idea popped into my head. My...impertinence...got me nowhere. But when I waited and paused, I made much more progress. While I didn't become instantly calm, cool, and collected, I did learn some things. I learned that it was possible for me to win, or at least come out ahead, in an argument without yelling, cussing, and posturing. I would still let my temper win out at times in the future, but getting it under control became something I would work to get better at, especially after working with Mr. Roth. For now, my angry, tough guy image was still important to me, but the image had some cracks in it. And through it all, I gained even more of a measure of respect for Troy. I had no idea how long it would take Phil to get home, but a half-hour after my mom brought me back from school I called his house. Instead of Phil, I got Troy. I was grateful Keegan wasn't the one who answered the phone. Phil had set me against the middle son of the Miller family. "Hey, Troy, is Phil home yet?" "Not yet. I guess he got himself in deep shit this time." "It wasn't his fault." "While I don't know what happened, I can tell you that Phil will say whatever happened wasn't his fault, even when it is." Troy was pissing me off a little. It might have been easier if Keegan had answered the phone. "I was there," I stated adamantly, "and I can tell you it wasn't his fault. I even stood up for him. Mr. Turdman...I mean, Mr. Rodman, was a total asshole." I quickly explained what had happened in sixth period math. "Wow. I know a couple of guys who had him for math here at the high school. He wasn't all that well liked here." We talked a little more and then I asked Troy to have Phil call me when he got home. "I'll do that. And I hope you and I get to meet other than on the phone soon. You seem like a cool dude. I know Phil sure likes you. He talks about you all the time." If somebody could blush over the phone, I blushed over the phone. I was very pleased to hear that. I know I talked about Phil a lot with my parents. "Phil thinks you're the best big brother in the world," I said automatically. As soon as I'd said it, I realized Phil said that because it was true. I was happy I'd told Troy what Phil thought of him. Even as an eleven-year-old I could tell that Phil worshipped his big brother. "Thanks for saying that, Larry. Now that we've finished patting each other on the back, I'll be sure to have Phil give you a call as soon as he gets home." Which is what Phil did. Phil told me that his mother had given him permission to spend the night. I told him it would mean sharing me with Q and Daniel. I told him I had been so certain he wouldn't be able to come over after what had gone down in math class I invited them over. I thought he would be upset with me, but he was cool with it. "Q and Daniel are my friends, too," he said. That gave me some warm and fuzzy feelings. Since neither of us had eaten, it was decided in negotiations between mothers that Phil's mother would drive him here and we would get him home the next day. When Phil arrived he and his mother both came into the house. Phil's mother gave him a motherly look after which he thanked my mother for letting him come over. The two of us dashed up the stairs to my room. Daniel and Q wouldn't be coming over until after dinner. "I could have ridden my bike over," Phil groused. "Nobody ever thought of that." "I kind of thought of it," I confessed, "but it was already getting dark." "So? I have a light on my bike. Everybody gets all paranoid and shit about crossing Stevens. It has a fucking traffic light. I know how to ride my bike." I could tell Phil was still cranky about the incident with Mr. Rodman. After he told me how it all came out, I could see why. I thought he got the raw end of the deal, especially since, from what I could tell, nothing was going to happen to Mr. Rodman. "Thanks for standing up for me," Phil said. "You, Daniel, Jung, and Q were awesome today. They probably would have kicked me out of school without you guys being on my side." "It's hard to argue with the best math students in the class," I chuckled. "Even you?" "Thanks to a certain friend of mine, I got an A." I then told Phil about Mr. Rodman ripping up his test in front of us. How he expected to get away with that I don't know. At the time it appeared that the displaced high school teacher thought he could intimidate us all into not ratting him out. Today I still feel the same way. Little did he know what a determined group of preteens could accomplish. Dinner was mom's signature lasagna with garlic bread, carrots, and brownies for dessert. Phil and I helped clear the table and load the dishwasher. About the time we finished Q arrived with Daniel arriving five minutes after him. They each had plans after school or they would have been here for dinner. Q lamented missing out on mom's lasagna, and was more than willing to scarf down a dish of warmed-up leftovers. Before you think we were all preteen sex fiends who spent every moment together naked and jerking each other off or giving each other blow jobs, we really weren't like that. Sure it happened a lot, but we spent more time being eleven-year-old boys enjoying racing remote control cars around the house, or playing video games, or watching movies. This was one of those nights. We hadn't yet learned how sex could help ease stress, and after the events of the day, we were stressed out. In this case we burned up the stress, like kids so often do, by being hyper and loud and driving parents nuts. I think my parents understood it had been a rough day for all of us, particularly Phil, and gave us some slack to burn off our pent up energy. When we finally tired, Phil slept with me in my bed—naked of course. But we were so tired we fell right to sleep. Q, who was the only one of us sporting a boner when we got undressed, slept in his sleeping bag naked, and Daniel slept in his the same way. Not being in a sexual mood didn't stop us from enjoying nudity. We did get a bit on the erotic side for a moment. Whenever we saw Daniel naked, we had to admire his pubic hair. He had a nice sprinkling of slightly curled hair around sides of his cock and shorter and thinner straighter hair at the base. He was shooting more cum than any of us, especially those of us who were still dry. I petted his hair, marveling at its softness. Anybody else in our group would have popped a boner if he had his groin petted by three other boys, but Daniel was usually slow to bone up. The fact that only Q got hard during this brief exploration was indicative of how tired we were. The next day would be a busy one. Q, Daniel, and I had our first basketball practice of the season for our recreation team. Jung and Perry would also be turning out. We all planned to turn out for the sixth grade team when boys' basketball started after winter break. Phil tagged along, but told us how he wasn't interested in playing basketball. Nevertheless, he accepted a permission slip from Coach Zimmer, who apparently saw something while Phil played around with a basketball on the sidelines while we practiced. The really big event of the day was Daniel's twelfth birthday party. The big galoot was the first Wonkey to turn twelve. His party was a pizza feed at South Hill Pizza. Not only were all of the Wonkeys at the party, but so were a few other friends of Daniel, including Don Yates, who had stood up against Mr. Rodman on Friday. We were all so happy to see Don there that we tolerated the fact that Daniel had invited three girls as well. I wondered how Daniel could be bed buddies (we had picked up that term at school listening to older boys) with Ben and like girls at the same time. Daniel planned to have a big Wonkey overnight sometime in the future, but that night there would be a family party. Phil spent Saturday night with me, too. While we didn't have sex, we did hold hands and kiss while watching a movie in the rec room. It was another one of those instances where we were a bit daring, since my parents could have come in at any time. They ended up having the good sense not to. Just sitting against Phil on the couch and feeling his warmth, feeling the grip of his hand, the beauty of his kisses, was enough that night. It was as if we'd taken care of the instant passion and now we were simply getting to know each other. We slept naked, cuddled and wrapped around each other. My boner asked to be satisfied, but I enjoyed just being under the covers with my new best friend. I had never felt this close to anyone, not even Q with whom I had shared so much over the years we knew each other. I didn't understand how or why, but I knew that my relationship with Phil was turning into something special. COMING NEXT: Disobedience