Life Begins (Short Story/Day 4)

About a block away from school, his heart began to beat in irregular ways. Just facing his friends was going to be difficult. Lying wasn't his specialty. And when it came to acting, he failed miserably. He told himself there would be no other way.

The weather broke and even though it was still freezing cold outside, he could feel the sweat dampening his shirt.

Things became blurry for a spell, especially now that he was so close to the front doors. Of course, nobody was in the corridor. Why would they? Classes were going on in every room. As he passed them, he could see the teachers writing on the blackboards while others lectured oblivious to the realities of the world.

Would he be able to concentrate? Or should he turn around and go home?

What if the teacher asked him for the homework? He never finished it last night. Ms. Thomson was a friend of the family. She knew there was no dog at home. Maybe he could say the cat pissed on it? That brought a smile. Maybe if he could make her laugh, she'd give him a pass and tell him to hand it over after class.

He was so nervous that he knocked instead of opening the door.

"Billy, you can come in now. Nobody is going to kill you if you do."

Why did she have to use that word? he thought. "I'm sorry I'm late, Ms. Thomson."

Billy was calling her Ms. Thomson, but outside school, when both the Thomsons and his family broke bread, she was Betty, and he was Billy.

She was especially tough on him. To her, his success meant seeing her best friend, Billy's mom, proud of her son.

"Billy," Mrs. Thomson said, "Today's Margareth's birthday, and her mom sent us some of her killer cake. Would you like a taste?"

"That's twice today you say the same word. He was now embarrassed that he almost gave himself up.

She raised an eyebrow and squinted her eyes in a way that made him feel uneasy. "What word?"

"Killer. You've said killer twice." Billy said and paused waiting for her next reaction.

"No, Billy. That's not exactly what I said. I said kill and then I said killer. That's two words and not one."

Jenny Wilkins raised her hand, eager to explain the situation. Someone, probably her mom, told her that you can only get A's by participating. The poor girl took it to heart.

"Yes, Jenny. What is it?"

"You probably said killer two times because they just found the torso of a man in the outskirts of town. Is the serial killer going to murder one of us, Mrs. Thomson?"

Billy thought, Not if I can do something about it. His senses were elevated to the point he felt like the bionic man. The pie was made of apple and the crust was made of walnuts. How the hell did he know that? From the corner of his eye, he saw a tiny spider about twenty feet away, crawling up Sandy Rankin's leg. How the hell did he see that too? He was on high alert.

"Would you care to take a seat, Billy?" the teacher said, "Or do I have to personally walk you to your desk."

"I can manage, just get off my case."

Mrs. Thomson brought a hand to her chest as if saying 'Oh My." Most of the kids in the class stopped breathing for a few seconds as they gasped at the same time. To Billy, it was like watching synchronized swimmers.

Billy didn't wait to get reprimanded and basically took a seat without blinking an eye. He had never been this direct with an adult. Well, maybe once he had been. It was back in the summer, when the coach told his to give him twenty after he misbehaved. Back then he told him to fuck off. The coach wasn't too happy about it, and Billy was expelled for a whole week. For one month, Billy picked up the trash at school during weekends.

But today he found little patience in that young soul of his. No. Today he would take shit from no one. His father was a killer. He felt he had nothing to lose.

What was his father going to do after Betty, that's Mrs. Thomson to you, called him and told him that his son was a disaster in class? Would he kill him? No, not really. He would ask him what was wrong. If Billy told him what was wrong, he'd come clean. He'd ask him what it felt to take another life.

Especially that of innocent breathing man.

Anyways, after he took a seat, his best friend, Tony Jackson, passed him a little piece of paper.

He opened it up and read: What's the matter with you? You think you're Superman or something. You just became classroom hero numero uno.

Billy waited for the lecture to resume and then wrote his: Something happened at home. Meet me at the far end of the park during brake.

He spent the better part of the next forty-five minutes wondering how he would tell his best friend. Would he tell him about the picture? That would put his father at risk. If Tony opened his mouth, the cops would come and apprehend his father. Probably throw him in jail for a while until he confessed.

But, and this was a bis-ass but, what if dad never did it and somebody else did? Would he know who did it?

Would Billy sacrifice his own father without finding out first? Or; and this was a big fat or, or what if his father killed Billy so he wouldn't talk?

Both were possibilities. Oh, so many ifs, buts, and ors.

Something smelled bad, really bad. It's not what you imagine. It was Cindy Powell, seven desks away. She let out a fart and was looking elsewhere as if no one knew it was her. But how could he smell it from so far away. He concluded it was his nerves. It had to be.

Just then the bell rang, and he signaled Tony to follow him. On his way out, he saw his teacher get in-between himself and the door.

"You stay right there." She waited until everyone left the room and then closed the door. "What in God's name has gotten into you?"

"Betty, I really don't know. I've got a lot of things on my mind. But now that we're talking, can I ask you a question?"

"Yes, but first, you're going to tell me what's up. This behavior is so unlike you."

He ignored her line of questioning and asked, "Why is it that you're always on my case?"

"Answer my question, Billy." She looked at him with burning eyes. "Answer me now before I call your dad."

"You call my dad, or my mom, and I'll tell them you smell like weed every day. That's right, I can smell it on you all the time." She looked as if she was going to have a fit. Her face blushed and he could almost see steam coming out of her ears. He smiled and then said, "You tell him, or my mom, for that matter, and I’ll tell the principal to test you for THC."

She tried to speak but before she did, he cut her out, "Now if you don't mind, I have better things to do."

He slammed the door behind him. He did it so hard, that the pie on the desk almost fell to the floor. He heard that too from outside. I don't think I have to worry about handing in my homework ever again, he thought, she'll give me an A no matter what. Or else...

For the first time in his life, he felt free. Maybe his father did too. Maybe that's why he did what he did.

Now came the hard part. Would he tell Tony?