Lessons Taught, Lessons Learned

Lessons Taught, Lessons Learned By Scott Turner

Chapter Four

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. It occasionally contains scenes describing sexual activity between consenting adult men. If it is illegal for you to possess such material, or if your parents don't want you reading it, please find another story. This story is copyrighted, 2008-09, and all rights are reserved by the author. It may not be reproduced, reposted or published without the expressed written permission of the author.

Even though both guys had Monday off for Labor Day, Marty said that he had to leave Sunday evening so he'd be in Rockford in time to take care of some chores around his own house. There was a good chance that the kids would be back from their camping trip with Shelly and Aaron in time for him to take them to a movie or something.

Scott wasn't thrilled, but he didn't argue, either. It was obvious that Marty missed the kids. And, even though the previous night's sleep had been both comfortable and comforting for each one of them, it had taken more than a little willpower to leave it at that. He wasn't sure he could bear the pressure of a repeat performance, or non-performance, anytime soon.

They spent most of Sunday morning and part of the afternoon hooking up the TV and the computer before unpacking boxes and arranging, then rearranging, furniture. Scott spent nearly two hours attaching a memory to practically every item he'd brought with him from Evelyn's house.

Finally, Marty held up a metal kitchen utensil with long red handles and a round silver basket perforated with small holes. "Scotty, you know I only met Evelyn a couple times. And she was a tremendous woman long before I met her. But this is a fucking potato ricer and not the key to your happy childhood."

Scott hung his head and laughed. "Being a little maudlin, am I?"

"Jeez! I'm not sure if we're stocking your house with some cool old stuff that has sentimental value, or if we're the curators of the Evelyn Nesmith Turner museum." Marty put an arm around his shoulder. "You know I'm only joking, right?"

"Who? You?"

"I mean, I realize that you're only doing a happy-sad reminiscence. You're entitled to it and your Gran' deserves it. But I gotta leave this afternoon, and if you're going to tell a story every time you pick up a candle holder or a picture frame, then I might as well open a beer, sit my ass down, pet the cat and listen."

"You're right."

"As...?"

"As usual, Mr. Special Advisor." He nudged Marty with his shoulder. "Let's get out of here and drive up to Madison. The hardware store here is closed on Sunday, and I want to get some paint for the guest bedroom and the office. My bedroom is fine for now, but the other two look like they haven't had a fresh coat in awhile. We can go to the Home Depot out on the west side of town and you can help me pick out the right colors and get the supplies."

"We're not going to have to pick out curtains together are we?"

Scott laughed. "No, dear. The ones that are here will do...for now anyway."

They had just finished filling the car's back seat with a wide assortment of paint cans, rollers, brushes and a couple of plastic drop cloths when Scott's cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out and gave Marty a sign to `hold up.' "Hello. This is Scott."

"Hi Scott, it's Kim."

"Oh, hi! So what's the latest on our star quarterback?"

"They did surgery on the knee yesterday. I would have called, but the Madison number was disconnected already and I had to go to school to fish your cell phone number off of your resume. I knew you were moving anyway, and I figured that waiting a day wouldn't make much difference."

"No, I guess not. Unless I was the surgeon, it really doesn't matter that much. Is he having visitors yet?"

"Yes, he is. Michael, that's Zach's dad, called this morning to tell me that the surgery had gone well, and he said that there had been all sorts of kids in and out all day today."

Scott thought about it. "I'd like to visit, but I'm up in Madison. I think I'll wait until tomorrow."

The guys spent the rest of the afternoon taking care of a few of Scott's other shopping needs before treating themselves to a steak dinner at Smokey's, a favorite restaurant of both men. The place held a lot of memories for them, all of which were recounted over a good meal. The notion of dropping in on Craig and Stephanie came up only once, but was quickly dismissed. They were enjoying the time together, just the two of them.

Back in New Allsted, after helping unload the painting supplies and packing his few belongings, Marty stood by the front door and smiled.

"What?" Scott finally asked.

"You're all growed up now, Scotty. I'm so proud of you I could just spit." He motioned with a sweeping arm. "New career, new place of your own to call home. Shit. You got the world by the balls, Mr. Turner."

Scott shrugged as he stepped forward, into Marty's waiting embrace. "It's a start, I guess. It feels right, mostly."

The two of them, held the hug. Marty nuzzled his unshaven chin into Scott's neck. "You're going to make a great teacher Scott. I'd love to think that my kids could be lucky enough to have a man like you teaching them important stuff." Then he laughed. "Not that I actually like all the crap you're gonna be teaching, or really even found it interesting as a kid. But if they gotta tolerate the boring shit, I wish they could tolerate it from you."

Scott laughed and leaned back to look his friend in the eyes. "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment...boring shit and all."

Marty leaned forward and pecked Scott's lips. "It's as close as I'm gonna get when it comes to history and government and law and all that trivial crap."

Scott reached up and tapped Marty's forehead. "Yeah. You and your high regard for all things legal."

Marty disregarded the remark. "You're coming down for Lil' Scotty's birthday, aren't you?"

"Three weeks, right?" Marty nodded. "I wouldn't miss it. I've been dying to see the kids again. Is it gonna be at the house?"

"Yep. And they keep asking when Uncle Scott's coming over to play. I think I'll keep it to myself that you're gonna be there, otherwise they'll be bugging me about it until you show up. God, you piss me off sometimes, ya' know? Upstaging me in my own house with my own kids. Anyway, my cousin Bridgette is going to help, and you know that both my mom and Meredith will have the place decorated to the hilt. Meredith even wanted to hire a clown, but I told her they scare the piss out of the little guy." He snorted. "We brought them to a Barnum and Bailey's show when he was just over a year old and he literally peed his pants when the clowns came over by our section of the stands. I'm sure he's scarred for life now."

Marty pulled Scott back into a hug again and held him there. "Thanks again for last night, Scotty. That was really sweet."

Scott just nodded and giggled softly. "It was nothin'...literally."

Marty kissed his neck. "It was everything...really. Just what I needed. You're too good to me, professor. That's why I love you, ya' know?"

"I am, I know it and I do too...love you."

They kissed again, this time with a bit more tender connection before Marty broke the contact and reached for the doorknob. "I'll call or email later this week once the plans are all set."

"Call. I like chatting better, even if the plans aren't set."

"Will do. Have a great week. I know you'll wow your new students."

Scott smiled shyly and nodded. "Talk to ya' soon."

Marty winked, and then he was gone. Scott closed the door behind him, leaned back against it and sighed a long, heavy sigh.

On his way to the hospital late Monday morning, Scott stopped at Walgreen's and picked up a `Get Well' card, the newest edition of "Sports Illustrated" and the latest "American Heritage" magazine. The latter, Scott considered, was the best publication available of what he called "pedestrian history," or very user-friendly articles for the amateur history buff. The target audience was usually those good people who might have hated their history classes while they were in high school, but who had come to appreciate the messages and meanings as they grew up. It was a good read for a high school student with a knack for the subject.

As he strode past the hospital's cafeteria on his way to the elevator, he spied a man sitting in one of the booths, talking on his cell phone and scanning the newspaper that was spread out on the table in front of him. He was the same man Scott had seen scurrying down the aisle in the stands with his wife after Zach got hit. He was also the spitting image of Zach Jacoby, twenty years or so in the future. Even when seated, he looked to be comfortably over six feet tall. He had the same dark hair, cut just the same way, the same softly angular facial features, the same thick brows and the same smile as he chatted on the phone. The only thing missing, Scott thought, was the youth of a seventeen year old and the dimples. As the gentleman folded his phone and set it down, Scott decided to step into the cafeteria and take a shot before going upstairs to the fourth floor. If he was wrong about the guy's identity, he figured, he'd just be on his way. But he was sure he was right.

He stepped to the side of the table and looked down with a tentative smile. "Are you Mr. Jacoby by any chance?"

The man looked up with a bit of surprise. "Yes, I'm Michael Jacoby."

Scott stuck out his right hand. "Mr. Jacoby, I'm Scott Turner. I'm Zach's history teacher at the high school."

The father's face broke into a broad grin. He grasped the hand with gusto and smiled. "Oh, sure! Zach's mentioned you...the new guy, right?"

"That'd be me. I'm going to start working with the kids tomorrow, but I met your son the day I interviewed here, and we've talked a few times since then. He's a great kid, Mr. Jacoby, and I just about dropped over when he got hit in the game the other night."

The father waved Scott to sit down and Scott readily accepted. Michael Jacoby nodded with wide eyes. "You and us both...his mom and me. Natalie's upstairs with him and Christopher now. We had to chase a few others out of the room and hope he'll get some rest today. We're hoping to bring him home tomorrow."

"'Topher's here?"

Michael nodded again with some relief. "Finally. It took us the better part of two days to get him to come and visit. He was blaming himself a lot for what happened and insisted that he just couldn't face Zach. Finally, Natalie and I, along with Christopher's parents, convinced him that Zach would need to see him as soon as he got out of surgery on Saturday." The father grinned. "And, as kids will do, once Zach was ready to see him, they went at it tooth and nail. Zach finally convinced Chris to put it all behind him...that all's well, and he doesn't blame Chris in the least. He blames that Nowacki kid. That lunky ass-wipe could've hit Zach high rather than aim for the knees."

Scott shook his head. "Yeah. I had the same thought Thursday night. I only know the guys a little bit, but I'm not surprised that Chris would take it so hard, and that Zach would want him to let it go. They're pretty thick, aren't they?"

Michael laughed. "Usually `thick as thieves' as I take your meaning. Sometimes one or both are a little thick in the head, too. They told me that they've been pretty regular pests in your classroom the past week or so."

Scott grinned and shook his head. "Oh, not pests at all. It'll be good to have one or two familiar, friendly faces in the crowd these next couple weeks as I try to get started here."

Michael's pride came to the fore. "Well, at the risk of sounding immodest, Mr. Turner, you couldn't do much better than having these two on your side on day one. They've already been singing your praises to their friends and classmates."

Scott's face lit up a few watts. "Something tells me their word is good currency with a lot of the students here. That's good to know." Scott shifted in his seat and changed the subject back to Zach. "So...any verdict on the surgery? Any prognosis?"

The father coughed and shrugged and dropped his arm across the back of the booth's bench. "Well, the surgery went pretty smoothly. The doctors called it `textbook,' but they also made it clear that the season is over for him."

