ANOTHER STORY

"Are you the new girl?" this guy in a madras shirt, who I’ve never seen before, asks me.

"Yeah, why?"

"The guys were talking about you in Biology class. They said your eyes are two different colors. Can I see your eyes?"

"See this," I say, and flip him The Finger.

I been hearing that crap since I was a little girl and, frankly, I’m sick of it.

A new high school in a new town in a new state. It's a lucky break, said my mom. A new start. That's easy for her to say. Her husband had the affair that created the scandal. Changing jobs provided their new start. We've had a lot of new starts.

"I don't wanna move," I protested.

"Sure you do," Mom argued. "It'll be an adventure. You can reinvent yourself to be anyone you want at the new school. You can have a new image."

"Is there something wrong with my old image?"

"No, no, no," she said, all flustered. "Hey, maybe in the new town, you'll find your Prince Charming."

Can you believe that she still believes in Fairy Tales and Happily Ever Afters and that her Frog will someday turn into a Prince?

Anyway, I start at this new school, and it ain’t so bad. Mom was right; I got a new image. I morph from the smart, quiet, shy sophomore at Jefferson High School to the tough, wild, cool junior at Lincoln High. I'm not taking College Prep classes anymore, either. Nope, I'm taking business classes. And Art. I'm pretty excited about that.

My art teacher, Mr Ramsey, is a cool guy. He's single and not too old. He's cool. He lets us do our own thing; and in his classroom, we don't sit at desks, we stand in front of our own drawing tables.

We do all kind of neat projects, too. Like the time, we made words into art. I made the word cup into an actual cup, taking the C-U-P and shaping them into a cup and handle. Someone else took the letters H-I-L-L and shaped them into a lovely hillside. Mr Ramsey made a poster using an Enter sign and a piece of coarse rope. He said it was the word "intercourse." I thought that was pretty cool for a teacher.

I think Mr Ramsey thinks I'm kinda cool, too. Sometimes he asks me to model for his senior drawing classes. I stand in all sorts of positions and pretend I can't move for 45 minutes while students draw me. Sometimes I lose feeling in parts of my body. They go numb and fall asleep. Then, when the class is over, Mr Ramsey helps me change back into a moving person. He doesn't know that I've had lots of practice being numb. But that's another story.

I must be doing a pretty good job at modeling 'cause Mr Ramsey is taking me out of more classes. Maybe he thinks I'm pretty. Maybe he admires the way I can stay in position. Maybe he thinks I'm special. I don't tell my parents about all this modeling. I don’t think they would like it.

I like the modeling, and getting out of class, but now there's something strange going on. At first, I think it's just my imagination. The first time it happened, it happened like this: I was standing at my drawing table, concentrating, and Mr Ramsey came by to look at my work. He leaned over me from behind and studied my chalk drawing.

"Nice shape," he said.

Then, I felt someone rub my ass. Right there in the classroom! Right in front of everyone! I couldn't believe my eyes. More accurately, I couldn't believe my ass!

So I forgot about it. I just pushed it out of my mind. I'm real good at that, which is yet another story.

But, now things are really getting out of hand. Or from Mr Ramsey's point of view, things are really getting into hand. The things are my ass and his hand.

He's coming to get me to model again, and as we're walking down the hall, the guy reaches behind me and grabs my ass. I pretend I don't feel it. He pretends he isn't doing it. We dance a real strange dance.

He's doing it more and more. In his class. In the hallways. I'm trying to walk around school carrying my books behind me. When I talk to him, I try to back my ass against the wall. And when I'm at my drawing table and he approaches me, I turn to face him so he can't reach my backside, but even that's kinda scary 'cause how do I know he won't think I'm offering him my frontside?

The next thing I know, Mr Ramsey asks, "I'm teaching an adult education class and I wonder if you could do some modeling for me tonight about 7:00?"

"I don't know if my mom will let me," I say, stalling.

"Why don't I call her and ask," he pushes.

"Yeah, that's okay," I say, holding my purse behind my ass, wondering how I will get out of this one. I mean, he's my teacher, for God's Sake. How do I refuse?

When I finally get home from school, my mom says, "Your art teacher called and asked if you could model tonight. I need you at home, so I said 'no.' I hope you aren't disappointed."

So, now I have some time to figure out what to do. I can't let this go on forever; I have to stop him from grabbing my ass. Asking my parents for help is completely and absolutely one hundred percent out of the question. They have their own problems, and besides, I've seen the way my mother handles problems. She gets all hysterical and makes a scene and then has a heart attack. Not the kind of thing I wanna see at my high school. After all, I got this new image. I don't think my dad would help, either. Mr Ramsey would just say I was a liar and had a crush on him or something. That's the kind of guy who grabs your ass when you're not looking.

So, I go to the only person I can trust. My boyfriend. He doesn't go to my high school. He doesn't go to any high school; he dropped out to help support his family. Fortunately, everyone at school knows who he is and thinks he's a tough guy. Together we come up with a plan.

Sure as one bad thing leads to another, Mr Ramsey shows up the next time I'm at Library. I see him talking to the Librarian, playing all cute and considerate. And then she smiles and nods at him. He walks over to me.

"Could you model for my class?" he asks, pretending he's not up to something evil.

"Sure," I say pretending he's not up to something evil.

I carry my books in my left arm, letting my right arm swing free. We walk down the empty hallway and turn the corner. We head down a flight of stairs. Mr Ramsey walks a little behind me. I move my right arm slightly behind me, near my ass, and just as I start to feel a little rubbing sensation, I make my move.

Like a rat trap springing on a dirty ol' rat, I catch Mr Ramsey's hand. I turn around, squeezing his hand real tight, looking him in the face. He's staring at me. I glare at him.

"See this hand?" I say, lifting his hand up near his face.

"Yes," he says.

"If this hand ever touches me again, my boyfriend, Stan Brown, will be up to see you. He'll come right into this school and beat the living shit out of you. Do you understand that?"

"Yes," says a pale Mr Ramsey.

"Then," I continue, dropping his wretched hand, "I will create the biggest scandal you ever saw. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do. And I'm sorry."

"Yes you are!" I say and walk back to the Library.

I'd like to say that this story ends right here, but it doesn't.

My part ended. Mr Ramsey kept his hands off my ass and I made an "A" in Art. But after I moved to another town and graduated from another high school, I heard that Mr Ramsey got married. He married a pregnant student. And to this day, I wonder if I'd made a scandal, if I could've saved that girl from Mr Ramsey. I wonder how many other asses he grabbed.

I saved myself, but no one else.

Of course, back then, I was just learning how to save myself, and I wasn't even very good at that. And I wasn't very good at telling secrets. But I'm learning.

And, that's another story.

c2009 Linda S Amstutz