The most socially awkward day of the year for single folk the world over just got a bit more so thanks to Mr. Adams. He paced at the front of the class, giving quite the performance, a long-stemmed red rose in one hand and grandly gesticulating with the other. He’d affected a thick Scottish brogue and lilted his way through classic Robert Burns. “’O my Luve’s like a red, red rose, That’s newly sprung in June…’”
Clearly my mother had fired up Adams’ sexy-time receptors and he was dealing with horndoggedness in the only way he knew how – with sappy sentiment. The man now earned the scorn of the entire eleventh grade.
“If he puts that rose between his teeth,” the girl beside me muttered to herself, “I’m outta here.”
Agreed. There was only so much sentiment a kid could take.
“Now that I’ve given you an oral reading,” Mr. Adams said, pausing for the laughter to stop after he spoke the word oral. “I thought we’d examine Mister Robert Burns’ work together.” He slipped between desks and approached the overhead projector located at the center of the classroom. He flicked the switch and the engine began its dull rattle, heating the bulb. “Just an FYI, while today we think of this piece as a poem was actually lyrics to a Scottish folksong. I challenge our more creative types to come up with a modern melody and present it to the class for bonus marks.”
Thomas Gladden, the biggest gleek known to man, applauded at the back of the room. Wonderful. Just what we needed, another GarageBand sampling nightmare of Thomas’, his voice so over processed with effects he sounded like a possessed chipmunk.
Adams slapped an overhead slide onto the projector. The bulb flared to life, illuminating the typed-out Burns poem, but also something Adams wasn’t expecting.
The hand-drawn outline of a massive penis. An excited one at that.
The class gasped in shock, then burst into collective squeals of laughter. Adams frantically lifted his overhead slide from the projector, but the penis only now stood alone in all its glory, projected onto the large white screen at the front of the room. Flushing, Adams ran his palm over the glass, trying to rub the penis from existence. Fresh laughter sprang from the class while the penis remained proudly erect.
“Very funny, guys,” Adams said, spitting in his frustration. He cranked open the lifted the glass top and flipped it over but the penis wasn’t drawn on its surface. “Quite ingenious, I’m sure.”
I squirmed in my chair. A few weeks ago I’d have been laughing with the rest of the class, but now that I had this weird personal connection to Adams, I was actually feeling his keen embarrassment. I was just about to get to my feet and come to his rescue, when Adams manned up in a way I hadn’t expected the poetry-reciting teacher capable of.
He slapped his overhead back on the project, straightened his shoulders and began to analyze the poem line by freaking line, with the penis glowing underneath the black text. When a student arrived late to the class and caught sight of the penis, his laughter was short-lived as Adams just waved him to his desk and continued his impassioned lesson as if the penis never was.
Twenty minutes later the bell rang. I was sure none of us would ever forget Robbie Burns, but more importantly we’d never underestimate Adams again. The guy had staying power. Students filed out of the class. I paused at Adams’ desk, snatched a few pieces of tissue paper, strode to the projector, turned it off and popped the lid.
“Ta da,” I said, pointing to the tiny mirror inside the projector upon which some genius had drawn the dick. Using the tissue, I wiped the mirror clean and then closed the lid.
“Thank you, Charlotte.” Adams sat behind his desk. “That wasn’t how I intended the lesson to go.” His smile was strained. “I appreciate your assistance.”
I crumbled the tissue and fired it into the trashcan beside his desk. “No problem.” I shuffled toward the door, and then paused. “That took guts,” I said. “Last time they pulled that trick the substitute burst into tears and dismissed the class early. They’ll think twice about pulling a stunt like that again.”
“Thanks.” Adams swiped a hand down his tired face.
I started for the hall. And lunch.
“One moment, Charlotte…” At my eye roll, he amended, “…Charlie, there is something I’d like to discuss with you.”
Uh oh. “It’s perogie day at the cafeteria, if I don’t leave now, there won’t be any left.”
My distraction ploy failed.
“One of the custodians brought something to my attention.” Adams cleared his throat and fidgeted with a ballpoint pen on his desk. “Apparently copies of a certain photograph were found in several garbage bins around the school. Do you know the photo to which I’m referring?”
I flushed. “If you tell my mother…”
Adams sighed. “That isn’t my intention, although you may want to speak with her, or perhaps her friend, Grace?”
“That photo is nobody’s business but mine.”
“And the rest of the school population.” Adams set the pen down. He shuffled some papers. “You’re a smart girl, Charlie. I know the pressure to conform, to be cool. If someone is bullying you…”
“Bullying?” I laughed. Why did everyone call it that? “That is one freaking weak word for the shit that goes down in these halls.” I pointed to the other inspirational quotes and positive message posters Adams had on his classroom walls. “You can pretty it up all you like, Mr. Sex, Lies and Shakespeare. Make banners about tolerance, and acceptance, and being true to your inner space cadet, but let’s call a spade a gravedigger when we need to.”
“Was it Tyler Gribbons?” Adams wasn’t deterred by my rant. “That boy is treading on a fine line as it is. Say the word and I’ll see he’s properly dealt with.”
“You may be screwing my mother, Mr. Adams, but you’re not my dad, or anything to me, so don’t go thinking you can dish out advice I didn’t ask for.”
“I would never presume…”
“Good.” I exited the room. “Keep it that way.” I glanced over my shoulder, half expecting him to follow me, but he stayed put. Adams stared at the rose he’d placed on his desk as if the thought of picking it up again for the next herd was a monumental task. I looked away, not wanting to see him as human. Vulnerable. Fallible.
Likeable.
But I already did.