Scott shook his head and frowned. "I was afraid of that."

"Yeah, and that's only the half of it. This kind of injury at this time in his life, and he can kiss his dreams of a military academy goodbye, too."

Scott's jaw dropped. "Really? Are you kidding me?"

"Not at all. His name has been in the appointment pipeline since last year and he's been getting favorable consideration, or so I'd been told. But the knee will be weakened...well, indefinitely. It's a fresh injury today and I'm sure he won't be able to pass a physical to enter basic training, even if he were to get an appointment on the academic merits. They're looking at the academics at Annapolis, but there's still a lot of soldiering...not the word they'd use at the Naval Academy, mind you...but a hell of a lot of physical work to do as well. I've heard some real sob stories about their `Plebe Summer,' and it's highly unlikely that Zach could qualify on the physical end of things anymore."

Scott smiled, recalling certain meeting with a young Marine a little over a year earlier. "Ya' dasn't call a U.S. Marine `soldier,' I do know that much. So, have you folks discussed that with him yet?"

Michael's brows arched high. "No! And I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it when you go up there. We've discussed the season coming to an end for him, but Natalie and I thought it best to limit him to one blow at a time. We'll go over his options after high school once we get him home. I have a couple of old buddies who are commissioned officers and who went through academy life...both West Point and Annapolis. Zach knows them well. He'll understand, I think, when we get serious about breaking the news to him that service in uniform might not be in his future. At least not now, and not through the academy."

"Well, then a top notch college will be glad to have him. I've seen his academic record. Maybe the Ivy League?"

Michael shook his head and scrunched his nose. "Nah, not Zach. He'll look at the Big Ten. Probably Wisconsin, but maybe look at Marquette, too. Natalie asked Mr. Rasmussen, his counselor, to pull together admissions information on both schools."

"I still have a few contacts up in Madison, not in admissions, but if you'd like to arrange a visit and a tour..."

Michael's eyes lit up. "That's right. You're a UW guy, aren't you?"

"Indeed I am. I'm a Badger head to toe." He considered offering to give the tour himself. Maybe he could take Zach for a football game before the season ended, if he got rid of the crutches soon enough. Then he thought better of offering to take a high school senior on a weekend road trip, just the two of them.

Michael leaned back in his seat and relaxed. "Natalie and I met while we were both attending Marquette, so we'll be talking to the Alumni Association about scholarships and whatnot. We're big fans of the Jesuit traditions and standards in education." He chuckled. "Plus, Zach's girlfriend is a freshman over there, so..." he winked at the young teacher.

Scott cocked his head. "He never mentioned a girlfriend."

Michael drained his glass of soda and nodded with a wry smile. "Kayla Huebner has been his main squeeze since he was in third and she was in the fourth grade." He looked at his watch. "Well, Mr. Turner. I know it's a holiday and all, but I need to get to my office for a couple hours today." He started to stand.

Scott slid out of the booth as well. As they walked toward the front hall of the hospital Scott turned his head. "What do you do?"

"I own an architectural firm with our office over in Janesville. Need to go in and get ready for a business trip to visit some clients in Chicago later this week." They paused in the hall. "I'm so glad you stopped by, Mr. Turner." Michael reached forward with a sizable hand. "And Zach will be very happy that you stopped by."

Scott accepted it and grinned. "It was great meeting and chatting with you. And please, it's Scott. I'm guessing we'll chat often this year, what with Zach in two of my classes."

Michael smiled and nodded. "I'm sure we will. Natalie and I like to keep tabs on the young man's school work. And I'll happily answer to Michael, if that works for you."

Scott nodded his agreement. "Michael it is then. I'll be seeing you around. What room is Zach in?"

"Fourth floor, number 411. Third door on the right once you pass the nurses station. Tell him we've met and that you have my permission to smack him upside the head if he gives you any grief or doesn't tow the line."

Scott smiled. "Jeez, Michael, you sound like my old man. But I'll tell him. Don't work too hard today." Scott waved and headed for the elevators.

Stepping onto the fourth floor, Scott strode past the nurse's station and didn't even pause when he got to Zach's open door. "Okay, slacker. Enough lying around doing nothing. School starts tomorrow and you're not getting off this easy. Your dad told me to put you back to work."

Zach's face lit up. "Mr. Turner! What're you doin' here?'

Chris turned toward Scott and smiled. Then he looked back at Zach. "Told you he'd be here, numb nuts."

The small woman with black hair and delicate features stood and came around the end of the bed. "Mr. Turner, I'm Zachary's mother, Natalie Jacoby. You say you've already met my husband, Michael?" When she smiled, it was easy to see where Zach got his dimples.

Scott took her hand in his. "Very nice to meet you Mrs. Jacoby. Yeah, I just met your husband downstairs in the cafeteria and we had a short chat." He looked at Zach. "It wasn't hard to pick him out as this kid's dad. Besides, I spied the two of you at the game Thursday night, but you were kind of on a mission to get somewhere."

Zach's leg was in a brace from hip to ankle and hoisted up at a 30-degree angle. He blurted out a chuckle. "She thought she was gonna ride to the hospital in the ambulance. Drove the paramedics crazy. They basically had to slam the doors closed in her face."

She pursed her lips and looked sideways at her son. "They didn't have to be so rude about it." She turned back to Scott and smiled. "Zach's said some very nice things about you, Mr. Turner."

Scott put his book bag on a nearby chair and shrugged. "I haven't done anything other than shoot the breeze with him. I have an idea that he's going to be cursing me out before too long, once I start putting him to work."

Zach staged a brief protest. "But I'm an injured man! A wounded soldier!"

Chris cracked the side of his mouth and muttered, "A lazy pussy."

Zach fished an ice cube out of the glass on his bed stand and tossed it at his friend.

Scott looked at Mrs. Jacoby. "I don't suppose they've found anything wrong with his brain, have they?"

She caught on immediately, and grinned. "Not a thing, Mr. Turner. Everything above the neck is fully functional, and I hope you can give him something on which to put it to use. He'll be out of the hospital tomorrow, we think, but we're keeping him home and staying still for the whole first week. I've arranged with Mr. Rasmussen, Zach's guidance counselor, to have his schoolwork gathered together. He'll collect it from the teachers and Chris will stop by the guidance office to pick it up and bring it to the house."

Chris muttered through crooked lips. "I'm a friggen mule, that's what I am. Just loading up stuff and dumping it off... loading up stuff and dumping it off..."

Zach rolled his eyes. "You just gotta carry it, ya' nimrod. You don't have to do the work." Then he giggled. "A `go-fer.' That's what it is. I'm gonna quit calling you Topher and start calling you Gopher."

Chris flipped the bird from the foot of the bed. "Yeah, but I never carry high falutin' crap like your stuff. Your books'll weigh more than mine, and I'll probably get some sort of rash or somethin' just from the contact."

Zach heaved out a sigh. "You only gotta pick up the books once and bring `em over. After that, it's only gonna be sheets of paper. Who's the lazy pussy?" Then his face lit up and he turned his head. "Oh! That reminds me!" Zach sat up as far as he could. "I think I got your essay figured out, Mr. Turner!"

Scott was pleasantly surprised that Zach would mention it, but he worked to hide his satisfaction. "Well...you should have it written by now, darn it! You've had the question for nearly a week now. It's due tomorrow and you've been lounging around here since Thursday night." He winked at Natalie who was muffling a grin. Then he looked back at Zach. "So, who are you going with as `most influential political figure in American History'?"

"The Honorable Chief Justice, John Marshall!" Zach leaned back with a very self-satisfied grin.

Scott leaned against the chair and donned a skeptical teacher's face. "Marshall, huh? Think you can back that up?"

Chris shook his head with a grimace. "Holy Moley! We're goin to school now? Here?"

Natalie sat back down and beamed, and Zach was suddenly very animated, his face dancing with an intellectual vigor Scott rarely saw in a teenager. "Well, I figured a really influential person needed to have big time impact, right? I mean, somebody who made changes that stuck, for, like, a long, time...like, forever."

Scott interrupted. "Zach. You just said `like' twice in the same sentence, completely out of context. For what it's worth? That's a pet peeve of mine."

Chris muttered through a smirk. "You better get...like...used to it, Mr. T. You're... like...teaching high school now."

Natalie nodded with a grin as Zach waved them all away and continued at a faster pace. "Ya' see...I considered Washington, but there have been so many presidents since then and a lot of em turned their backs on a lot of the traditions he started...ya' know...not campaigning for the job, voluntarily sticking to just two terms, his isolationism in foreign affairs...all of that stuff's long gone. Plus, I figured about half the class would pick him. Then I went to Lincoln and everything he made happen, or didn't let happen. But he didn't show up til the nation was almost a hundred years old. But Marshall's the only guy I could come up with who broke new ground early on in our political life, and he really made it stick. Heck! Most of today's Supreme Court authority, the guy basically created out of thin air. The original Constitution didn't say those guys could knock down laws or uphold them either...John Marshall just said they could... and it's like everybody just says... oh...okay.' Practically every other justice who followed him is using political muscle that the Constitution really didn't give them in the first place til Marshall invented it. And when you figure in the weight of all the legal precedent on all the decisions that followed...well, then he's, like, the King Kong of American political influence."

Scott thought for a second and nodded before casting a lightly annoyed glance. "You did the `like' thing again. You're not going to put either that, or the King Kong part in the essay, are you?"

"Well, not in those words. No."

"Good." He turned to Zach's mom. "In my medical opinion, Mrs. Jacoby, there's nothing wrong above the neck or between the ears here." He looked back at the injured student. "Go ahead and write it up. You've got good focus on the political part of the essay, and you're doing a good job on the influence' part of the question. I'm afraid a lot of students will just pick out a hero they might have and show me little more than how cool' they were. Just give the final draft to Chris when you're done and he can bring it to class and hand it in."

Scott reached into his book bag. "Meanwhile...I have a course syllabus and a copy of the text. There are two more writing assignments in the syllabus for the first unit, and your first test is on the first three chapters in two weeks. Let the study questions I've written be your guide to the reading, and write down any questions you might have. We'll find some time when you get back to school, and we'll go over it to get you all caught up with the rest of the class."

