Read Online Spanking Shakespeare by Jake Wizner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jake Wizner
Ads: Link
have to talk.”
This does not bode well. It particularly does not bode well considering the final stanza of the poem I have just given her.
“This is really hard,” she says.
Can we not do this in public, please?
“I really like you, Shakespeare.”
No, you don’t, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
“I think we should just be friends.”
Fine. Can I have my poem back?
“Are you okay?” she asks.
No. “I’m fine.”
“We can still be friends, right?” she asks.
No. “Of course.”
“I would still really love to read the poem.”
“I don’t think so,” I say. I take the poem and walk out of the room.
I’m late to math, and the only open seat is in the front row. Ms. Rigby gives me an annoyed look as I sit down. Normally, this would make me very uncomfortable. Today, I don’t care. It is impossible to pay attention, and without realizing what I am doing I pull out the poem and begin to read it.
“What have you got there?” Ms. Rigby says, standing over my desk. “Give it to me.”
My stomach lurches, and I feel history repeating itself. What is it about math class?
“I’ll put it away,” I say.
Ms. Rigby holds out her hand. “I said give it to me.”
I do not have the stomach to get into a power struggle with a woman who has been intimidating her students for over twenty years. I hand her the paper. What the hell, I think. It’s hard to imagine my day could get any worse.
She glances at it, then lays it on her desk and resumes teaching, her expression unchanged. After class, she tells me I am free to write whatever I want on my own time, but if I bring my smut into her room again she will contact my parents.
“That’s all,” she says when I do not leave right away.
“Can I have the poem back?” I ask.
She gives me a hard look. “I don’t think so,” she says, folding it up and putting it in her bag. “Have a nice vacation.”
THE TIME I GOT CAUGHT WITH A PORNOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE IN MATH CLASS
I have never really understood the social dynamics of the classroom, but it seems to operate along the same lines as a dog run. You have all the regular dogs who come to the dog run each day, and then, every once in a while, a new dog arrives on the scene. When this happens, all the regular dogs stop whatever they’re doing and rush to sniff the new dog’s butt.
So it was when Will Baker arrived on the first day of seventh grade. He was one of those small-limbed, sandy-haired, freckle-faced boys, who looks just innocent enough to make you nervous. All through the day, groups of girls would surround him with a million questions, then hurry off, giggling and whispering.
I didn’t actually hear what the girls were asking, but I felt pretty sure that they were trying to determine his answers to such thought-provoking questions as whether he had a girlfriend, whether he wanted a girlfriend, and who in the class he thought was cute. It was more than a little disconcerting, then, when Lisa Kravitz and Stacey McCaber turned around and stared at me, then rushed away, giggling like a pair of demented hyenas.
Will shrugged his shoulders, as if he didn’t have any idea what the girls were carrying on about, but I could barely concentrate for the rest of the day.
I caught up with him after school and introduced myself.
“That’s your real name?” he asked in disbelief.
“My parents are crazy,” I said.
He nodded. “That’s cool.”
“What were those girls giggling about in class?” I was most interested in finding out about Lisa Kravitz, a childhood friend I was secretly in love with.
He shrugged. Then, in a conspiratorial whisper: “Hey, you want to see something?”
“What?”
He unzipped his book bag and pulled out a magazine.
My eyes popped as I looked at the cover. “Jesus, where did you get that?”
He stuffed it back in his bag. “I got a lot of them.”
I looked around and lowered my voice. “Let me see that again.”
Will
This does not bode well. It particularly does not bode well considering the final stanza of the poem I have just given her.
“This is really hard,” she says.
Can we not do this in public, please?
“I really like you, Shakespeare.”
No, you don’t, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
“I think we should just be friends.”
Fine. Can I have my poem back?
“Are you okay?” she asks.
No. “I’m fine.”
“We can still be friends, right?” she asks.
No. “Of course.”
“I would still really love to read the poem.”
“I don’t think so,” I say. I take the poem and walk out of the room.
I’m late to math, and the only open seat is in the front row. Ms. Rigby gives me an annoyed look as I sit down. Normally, this would make me very uncomfortable. Today, I don’t care. It is impossible to pay attention, and without realizing what I am doing I pull out the poem and begin to read it.
“What have you got there?” Ms. Rigby says, standing over my desk. “Give it to me.”
My stomach lurches, and I feel history repeating itself. What is it about math class?
“I’ll put it away,” I say.
Ms. Rigby holds out her hand. “I said give it to me.”
I do not have the stomach to get into a power struggle with a woman who has been intimidating her students for over twenty years. I hand her the paper. What the hell, I think. It’s hard to imagine my day could get any worse.
She glances at it, then lays it on her desk and resumes teaching, her expression unchanged. After class, she tells me I am free to write whatever I want on my own time, but if I bring my smut into her room again she will contact my parents.
“That’s all,” she says when I do not leave right away.
“Can I have the poem back?” I ask.
She gives me a hard look. “I don’t think so,” she says, folding it up and putting it in her bag. “Have a nice vacation.”
THE TIME I GOT CAUGHT WITH A PORNOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE IN MATH CLASS
I have never really understood the social dynamics of the classroom, but it seems to operate along the same lines as a dog run. You have all the regular dogs who come to the dog run each day, and then, every once in a while, a new dog arrives on the scene. When this happens, all the regular dogs stop whatever they’re doing and rush to sniff the new dog’s butt.
So it was when Will Baker arrived on the first day of seventh grade. He was one of those small-limbed, sandy-haired, freckle-faced boys, who looks just innocent enough to make you nervous. All through the day, groups of girls would surround him with a million questions, then hurry off, giggling and whispering.
I didn’t actually hear what the girls were asking, but I felt pretty sure that they were trying to determine his answers to such thought-provoking questions as whether he had a girlfriend, whether he wanted a girlfriend, and who in the class he thought was cute. It was more than a little disconcerting, then, when Lisa Kravitz and Stacey McCaber turned around and stared at me, then rushed away, giggling like a pair of demented hyenas.
Will shrugged his shoulders, as if he didn’t have any idea what the girls were carrying on about, but I could barely concentrate for the rest of the day.
I caught up with him after school and introduced myself.
“That’s your real name?” he asked in disbelief.
“My parents are crazy,” I said.
He nodded. “That’s cool.”
“What were those girls giggling about in class?” I was most interested in finding out about Lisa Kravitz, a childhood friend I was secretly in love with.
He shrugged. Then, in a conspiratorial whisper: “Hey, you want to see something?”
“What?”
He unzipped his book bag and pulled out a magazine.
My eyes popped as I looked at the cover. “Jesus, where did you get that?”
He stuffed it back in his bag. “I got a lot of them.”
I looked around and lowered my voice. “Let me see that again.”
Will
Similar Books