Zach scanned the unit plan Scott had handed him and finally let go with a whistle, low and slow. He glanced at his mother. "Jeez, maybe I will be cussing him out before too long." Then his eyes grew. "Hey! If you have any time after school this week, you could stop by the house." He looked at his mother. "Mom, let's have Mr. Turner over for dinner this week, then he and I can kick around some of the history stuff and I won't fall behind."

Natalie stuttered for a second and then said, "Oh, Zach, that's such an imposition. You don't need him making a special trip over to the house and tutoring you individually. It's only going to be for four days, and the man's already got a full time job."

Scott thought about it and raised his brows. "If it would help, it's no problem, and there's certainly no need to feed me."

Chris beamed. "It's settled then! Mr. T is comin' to dinner Wednesday night! I'm gonna be there anyway, Mrs. J, and Mr. J said he's gonna be out of town on business Wednesday and Thursday, so there'll be plenty." The others all grinned and Chris glanced upward. "God! I'm a friggin' genius."

Natalie looked at Scott shyly. "Wednesday at six?"

Scott smiled. "Wednesday at six it is." Then he looked at Zach. "You'd better have some work done. Have the first chapter finished and at least an outline of that next essay assignment. We can get through it in less than an hour." He reached again into his book bag. "There's something else I'd like you to take a look at, Zach." He pulled out one of the mock trial pamphlets Kim had given him and the video of the final round at the previous state tournament. "Ever heard of mock trial?"

Natalie questioned with her face. "My brother has worked with the moot court team at the law school in Iowa. He's on the faculty there. Are the two activities similar?"

Scott nodded. "I wondered where Zach got the bug about all the law stuff with his John Marshall answer. Mock trial is pretty much the same thing, I think, but this is at the high school level. It's run by the Wisconsin State Bar, and I'm thinking about starting up a team in New Allsted. I'm waiting to hear about a volunteer lawyer to help out, but I think it's going to fly."

Zach's brows arched. "That sounds kinda cool."

"Anyway, Zachary, I'd like you to give it some thought. Since Coach Dunn isn't going to be able to work with you this year on your able arm and those lightening-quick feet, why not give me a shot at working with that brain?"

Natalie nodded. "Something to think about, Zachary. You know the football season is out, and basketball is iffy at best right now."

Chris muttered again. "Round ball is for pussies anyway."

Scott ignored the commentary. "And you should think about it too, Chris. There's some acting involved in mock trial, on the part of the various witnesses in this year's case. We don't get going `til after the musical is over, and we could work around wrestling practice, I think."

"Yeah, right! Me in mini-law school! That's a doggone laugh riot."

Scott shook his head. "No, I'm serious. I'm told you have a good memory, and I know that you like to act. The witnesses don't have to learn a ton about the law or argue on their feet or anything. They just need to know their part and be credible on the stand."

Zach sneered. "Make him the defendant, Mr. Turner, in something really heinous."

Chris flipped him off again.

"Besides, Chris, about a third of your government class is going to be looking at the judicial system. You just might pick up a few pointers that would help you in that course you're looking forward to so much."

There was a pause as Chris considered it, and then Scott continued. "Anyway, I'll leave this stuff with you, Zach. Look it over and we can talk about it again when you get back to school.

After another half hour of banter, Scott said he needed to get going. He shook hands with Natalie and tapped Zach's shoulder with the back of his hand. "I'll see you Wednesday night. Meantime, I'll keep piling on with work all week through young Mr. Propst here." Chris grinned and Scott looked over at Chris. "Tryouts for the musical are this week, Chris? When will you hear the actual casting?"

"We sing and all that stuff for them after school on Thursday. The cast will be posted on Monday morning. Then a month of rehearsals before opening night."

Scott gave him a confident nod and glanced at his watch. "Well, folks, I've done enough damage here for one day." He pointed at Chris. "I'll see you tomorrow...and," he smiled at the mother and son, "I guess I'll see you folks Wednesday evening."

Scott strolled through the automatic doors of the hospital entrance feeling glad that he'd stopped, and paused on the sidewalk to remember where he'd parked the car. He grinned before he stepped off the curb. John Marshall, huh?' he thought. Good answer. I might've even answered it with Marshall, myself.'

He'd twice been elected to the presidency of the Wisconsin Student Association. He'd been introduced to the state's largest media outlets, by none other than Governor Theodore Hackett, as the one student to sit on the UW System's Board of Regents. He had even held a couple press conferences of his own along the way and given a few tough interviews, albeit mostly to college newspapers. He had done battle with the Board's president, and he'd had a hand in bringing down one of the most corrupt state legislators in recent Wisconsin history. He'd been presented with the political science department's most notable scholarship and he'd hobnobbed with the likes of historians Stephen Ambrose and Doris Kearns Goodwin as a result. And once, following some needless, although harmless, grandstanding while on the job in the state senate, he'd even been detained and question by agents of the U.S. Secret Service.

And today, he was wide awake at 4:30 in the morning, more nervous than he'd ever been in his entire life.

Not afraid, quite, but excitedly and nervously anticipating the day before him. In a few hours, he would confront what was probably the toughest and, very likely, the most cynical audience he'd ever faced. It was also, as far as Scott was concerned, his most important audience. Today he would finally become a high school teacher. The kids were coming in a little over three hours, and Scott could hardly contain himself. The fattest cat in the world was visibly annoyed.

He pushed the office door open so hard that it flew a complete arc and its inside handle banged against the adjoining wall. Millie Parmenter jumped in her chair and looked up with a start. "Mr. Turner! Not so hard, please! You're going to break something." She glanced up at the clock. "And it's only a quarter after six. What are you doing here so early?"

"Great day, isn't it, Millie?"

The principal's administrative assistant sniffed. "It's raining outside, in case you haven't noticed."

He slid his right hand into his mailbox. Nothing. "Sure I noticed." He brushed a few drops off his windbreaker, unzipped it and shook his shoulders...being careful to stand on the doormat, and waved her complaint away. "Aaaahh, it's just a little drizzle, and the weather maven on Channel 3 said it'd be gone within the hour."

Millie looked over her glasses. "You didn't answer my question. Is something wrong that it needs your attention this early?"

Scott had taken up the hobby of trying to match Millie's usually dour demeanor with his own flavor of unbridled enthusiasm, if only to playfully egg her on a bit here and there. He enjoyed these engagements wherein he'd gently and good-naturedly assault her with a bit of fun-loving bluster, especially when his sentiments were grounded in his actual mood at the time. "Something wrong? Are you kidding me, Millie? We get kids today! KIDS! Finally! The kids are gonna show up!"

Millie glanced up from her paperwork. "I'm well aware of that, Mr. Turner. They show up this time every year whether we want them to or not."

"Not? Come on, Millie! How could one NOT WANT them to show up? If it weren't for those little boogers, you and I would be out of a job."

"I suppose so...and if you and I had other jobs, those little...boogers...as you say would show up anyway. Somehow, the world manages to move along pretty well without our interference now, doesn't it?"

"Interference?! Perish the thought! We're gonna change lives today, Millie, you and me! We're gonna knock the socks off these pubescent little darlins today, and for the next one hundred and seventy nine school days."

Millie slid a short stack of file folders into the bottom drawer of her desk and closed it with a firm shove. "I'm going to change the oil in my car and change cell phone carriers today. I'll leave the changing of lives up to you, if that's alright."

Scott sighed and leaned against the door. "Okay, Millie, have it your way. But you don't know what you're missing!" He was out the door. Millie heard his voice boom down the hall. "Good morning, Bart! How ya' doin'? It's gonna be a great day!"

The secretary arched her brows and clucked her tongue. "One of us has no idea, Mr. Turner."

First day of school routines vary very little from high school to high school, state to state. Step one: have a seat assigned to you, usually according to the alphabet, so in a small school, you're often surrounded by the same people day to day, year to year. Step two: have a course intro. and a list of expectations handed to you. Step three: have the teacher read to you what he or she has just handed you, with an inordinate amount of emphasis on his or her rules, their dos and don'ts and their little idiosyncrasies. Step four: when the bell rings, go to another room, and repeat steps one through three. Over and over and over. It's sort of like `wash, rinse, repeat' for the brain.

When the first bell of the day finally rang, Scott masked his butterflies pretty well. Once the herd of sophomores had settled into their temporary desks, he leaned, looking as relaxed as he could, with one elbow on the podium. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. As the board behind me indicates, my name is Mr. Turner. You may call me `Mr. Turner.'" A few rolled their eyes as he grinned. He scanned the small crowd with his wide eyes and arched brows. "Now, where is Brittney Ashford?" A slight young woman meekly raised her hand to about ear level. Scott stood straight and away from the lectern and took a couple steps in her direction. "It's nice to meet you Brittney." She grinned shyly and nodded. He pointed toward the back corner of the room. "Now would you please get up and go stand next to the door?" She looked flustered at first but quietly and nervously complied. He nodded once. "Thank you. Okay, now where is Michael Wylesky?"

"Right here." A stout young man with curly red hair grinned and raised his hand.

Scott motioned over his shoulder to the corner of the room opposite of where Brittney stood. "Good man, Michael! Would you please go stand near the corner over there?" Michael complied and stood near the corner with his hands buried deep in his hip pockets, wearing a bemused look on his face.

Scott commenced a slow stroll down the center aisle between the desks. "Okay. Here's the deal, folks. You all know each other...probably. But I don't know any of you. On top of that, I'm terrible at remembering names, and I have a hundred and twenty seven of them to try and learn today. Sooo..." Having reached the back of his classroom, he pivoted a quick one-eighty and strolled back toward the front. "...so we're going to kill several birds with one stone." He propped his elbow back on the top of the podium, and pointed at the group. "Your first job, as a class, is to get yourselves in order, alphabetically by last name, starting with Ms. Ashford over there and ending with Mr. Wylesky. Now, I have five classes today. For the one class who completes this simple task the quickest, and gets itself assembled in the correct order with no mistakes, I'll drop ten bonus points in the grade book for everybody. But you have to get it together in perfect order or the deal's off."

At first there were smiles at this strange new routine, and at the signal of a reward, but a few groans crept in when he wielded the adjective, perfect.' Scott had anticipated as much and he chuckled. "Get used to it, gang. You'll find that I'm going to expect your best all year long." A few eyes rolled again and one young man dropped his head onto his hands on his desktop. "Now, of course, the task at hand will require you to talk with each other and work together. If there are people in here you don't know, you just might have to introduce yourselves by name." One young man in the back looked terribly frightened by the prospect of having to interact with at least two of his classmates—one on each side of the alphabet from the name Franklin.'

Scott paused to give the kids time to digest. "Now, to be fair, is there anybody here who is brand new to New Allsted High School?" A tall girl with curly brown hair and dark rimmed glasses raised her hand. Scott grinned and gently asked, "And you are?"

She sat up straight. "Abigail McGreery."

Scott's grin widened and he tapped the podium. "Well, Abigail McGreery, welcome to New Allsted! You and I are kind of in the same boat, me being new here too. Naturally, you'll be situated somewhere in the middle of this line once you've all completed the job, but you'll meet at least two of your classmates—the one to your right and the one to your left. Those of you near the middle of the alphabet; I hope you've been paying attention. I'm sure you can help Abigail get situated."

Scott stepped back behind his desk in the corner of the room. "Okay, gang. There's twenty-eight of you and only twenty-six letters in the alphabet. The clock starts running when I say go. Are there any questions?"

A young man's voice from the far side of the room asked, "Yeah. Why only ten points? Seems kind of cheap to me."

Scott took his watch off to keep time. "I'd respectfully suggest that getting any points at all in a U.S. History class, just for knowing how to spell your last name by the time you're in the tenth grade, is enormously generous. But, if you feel it's not worth the effort, then don't play along, young man. Just stay in that desk, and you and you alone can get in the way of the whole class' success." Several students scowled daggers at the smart ass and another guy who appeared to be his buddy leaned forward and whispered, "Will you shut the hell up? This is kinda cool."

Scott craned his neck. "Uhm, thank you for the cool part, but how about `shut the heck up?'" Several kids giggled.

The kid blushed. "Sorry, Mr. Turner."

He spoke to the whole class. "Please be warned, folks, my hearing is excellent." He smirked for a moment before continuing. "Now, keep an eye on the line as you get organized. You know most of the names. Just make sure that the person to your left and the one on your right fall in order with your last name. Once you are satisfied that everybody's in the right order, raise your hand. Once everybody's hand is up, I'll stop the clock and write the time on the board. Are there any other questions?"

Silence.

"Okay then. GO!"

Bedlam. The kids were on their feet, headed for the walls, shouting each others' names and telling each other where to stand. After a full minute of voices calling "Over here, Mandy! No, Pete, you're next to me!" and more than a little laughter, Jim Daley appeared in the doorway looking alarmed.

Scott walked to the back of the room smiling. "Sorry about the noise. Maybe I should have closed the door."

Jim surveyed the calming storm of teens still mulling about. "Anything wrong?"

Scott shrugged and shook his head. "Oh, no. It's going rather well, actually. We're working on a little bit of `getting to know you,' and me getting to know their names, and then we're going to build the seating chart for the year."

Kids were looking furtively left and right, and one by one, they started to raise their hands. Scott looked them over. "We don't have all the hands up yet, and you're over two minutes."

Jim still looked befuddled. "Well, okay. I won't interrupt. Looks like you're in the middle of something with a purpose."

"Thanks, Jim. I can explain it all at lunch, or at the end of the day. There really is a method to my madness."

He shrugged. "Well enough then." Finally he smiled and went on his way.

Scott turned and checked the watch. "Okay. Done! Two minutes and twenty-seven seconds. So far today, that puts you folks in the lead."

An attractive young woman near the front of the alphabet rolled her eyes. "It's first hour, Mr. Turner!"

"Yeah, but you're setting the pace." He walked to the podium and picked up a stack of index cards. He looked to the end of the line. "Mr. Wylesky. Will you please come here and help me out?" Scott got the impression that the kid didn't get a lot of attention and was loving it. He removed a rubber band from around the cards and handed them to young Michael. "I'd like you to shuffle these. Mix `em up real good." Michael went to work.

Scott turned and plopped his butt on the table up front, next to the podium. "Okay, now we're going to get to work on the seating chart." Moans rippled through the crowd. Scott held up his hands. "Gotta have one, gang. First, for a while anyway, I'll need to know who you all are. Like I said, I'm terrible at remembering names and this will help me...I hope. And, if I'm not here for whatever reason, the substitute will have to have a map of who's who in order to do attendance. So..." he turned to Michael and held out his hand. Michael handed him the shuffled stack. "Each of these cards has one of your names on it. Now that they're mixed, I'll go through the stack one at a time. I'll try to pick you out of your line-up and ask each at least one question. Then, once you've answered my question and we've gotten to know each other a little bit, you'll go to the table next to Brittney, pick up a textbook and then you get to choose where you'd like to sit." The mood lightened as friends swapped glances, trying to plot where they'd try to place themselves.

He held up a finger and raised his voice a notch. "Howwwwwwever! Please take note and take this seriously. Once you have chosen your desk, it WILL NOT be changed...EVER. You're stuck with it. I do not believe I should ever have to alter the game plan in here because of a student's behavior. If you get lucky enough to pick a desk next to your best friend, then you'd better have the discipline to pay attention and not chat or screw around during class, and I mean every day, all year long. I will not rearrange the seating chart because of decisions you make today, or choices you make after today. I will, however, constantly and consistently hold you accountable for those decisions." He could see the kids thinking it over. "I believe you want to be treated like young adults, and that's what I intend to do. At the same time, I'll expect you to act like young adults and make smart choices all year long. So, please, choose wisely today." He picked up a card and looked at the name before looking up. "Oh, and one other thing. I have a habit on calling on students who try to hide in the back row and become invisible." He grinned at the few soft gasps and moans.

"Okay, when I read your name, feel free to correct the pronunciation, because I'm gonna murder some of them. And if you'd prefer to be called something else, as long as it's not obscene, let me know and I'll make a note of it. Now, where's Ashley Dinger?"

"It's pronounced `Din-jer."

"You got it Ashley. `Din-jer' it is. Got any pets?"

And so it went. The same routine played out through each of the day's five classes, even with the much smaller Advanced Placement class of only fifteen that met second hour. The kids seemed to enjoy an approach they'd never encountered on the first day of a new school year.

During his fourth hour plan period, Scott followed Brian into the lounge. Immediately, he spied Andy Faber seated in a high backed swivel rocker in the corner of the room newspaper in hand. Andy was looking fine as usual, and he glanced around the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, the young man with Brian is the new addition to the best department in the building. Scott Turner." Scott grinned and nodded at four others scattered about. After Brian filled his mug with hot water, the stocky, outspoken man from the union meeting stood and walked over with a hand extended. "John Masterson, but everybody calls me J.P."

Scott gave Masterson's hand a practiced pump. "Good to know you, J.P."

Andy sat forward and pointed at the other three strangers. "And that's Barry Dowe, who teaches physics; and this is Monica LaVenture, one of the phys ed teachers; and the guy behind you waiting for Brian to finish making his tea is Evan Millard, in Business Ed."

Scott greeted the other three with smiles and handshakes before Masterson continued. "Hey, didn't our state union support a guy for senate or something a couple years back named Scott Turner?"

Scott sipped his coffee and swallowed, feeling his back stiffen a trifle. He looked Masterson in the eye, nodding, and he spied Brian smirking over J.P.'s shoulder. "Yeah, that would be my dad. I'm Scott, Jr. And I'm sure he had the teachers' union support when he ran two years ago."

Masterson smirked, speaking as much to the others as he did to Scott. "Yeah, well what's he done for us lately?"

Scott sipped again and pursed his lips in reflection. ""Hmmmm. What's he done for us lately? I'm not sure. What have we asked him for?"

Masterson looked around the room again. "Well, the lords and ladies on high in Madison have outlawed teachers' strikes, but they won't pass laws that force the local school board to really negotiate with us in good faith, for starters. We could use a little support from the so-called pro-union folks up there."

Scott scratched his head. "Well, J.P., I might have missed something, but I do try to stay current on stuff like this. I wasn't aware that any actual legislative proposals about local bargaining have come up in Madison...not from the state union leaders or anywhere else. Have they pushed for something, and I just don't know about it?"

Brian laughed out loud. "Don't ask J.P., Scott. He wouldn't know a `legislative proposal' from an indecent proposal, even if it bit him in the ass."

Masterson curled his lip. "Screw you, beach boy. When's the last time you lifted a finger for this union?"

Brian looked at the ceiling. "Let's see...I pay my dues every month, or rather they're taken out of my check, and I vote in every one of our elections." He topped off his mug with a little more hot water before dumping a second tea bag in to simmer. "In other words, I do just about as much as I've ever seen you do. I just bitch less."

Evan Millard stirred a powdered creamer in his mug and grinned. He grabbed the chance to egg Masterson a little more. "Speaking of which, J.P., when are you gonna quit flapping your jaws and run for president of the local?"

Masterson laughed. "You nuts? More hours, the pay the union provides isn't shit and I'd have to deal with all those crazy, whiny teachers in the elementary schools. Friggin' glorified babysitters is what most of `em are."

Andy put down his paper. "One of those `babysitters' is my wife, John. And I wouldn't do her job for the salaries of everybody in this room. When's the last time one of your students peed their pants?"

Millard chimed in. "The last time he showed a movie that was less than twenty years old." The group chuckled in unison. "You are still showing those 18 millimeter reel-to-reel films in the Health class, aren't you John? I think the only projector in the building is still chained to a desk in your room, right?"

Masterson just scoffed and ignored Millard's efforts to bait him. "Well, my point is... that's why the work-to-rule move is just what we need. If Madison won't help us, we're gonna have to help ourselves. Enough freebies for the folks in this community. And I'm not alone. I've been working on the rank and file, and once we have a plan from the bargaining committee, that thing's gonna fly like a 747."

The collective mood of the room seemed to be to leave Masterson alone for a while. It felt to Scott as if nobody wanted to discuss the possibility of the job action. Instead, Scott answered several polite questions about his new living situation at the house and his class schedule at school. Finally, Brian dunked his teabag a few more times and nodded in Scott's direction toward the door. Once they'd cleared the exit and were headed down the hallway, Scott shook his head and glanced right. "Is it always like that in there?"

Early waved a hand. "Usually only when J.P. is on his soapbox about this, that or the other thing." They started to walk toward the office, and Brian leaned to his right and spoke in hushed tones. "They're mostly good folks in there, but that old fucker's been basically phoning it in since before I got here. He's one of the old farts who got into teaching just because he wanted to coach, and liked the sound of having summers off. He's still pissed off that he was passed over for the varsity football job almost ten years ago, and he thinks the whole world owes him something because he's licensed to teach a class that the state requires for a diploma. Now that's job security. Shit, if it weren't for the state requirement, most of the kids in New Allsted would avoid him like the plague." He scoffed again and pressed back a stray strand of his long blond hair. "Jesus! J.P. Masterson has been playing the `work-to-rule' game for over a dozen years now. He just hasn't admitted the fact out loud. A stunt like that by the union wouldn't change his life one iota."

Scott had set up an account with the food service staff and waited patiently in line between two other students. One of the kids who appeared to be a senior, but whom Scott didn't know, looked over his shoulder. "Aren't you the new social studies teacher?"

"Yes sir. Mr. Turner. American History, American Government. I'm teaching all things American."

"Yeah. You were just leaving the hospital the other day when I went to visit Zach. How come you're not butting to the head of the line like most of the other teachers?"

Scott shrugged. "I just got here. You guys have to wait your turn. If I needed to be somewhere for a meeting or something, I suppose I might do that, but otherwise, I don't think it'd be fair. Do you?"

The girl in front of him wore her pink hair straight and her black upper lip curled. "No. I think it sucks! Practically all of `em do it. They all just think they're so...whatever."

"Ah, well. I'm sure they have some place they have to go and meet during lunch. It's only a few minutes wait." They were within earshot of Doris Muenchow, the food service supervisor whom Scott had met the previous day. "I'm sure you just can't wait to get your hands on this bountiful offering each day, right?" Doris grinned and winked at him.

The girl's shoulders sank and she rolled her head toward the ceiling. "Shyeah! Like, right!"

Tara caught up with him, just as he got to the door of the teacher's lounge. She was carrying a carton of yogurt, a zip lock bag half full of granola and an apple. Scott looked at the lunch. "That ain't lunch, Ms. Burke. This!" he raised his hands a few inches, "is real school lunch!"

Tara looked at the plate of mashed potatoes smothered in what looked like poultry gravy with chunks of turkey, celery and peas in it. "Whatever you say, Mr. Turner." Then she whispered, "That shit'll kill you ya' know."

The sixth hour U.S. History class filed in after the bell rang to end Scott's lunch period. Scott led the group through the same routine he'd done all morning for the purpose of building a seating chart and getting a start on learning the kids' names. As he got to the end of the stack of name cards, with only one student standing, he raised his brows. "And with everybody else seated, I guess that would make you Mr. Jared Steinmetz."

The kid smirked a sarcastic grin and scoffed. "Actually, Mr. Turner, it was my parents who made me Jared Steinmetz. This game and whether these folks were seated or not had nothing to do with it." Jared was a slender young man with bushy brown hair, a flawless complexion and a rather smarmy grin. "And no need for the `mister,' Mr. Turner. I prefer to be called simply Jared."

"Well then, `simply Jared,' I have just one question for you, like everyone else." He scanned the rows of desks, and spied the only three left open. "And then, it looks like your classmates want you sitting squarely in the middle of the group."

"Story of my life. Seems like everybody wants me in the center of their attention all the time."

Scott ignored the kids' wit. "Do you have any brothers and sisters?"

The youngster shook his head. "Nope. My folks got it right the first time so they figured, why tempt fate?"

This time, Scott took the bait. He matched the kid's grin. "And risk another like you?"

"Oh, God! That's just gross!" a girl exclaimed with a smile.

Jared looked over his shoulder. "You should be so lucky."

Scott waved a hand. "Uhm...Jared? I'm over here. With your cooperation, I'll be the center of attention in here sixth hour."

Jared flashed his faintly devilish smirk again. "Every day?"

"Only those that end in `y,' but since you seem like a good guy, I'll give you Saturday and Sunday. Monday through Friday are usually going to be all mine."

Jared kicked at an imaginary mark on the floor and shrugged. "Gotcha."

"Now, get yourself a book and you can pick your seat. Scratch that. You can select from the remaining desks. No need to pick your seat." The kids who caught his slightly off-color remark giggled. Jared just smiled and nodded and strutted toward the stack of books before sitting in one of the empty desks.

Scott then led them through the course introduction, boiling down the discipline approach to what he called the "Big Three" rules. "One: you'll respect every body and every thing while at school...the students, the staff...and that means all the staff...and the building itself. Two: you won't behave in a manner that might interfere with someone else's learning. Three: you won't behave in a manner that might interfere with my efforts to teach. They're pretty simple and, I think, they cover all possible situations where discipline might arise. And...I discovered last year student teaching at Madison West...most honest young men and women actually agree with them. Are there any questions?"

Jared, who had been doodling on his notebook throughout the class expectations, raised a hand. Scott nodded at him. "I get the respect thing and the don't interfere with teaching and learning stuff. Does that mean I can't ask to go pee when I have to go?"

Scott paused and looked up, weighing Jared's effort to rattle him. "Well...that's a pretty good question, uhm, Jared." He gripped his own chin between thumb and forefinger. "Let's see. For starters, in polite company...in which we are...and in a pretty public setting...in which we are as well...I'd have to say that asking to go pee would be bad form for starters."

Jared registered mild surprise, but tried to hold his ground. "Okay...so, `use to the restroom,' then."

Scott nodded his approval. "I like that better, thank you." He stepped over to Jared's desk and looked directly down on the staring student, a fist perched on each hip. "Tell you what, Jared. I plan to take care of that for myself during passing time, as the need arises. I'll ask you all right now to do the same. You have lunch right before you come to Room 403. Ask yourself after you've eaten, `do I have to go?' If the answer is yes, then go. We're all big boys and girls here. I think it would behoove us all if we tended to the calls of nature when it won't inconvenience you or me or your classmates."

"Huh?"

Scott leaned over and whispered loudly enough for all to hear. "Go pee after lunch or between classes."

"Oh."

"And wash your hands when you're done."

"Okay. No bathroom passes then?"

"Not unless you're puking on your shoes."

"Gotcha." Jared looked down and doodled some more, but his subtle, quirky grin didn't escape Scott's eye.

Jim Daley stopped by twenty minutes after the end of the day. "Interesting start, Scott. I overheard a few kids in the cafeteria who said it was `really cool.'"

Scott smiled and shrugged. "Nothing special. Actually, I stole the idea from a guy where I student taught. He was across the hall and opened every new semester that way. I liked it."

Jim chuckled. "A lot of our best ideas are begged, borrowed or stolen from other teachers. A bit chaotic for my style, but it sure seemed to work for you."

Chris was on his way to practice and stuck his head in the room. "Great start, Mr. T," He stuck a thumbs up into the room from the doorway.

Sam Alphonse, one of only five non-Caucasian students on Scott's roster was with Chris. Scott had wondered about Sam's lineage. He was clearly the benefactor of more than one hue in his family tree, with some characteristics that pointed to Asia and others from Africa, but he spoke like one of the whitest Wisconsinites in the school. He was in Scott's AP course and was a wide receiver on the football team. His was the only non-white skin whose face and arms were visible during a game.

Scott smiled. "And you might ask Sam there why the AP class had the slowest time getting lined up."

Sam shook his head. "Because too many of the folks in that class think they're `too cool for school,' especially classroom games, and they were dragging their feet."

Scott grinned and nodded. "I know. I could tell."

Chris leaned in to scan the times listed on the board. "Our class won?"

"Indeed you did, Mr. Propst. And you, my friend, did a great job coaxing and directing a lot of those classmates who seemed a bit unsure of where they should be. I think it made the difference."

Sam swatted his shoulder. "Atta boy `Topher. A natural born leader."

Chris turned to go before he looked back at the two teachers. "Well, we gotta get our butts to practice. You're coming to the game on Friday, right Mr. T?"

Scott shrugged. "Not sure yet, Chris. It's out of town. Weldon Falls is over a forty minute drive. We'll see."

Chris scowled and slammed a fist into his other open palm. "It ain't gonna be pretty. I got some redemption...is that the word? I got some redeeming to do for the team."

Jim grinned. "Isn't going to be pretty, Christopher."

Chris rolled his eyes and nodded. "Right, Mr. Daley. Isn't going to be pretty."

Scott bit his lip and grinned. "Get going guys. Coach Dunn is gonna be on my case if you're late."

They both waved again and were gone.

Jim turned and arched a brow. "Mr. T.?"

Scott shrugged. "I met Chris, along with Zach Jacoby right after I got here. In fact, you'll remember, Zach was the one who introduced the two of us, right after I interviewed. And I've gotten to know them both fairly well. They're great guys. They know that a little familiarity outside of the school day is okay with me. It's Mr. Turner in class, or anyplace else during the school day."

Jim just nodded and let it slide without expression or comment. "Are you pretty well set for the week? Would you be free for breakfast before school on Thursday?"

Scott considered it. "This Thursday?" He thought again and nodded. "Yeah, I think so. My lesson plans are pretty much in the can for the first couple weeks. You want to get together before school for something?"

"Well, remember I suggested Kiwanis could be worth your time one of these days?" Scott nodded a bit apprehensively. "We're meeting Thursday at 6:30 out at the Wagon Wheel on the north side of town. The meetings only last an hour, and I usually get back here with just enough time to be ready to greet the kids. Even if the meetings run late, they all understand that I'm out that door at 7:30 on the nose, so ducking out early is never a problem. Would you care to join me?"

Scott was still a bit tentative. "I suppose so, Jim. Couldn't hurt any. You said it's a good group of folks, and the only people I know in town right now are somehow connected to the school system. It'd probably do me good to expand my New Allsted horizons a bit, I suppose."

Jim nodded. "You know how to find the Wagon Wheel?"

Scott grinned. "I drove by it every day, twice a day, when I was still making the commute from Madison."

"I'll meet you there just before 6:30, then." Jim nodded and turned to leave, but Scott held him back.

"Hey, Jim I have a question for you."

"What's on your mind Scott?"

"Have you ever been invited to dinner at the home of one of your students?"

Jim sat down and took off his glasses. "A few times in purely social situations, where I've known the parents, sure I have. A number of times, actually."

Scott then replayed for his mentor the conversation at the hospital that had led to Mrs. Jacoby extending the invitation for the following evening. Jim laughed. "Leave it to Christopher to think that was a cool idea.'" He did his best to put on an adolescent voice with the cool idea' part, and then continued, "And leave it to Zach to follow his lead and see that an opportunity for some singular attention from one of his teachers was a great idea." He sighed. "And, I suppose I should leave it to Natalie to want to be hospitable. and maybe would want to grease the skids a bit for her son to receive some special treatment under the circumstances." He realized how that had sounded and quickly caught himself. "Don't get me wrong there, Scott. Michael and Natalie Jacoby are straight arrows and above board all the way. I taught Michael in...I think it was two classes...about twenty years ago now."

"It's not weird or anything for me to go over there tomorrow night, is it?"

Jim's grin told Scott that the veteran approved of the questions. "In a case like this, not out of line at all. Natalie's going to be there, Chris will be there, Zach's been out of school all week, there's a clear educational purpose involved. You're actually going above and beyond the call of duty. Of course, I wouldn't accept an invitation to dine alone with a student at their home at the invitation of the student if I were you."

Jim grinned and wiggled his brows a bit and Scott rolled his eyes. "Jeez, you know that's not what I'm asking! Gimme some credit, will ya?"

Jim laughed heartily. "I know, I know, Scott. But you're a young, good looking guy. I've already heard some of the giggly girls with their lockers in our hall asking each other," he put his teenage voice back on, `Have you seen the hot guy who took Mr. Cox's place?' You're already turning heads, Mr. Turner. Even my wife thinks you're hot." He laughed again, and seemed to enjoy seeing Scott squirm a little bit.

Then he suddenly donned a more sober expression. "You know, Scott, my younger brother's also a teacher, and he had a very real dilemma along those lines during his first year in the classroom. One of his students had it for him real bad. It became quite a weighty issue for him when he was about your age." He stood and started toward the door before Scott held him up once more.

"Well, I can't see it happening, but now I'm curious. How'd he handle it?"

Jim turned and winked. "Today the girl's my sister-in-law."

Jim sauntered back toward his room. Scott called after him, "Thanks a lot, mister mentor!" He returned to his desk with a sheepish grin, plopped into his chair and leaned back thinking. Kiwanis. A local service club? At my age? Jeez. I didn't think you became and Elk or a Rotarian or a Kiwanian until you were, like, forty.' He drained the dregs of his afternoon coffee into the mug and shut off the burner. Ah, well. I'm an early riser anyway, and it'll make Jim happy.'

During his planning period on Wednesday, Scott decided to forego a visit to the lounge, and instead picked up the phone and dialed his dad's Madison number. The legislature had just reconvened following the Labor Day recess, and Senator Turner would be doing his duty in Madison for about six weeks, until the biennial elections rolled around in November. The younger Turner was glad that state senators were elected every four years and that his dad wasn't out scrounging for contributions or votes during the current cycle. The even numbered seats were up for grabs this year and Big Scott held the seat in the Fifteenth District. Recalling the typical daily work schedule under the dome from his own days working in the party caucus there, he checked the clock and figured the old man wouldn't be tied up in the Senate chamber yet.

After being told that the senator was on the phone, and waiting a few minutes, Scott smiled at his father's voice.

"Shouldn't you be in a room full of teenagers, telling lies about something or other?"

"Planning period for me...the only one of the day. Why I'm devoting it to you is still something a mystery. The elder Turner chuckled. "Dad, what do you know about high school mock trial?"

The elder Scott hesitated while he pondered. "Uhm...not a whole lot. I've never been involved with it, but I know a few lawyers who have helped coach local teams. Sounds like a great program."

Scotty sat up straight in his chair and the enthusiasm that had driven him that morning a week earlier in Dr. Watson's office returned. "Jesus, Dad! It's the total frickin' package! I read up on it and went over a couple old cases the kids have `brought to trial' in the past. This thing is so cool! It has everything: thinking on your feet, reasoning, logic, rhetoric, persuasion, public speaking, even some acting. And then I watched this video of last year's final round at the state tourney. There were all seven of the justices sitting in that beautiful chamber and volunteering their time to listen to a dozen high school kids argue the case...and taking these kids seriously!"

Big Scott chuckled at his son's awe. "So why the sudden interest in mock trial?"

"Well, Dr. Watson asked me to start a program here, and I told her I'd do it."

"Well, good for you! It sounds like you're looking forward to it."

Scott paused and sighed. "Well, there's a bit of a hang-up. You know I told you we still don't have a contract settled here for the past school year, let alone this one. The union's position is that the board isn't bargaining in good faith. In fact, they haven't had a negotiation meeting in months. The board refuses to sit and discuss it until the union signals a willingness to give on health and dental insurance. So, there's growing support among the rank and file to go into a job action, what they call a `work-to-rule' mode."

Big Scott sighed. "Where everybody agrees to do exactly what the master agreement requires, and nothing more."

"Yep. The feeling is that once the kids and parents start seeing tests and homework coming back later than usual and teachers not being available after hours, and voluntary activities being suspended, they'll get on the board's ass about bargaining with the union and getting this thing settled. It's not really a strike, but there are some real heavy hitters on the staff here that are stoking the fires in that direction."

"Well, you can't go on strike."

"I know that, but we can quit going above and beyond."

"So are you going to go back and tell Dr. Watson `no' because of the current situation?"

Scott sighed again. "I don't think I can. Well, I suppose I can, but I don't really want to. I'm not entirely sure how I feel. This first year, the program would be funded by the county bar association, so I'd kinda be working for them and not the school board."

"Aren't you splitting hairs a bit there, Scott? I assume you'd be using district facilities and providing an additional service to some of those students, at a time when your union is calling for no extras in order to leverage the bargain."

"Yeah. And once the contract does get settled, Dr. Watson has assured me that the district will support the addition of this as a fully-funded extra-curricular activity. Meantime, I'm not sure what to do here. I really want to do this, and think it would be a great opportunity for the kids."

"But...?"

"But I don't want to piss off the people I work with in my first year. And even more than that, Gran' would kick my butt if she were here. How many boycotts and pro-union causes did she support over the years? Jeez, she even dragged me along a couple times to hold a sign in front of a Wal-Mart store. Said they were the `evil empire.'"

His father chuckled again. "I know. I can remember all the way back to the boycott of table grapes in the sixties with good old Caesar Chavez. And I love grapes. And you know your mom and I have always supported unions in principle, even though neither of us ever belonged to one. But remember, Scott, Gran' always had a greater good in mind, too. She never supported anything blindly." He paused. "Look, Scotty. If you're calling for advice..."

"Yeah, I am."

"I'll tell you a couple things. First, you're a big boy now and I'm not about to tell you what you should do. There's a rock on one side and a hard place on the other, and there you are in the middle. Welcome to the real world, Bucko. You've been there before. Figure out what the greater good is and then stick to your guns. As long as there's a solid principle to stand on, you'll be just fine. It might not be easy, but not much worth doing ever really is."

"Well, a hell of a lot of help you are, ya' old fart." Father and son shared a light chuckle. "So, how're things going in Madison?"

"Same old shit, different day. You know, I kiss a few asses and have a few more lips kiss mine."

"Hey, that reminds me...is your education bill going anywhere? Are we gonna see a raising of the bar for graduation in math and science, ya' think?"

"Hard to tell, but the governor is ready to signal his solid support for the idea, probably make a splashy announcement that it was his idea in the first place. He's even been talking about beefing it up a bit. We're two years out from the next election and I think he's ready to start signaling that this is gonna be his last term."

"Looking at bigger and better things, is he?"

"I think so. He might be gearing up for a run for the U.S. Senate. I'm more inclined to think he's bucking for a major appointment in Washington. Either way, if he's freed from any concerns about another run for governor and debating state issues in a campaign, then he's freer to push for just about anything and Damn the voters' consequences.'" There was a pause. "Speaking of your Gran, Scotty, remember what she liked to say? The most dangerous guy in the room...'"

The son nodded and finished one of Evelyn's many axioms. "Is the one with nothing to lose."

Senator Turner sighed. "The question's gonna be funding. Who's going to pay for adding new math and science teachers, especially in smaller districts like yours?"

Scott laughed. "If you assholes in Madison want to mandate it, then pony up the funds, Bucko. Or Senator Bucko, I guess. I've already had one jackass in the building read me the riot act. He teaches tech. ed. and made a point of telling me, right off the bat, what a lunatic my old man is. He thinks stuff like that could cost him his job."

Big Scott sighed. "Ah, well, tell him to do a good job and the kids will keep taking his classes. Meantime, I'm sure this'll make life uncomfortable for a lot of folks, but I think it's good for the state and good for the kids."

"Agreed, Dad. That's just about what I told him."

"Great minds think alike."

"Well, daddy-o, I need to get back to my AP Essays. I collected that Most Influential' essay I told you about a couple weeks ago, and I told the kids I'd have em all back by tomorrow. There's a lot here to read, and even more that I have to write so I can get these kids on the same page with my grading goals."

Scott could hear his dad's grin. "I liked that assignment. Tell me, who's winning?"

Scott snickered and reached for the stack of papers. "You'll love this. They're all over the board. Let's see..." He flipped through the students' offerings. "We got Alexander Hamilton, Abe Lincoln, George Washington of course, Teddy Roosevelt, Thomas Jefferson, Gloria Steinem..."

The father laughed. "Have to have the feminists in the mix."

"Not a problem, but it gets even better. I got one on Jesus Christ, one vote for Ronald Reagan..."

"Around here, I got a couple colleagues who'd say that was redundant."

"Ha. I'm, sure. But the Jesus essay was very interesting, and very well written. That gal is gonna do fine in this class. We got a vote for Rosa Parks and a similar essay in favor of Dr. King, a couple more Washingtons, another Jefferson and my favorite, Norman Lear."

Big Scott let out a hoot. "Good for him...or her. `All in the Family' is a bedrock of modern political thought."

"I give the kid credit for his cultural literacy, if nothing else. And one of the kids...Zach is gonna be a star in this class, I think...he wrote a great piece of work on John Marshall."

"That's a great answer to the question."

Scott nodded. "He's the quarterback who got hurt last week. Great kid." He sighed. "Well, I gotta get ready for next period, and I'm sure you're due up on the floor in a little while."

"That I am. Very exciting calendar today, and I can promise that the people's will shall be taken into account on the vital questions of licensing regulations for hair stylists, the legal height of speed bumps in private parking lots and the funding for continued study of Wisconsin's ginseng crop."

"Thank God! Somebody's gotta make the really tough calls. I'm glad you're on top of things up there."

"Hey, Scotty?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"It sounds like you're having fun. Are you?"

"I'm having the time of my life, Dad. This is what I was always supposed to do. I just know it."

"Good answer, son. I'm happy for you, Scotty. And your mother and I are very, very proud of you.

"Cut it out. You're gonna choke me up before the kids show up again. Love to you and Mommy. Tell her I called, and I'll give a call at home over the weekend."

"Duty calls us both, Scotty. Bye now."

The son held the phone for a few moments and smiled. Then the bell rang.

Scott arrived at the Jacoby's at about five to six. Not wanting to show up empty-handed, and since neither wine nor flowers were appropriate to the occasion, he'd stopped at the bakery just before it closed and picked up a peach pie with a crumb topping for dessert. Mrs. Jacoby admonished him appropriately for bringing anything at all and then pointed him to the living room where the guys were watching ESPN's "Sports Center."

Natalie slid the pie in the oven to warm it and smiled. "We'll be ready in just a few minutes, Scott. I'm just waiting for the noodles. We're having beef stroganoff, if that's okay."

"It's great! It smells wonderful. Are you sure there's nothing out here I can help with?"

Natalie waved him away. "Not at all. Would you prefer milk or water with the meal?"

"A glass of milk would be great, thanks."

"No problem. Now you go tell the boys to turn off that TV and come on into the dining room. It takes Zach a few minutes to get settled in with his leg propped on an empty chair."

Scott did as he she asked and was welcomed by both guys with grins and waves.

"Hey, Mr. T. Did Zach's mom tell you what we're havin' tonight? Zach just loves `strokinoff'." He cackled for what Scott guessed was the fifth or sixth time since they got home from school. Zach tapped him playfully on the back of the head.

Scott grinned sarcastically. "Good one `Topher. Never heard that one before. You might have a future in stand-up comedy."

Zach reached for his crutches and hobbled to his feet. "Only if my mom agrees to keep feedin' him. He'd never be able to make a living at it." He paused at the end of the table opposite his mother, where Scott guessed Michael usually sat. Chris pulled out the empty chair and adjusted the distance to accommodate Zach's extended leg. Scott noticed the careful attention Chris paid to getting Zach situated before he took the crutches and leaned them against the wall. Then he moved his own chair a few inches down the side of the table to add a little more distance between him and the fragile braced leg. He was clearly going to be careful to avoid any possible contact with the injured limb.

Before Scott could get seated at the table, Zach gushed. "You gotta do it, Mr. Turner!"

Natalie brought out a large bowl of egg noodles. "Christopher, I forgot the salads. There are four of them sitting on the counter. I'll bring out the sauce and you can help get the salads." Chris nodded dutifully and headed for the kitchen. "Sorry, Mr. Turner. We'll not dine in several courses tonight. It'll be all at once, except for the dessert."

Chris shouted from the kitchen. "Peach crunch!! Great call, Mr. T! Got any ice cream, Mrs. J?"

Natalie giggled and returned to the kitchen. "It's in the big freezer downstairs. Run down and get it so it softens a bit while we eat."

Scott heard a door open to the basement and Chris blurt out an enthusiastic, "Yesssss!"

Scott laughed and looked at Zach. "Huh? Do what?"

"That mock trial thing! You gotta do it! We need a team like that here! Jeez, I wish we'd had one when I was a freshman. I watched that tape today. That was, like, waaaaay cool!"

Scott unfolded his napkin and dropped it in his lap. "You think there'd be another ten or eleven who would make a team? We'd need a minimum of ten students, but twelve would be better."

"I can think of a half dozen off the top of my head who'd love it, and who I think would be excellent at something like that. Between us, I know we could convince a bunch more. You wouldn't have any trouble at all getting a full team. Heck, I'd bet we could have two if they allowed it."

After Zach offered a proper blessing for the evening meal, including giving thanks for Scott's company and his assistance, the four of them enjoyed a very good meal. Chris had been right about Mrs. J's' culinary skill. The stroganoff was exceptional. The conversation between the four of them was easy and enjoyable. Neither of the younger men missed an opportunity to playfully dis' the other about one detail or another of their history as best friends. Scott retold a few of the tamer college experiences he'd enjoyed outside of the classroom, and he tried to downplay his in the line of duty' vignettes of his days as a student leader or as a staff member inside the state senate. Maureen's name came up only once, and Governor Hackett not at all, but he couldn't avoid discussing his father's decision to run for office and some of the ups and downs that the experience brings to any family.

After dessert, Natalie insisted that Scott and Zach get down to their academic business since "We can't keep the poor man hostage here all night, boys." She looked at Chris. "So, while Zach `goes to school,' Christopher..."

"I know." He was already standing and reaching for the empty plates. As soon as Zach stirred in his chair, Chris put down the dinnerware and grabbed the crutches that were leaning in the corner, helping his buddy gingerly to his feet and into a steady stance. "I'll fill the dishwasher while you put away the leftovers. But can I have another piece of that pie to take home?"

Natalie grinned. "Of course. Wouldn't want you going to bed hungry."

Scott and Zach spent an hour in the living room reviewing the text's first two chapters. Zach was fascinated by the various aspects of Puritan society that hinted that the label wasn't always so appropriate. He also admired their devotion to learning and encouragement of scientific exploration. "I never did quite get the idea some folks have that religious teachings and science just have to be opposed to each other all the time. These folks had it right. The more we can learn about the natural world...about God's creation, the better we might understand God's plan for us. It's like reading his design in the world around us is kinda like reading his mind."

"Good thinking, Zach. I think that a lot of the intellects of that day would have agreed with you."

"But then there were the crazy holy rollers of the `Great Awakening.' What was up with them?"

"What do you think?"

"I dunno, really. I mean that Jonathan Edwards guy seems a little whacked out. I often think the priest at our church is a little strict...not that I'm complaining...but Jeez!" He intoned deeply, as if to imagine the colonial circuit rider's mellifluous voice, "Sinners at the hand of an angry God...holds you like a spider over the fiery pit of Hell..." He smirked. "I mean, his God is one angry dude! Do you think he really believed all that scary crap?"

"I don't have any reason to believe he'd have preached it if he didn't know' in his own heart and his own mind that it was true.'" He made those air quotes with his fingers a couple of times. "I haven't seen anything in the historical record to suggest he was some huckster selling a line of religion for some kind of personal gain the way we've seen some modern-day so-called divinely inspired preachers doing."

Chris walked in wiping his hands on a towel. "Ya mean like preachin' salvation and then goin' out and spending collection money on a hooker? That's livin' large! Having the keys to the kingdom and the keys to a cheap hotel room that your wife don't know about."

Scott chuckled and nodded. "Or lining their pockets and bank accounts for personal gain."

Scott complimented Zach again on the strength of his first essay on John Marshall's influence, assuring him that it showed great potential. He said that he'd have a full evaluation written when Zach returned to school the following week. He said his good-byes, accepting a wrapped piece of pie and a warm handshake from Natalie Jacoby and a grin and a wave from both guys before heading back to his car. He was glad he'd made the trip.

The car's clock said 6:21 when Scott pulled into the parking lot of The Wagon Wheel on Thursday morning. Jim had said that the breakfast meeting began at 6:30 sharp with a short prayer by the member whose turn it was to say grace. Shortly after Jim led the way to a couple of empty chairs at the center of a long table, the club's president called the meeting to order and immediately turned the floor over to Madeline Sawyer who gave solemn thanks to the Heavenly Father for the bounty of French toast and greasy sausage patties with which they'd meet the new day, for this fellowship and the fruitful day that lay before them. Amen.

The morning meal was served family style by one of the two a.m. waitresses on staff at The Wagon Wheel. She joked easily with a few of the members as she presented two heaping platters of French toast followed by a couple large plates of sausages, both links and patties.

As they were all returning to their seats following grace, Jim tapped Scott's arm with the back of his hand and pointed across the table. "Scott, this is Glen Atwater, one of the town's most prolific real estate agents. Glen, Scott Turner. He's the new man in our department."

Glen partially rose and extended a short arm and a fat hand. "Good to know you Scott. Welcome to New Allsted."

"Thank you, Mr. Atwater. It's great to be here."

The realtor grabbed the maple syrup and drowned the fried bread on his plate making sure to not forget a few dribbles on the sausage patties. "Looking for a house in town yet?"

Scott grabbed hold of a thermal pot from the center of the table and filled his coffee cup. "Uhm, not yet, I'm afraid. I just signed into a year's lease on a house just out of town and I'm still just getting my bearings."

"Hasborough's place, I suppose?" Scott nodded the affirmative as Glen shoved a forkful into his mouth and seemed to swallow it without even chewing. "Well," his lower lip and the corner of his mouth glistened with syrup, "give me a call when you're serious. I've catered to an awful lot of our teachers here."

"Thanks, Mr. Atwater, I'll keep it in mind."

He was quickly introduced to Heather Dunnom, a local veterinarian, Scott Milbrath, the pharmacist at the Walgreen's downtown and Andre Covington, Milbrath's brother-in-law and a farmer on the northern edge of town.

As he was discussing the Packers' upcoming pre-season schedule with Covington, a younger man in a very well tailored dark blue suit pulled out the empty chair on Jim's right. As he took his seat, he looked around the table and grinned shyly. "Forgive the late arrival, ladies and gentlemen. I had to stop by the office on the way out here and found that I needed to search the car forever looking for my key to get inside." His southern accent was so out of place and so immediately engaging that Scott momentarily left Dr. Dunnom holding onto the platter of toast as she tried to pass it his way. Scott felt her nudge his arm lightly and obliged in relieving her of the food.

As Scott forked three slices onto his plate, Jim looked his way. "Scott Turner, I'd like you to meet Mr. Jonathan Bedford. Jonathan is an attorney who's been in town a couple years now. Jonathan, Scott is the new History and American Government teacher at the high school."

Scott set the fork back on the platter and set it down on the table in front of Jim. Ignoring Jim's effort to reach for the plate of toast, he reached in front of his host to grasp the southerner's hand.

The lawyer jolted Scott with a perfect smile and gracious nod of the head. "Good to know you, Scott is it?"

Scott took the hand and held it. Something about Jonathan's accent brought out the formality in him. "Yes, sir. Scott Turner. New to the high school here as of a couple weeks ago."

Scott guessed him to be only in his mid to late twenties, maybe thirty in a stretch, but he exuded the confidence of a man older than that. Even seated, Jonathan seemed very fit, his shoulders and chest filling out the nicely tailored suit coat in a very flattering manner. He wore a powder blue shirt and a gold necktie that had been knotted with perfect precision below a strong neck. Among those seated nearby, he was the tallest. Scott guessed him to be easily over six feet. He had wavy chestnut hair cut long enough to part it on the right and comb it back and to the side. He had a prominent brow above probing brown eyes. They reminded Scott of Marty's eyes, with hints of gold speck when the light hit them just so. Except for the neatly cropped mustache and goatee, his face was Romanesque with high cheekbones, a straight and sharply angled nose. A slight cleft in his chin could be detected beneath the rich brown whiskers. His smile was easy but still disarming, and his eye contact was as captivating as the southern drawl.

Jonathan dismissed the formality and reached for his fork with a single fluid hand motion. "Oh, now Scott, you can dispense with the `sir.' I'm only a few years your senior, though it is indeed a pleasure to meet you."

"And you too..."

Milbrath, the pharmacist, made a good natured attempt to copy the accent. "Uhm, Jon'thuhn ain't from these here pawrts."

As Scott handed the plate of sausage to Jim he smiled. "I would have guessed as much. I'm thinking it's not likely South Beloit, either. So where are you from, Jonathan?"

Jonathan beamed and lifted his chin a bit without breaking eye contact. "My good man...I am a proud son..." A half dozen or so members nearby joined in the familiar chorus, "of the sovereign Commonwealth of Virginia." They all laughed together.

Jonathan winked at Scott. "You'll have to forgive their soggy dialects, Scott, although I must admit that I do have them all pretty well trained."

A friendly groan rose from around the table. Atwater put down his fork. "Now you've done it, Scott. Went and invited our token yokel to get on his soapbox."

A voice from the end of the table said, "Or sue somebody."

Jonathan was already laughing with the group. Scott put up his hands in defense. "All I did was ask him where he was from!"

Jim leaned over, grinning. "That's all it takes, Scott."

Scott and Jonathan exchanged a long glance and very sociable smiles.

After tending to a little club business, the president yielded the floor to that day's program member. Jim had explained that a couple times a year, each member is expected to provide a program, usually a guest speaker that they believed would interest the group. This morning's guest was one of the teachers from St. Mary's who had spent a semester in Russia as part of an exchange program.

There were very few questions from the club members, leaving them with about ten minutes to enjoy another cup of coffee and chew the fat before scurrying off to their busy days. One of the men at the end of the table asked those nearby, "Anybody else see the little blurb in the Milwaukee paper the other day about Arly Flemming? Seems the village of Oak Grove has hired him to head the municipal buildings and grounds department." A smattering of groans, guffaws and chuckles came out in a mirthful chorus.

Jim leaned over to fill Scott in on the local gossip. "Arly was on the city council here for about a decade, until just last year. He was also the treasurer for the area United Way. Well, seems a few donations to the charity ended up in a separate account up in a Waunakee bank that had never done business with our United Way...an account that Arly controlled."

Ms. Dunnom poured another cup of coffee. "A few? That was about eleven thousand dollars."

Atwater was busy tearing and twisting bits of his spent napkin as he glanced Scott's way and gave a crooked grin. "Arly's situation stunk so high that even Jonathan wouldn't represent him."

Jonathan grinned knowingly. "Well, Mr. Atwater, you'll recall that Mr. Flemming restored, upon very good advice," he pinched the Windsor knot of his tie and stretched his head a bit higher, "...he replaced every dime of the funds in question, thereby forestalling any real need for legal counsel."

Jim leaned over again. "Arly paid it back, resigned from the counsel and quietly left town."

"Arly got sweetheart treatment from the City Attorney's office, and then he was run out of town on a rail," added Milbrath, shaking his head. "Most arrogant s.o.b. I've ever known."

Jonathan sighed and dropped a hand to his knee, slowly nodding. "Of course, some would say that there's something to be said for real arrogance. Arly has a knack for taking pride today for something he might decide to do tomorrow. It avoids any stress over whether or not he actually gets it done." The group chuckled and the lawyer leaned forward a few degrees, signaling the he wasn't quite finished. He squared his broad shoulders and glanced around. "Well, since he was never a client of mine, not formally, confidentiality would not apply. So I can share what my dear departed grandmother...God rest her soul...would have said. He pinched his voice and waved a shaky finger in a parody of an elderly southern matron. `Ah wish ah could have bought that man for what he IS worth, and then sold him for what he THINKS he's worth.'"

The group within earshot all laughed. Scott grinned and thought, `And he loves and quotes his Gran.' The club members all started to rise, signaling an end to the casual bull session.

Before they left, Jim went out of his way to introduce Scott to the club's president, Chuck Jorgenson and the membership chairwoman, Maggie Cigelske. They were both very welcoming, each of them inviting him to consider becoming a member. He told them both that he'd think about it. Chuck slapped his back. "Good way to get out and meet some folks in the community, Scott. And, we've put up with Jim Daley all these years. We could use some fresh blood from the educational ranks around here." Jim handled the barb with a grin and a slap on Chuck's back.

Scott thanked them both and assured them that he'd give it some thought. Jim interrupted with a hand on Scott's shoulder. "Well, we've got kids coming in in just about fifteen minutes. Don't want Mr. Turner to be tardy." They said their quick goodbyes and headed for the door. As they neared the exit, Scott felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around into Jonathan's still-perfect smile.

"Again, it is good to know you, Scott." He handed him a card. "This is my office, right off of Plover on Fourth Street. There's a coffee shop right across the street. Give a call or stop in some time and we'll have a cup and a piece of their outstanding pie. I know a bit about being a newcomer to town not that long ago, and maybe we can chew the fat some."

Scott smiled. "That could be a good after school break. I just might do that one of these days. Thank you, Jonathan."

The lawyer grinned again, a bit more demurely this time, and gave him a short quick nod. "Then I'll hope to see you some day soon. But you'd better get a move on." He nodded toward the lot. "Jim's going to beat you back to school by a stretch if I don't let you get going."

Scott followed Jim's car into the heart of town and up to the high school. They parked in the lot, Scott right behind Jim, and Scott had to step fast to catch up with his mentor on the way to the door of the building. "Thanks for inviting me, Jim. That was kind of fun. You were right about getting out and about and meeting some of the locals. They all seem like good people. Even that Bedford guy. He seemed like a pretty decent sort, even with that corny drawl and all, not to mention the Confederate pride."

Jim didn't register any emotion, but only shrugged. "Good enough, I guess. I don't know him all that well. He just joined us about six months ago. Certainly don't know him at all socially." To Scott's ear, Jim's indifference seemed spiced with a pinch of disdain. It was enough to make him wonder, `Does he dislike southerners, or does he dislike lawyers?' He let it go and went on to thinking about his first hour class.

The study hall Scott was assigned to supervise was scheduled in the cafeteria. For five periods each day, they unfolded the vinyl "accordion" walls about two thirds of the way across the large room, dividing it into three smaller spaces. They left the last eight feet or so open so the teachers could see each other and, more importantly, each other's group of kids. That way, if one of them needed to go to the office for something or use the restroom, the others could keep an eye on the space next door. Scott and his group of eleventh graders were in the middle of the set up, with Brian Early on his right and Janice Stofflet, one of the math teachers, on his left.

The first few days were devoted to setting the mood of the rooms. Three teachers watching ninety kids needed to all be on the same page. They encouraged those who wanted to go to the band or chorus rooms to do so. They encouraged those who wanted to use the library or computer lab to do so. The goal, Brian had explained to Scott the first day, was to whittle the assigned students down to those who really wanted to use the time to study. "If they're gonna screw off, better they do it someplace else. If they screw off too bad with other staff members in other rooms, they're just gonna get sent back here anyway. If they're more interested in reading a newspaper in the library or blowing a horn in a band practice room, more power to them."

Janice nodded. "I've found the trick to having a good study hall is to be more strict here than they're going to find elsewhere. Bathroom passes are rare, chatting isn't tolerated, sleeping isn't allowed. If that cramps their style, oh well. If they see those rules rigidly enforced the first few days and decide they don't want to live with them, they'll find another teacher to take `em in this hour. After that, if you want to loosen it up a little bit, okay, but the first week is important in sending a message that this isn't going to be a playground."

It made sense to Scott to play the tough guy right out of the gate and so he followed suit. By Friday afternoon, his list of twenty-eight students had dwindled to anywhere between twelve and fifteen students who actually intended on studying during study hall. The rest had secured permission from other teachers to be in their rooms during seventh hour.

Friday afternoon, Scott was sitting in study hall and was recording the first quiz scores of the semester for both the U.S. History and the American Government courses. "I promised at least one pop quiz on the text reading in each unit," he had reminded the groaning students the day before as he was handing out the quizzes. "You'll recall that I told you that promise' is a big word for me—one that I don't use lightly. If I say I promise,' it doesn't mean I might. It doesn't mean I'll try.' It means `I'll definitely do it.'"

The scores were either perfect or abysmal, indicating which students got the whole `promise' thing and which ones hadn't. There was no middle ground on this first quiz. Scott was hoping that it had been a good wake-up call for the students at the low end of the scores on this first sample of Mr. Turner's routine. Just as he placed his pencil point back on a tiny square in his record book, a yellow blur flashed in front of his eyes and his pencil involuntarily shot across the page, leaving a heavy gray mark in its wake. The kids in his own study hall erupted in laughter as Scott looked to his right and saw a tennis ball bouncing its way toward Janice's study hall. In his confusion, he also heard the kids next door in Brian's portion of the room laughing as well. He looked up to see Brian wearing a devilish smile and shrugging. The impish English teacher was having a little fun at the expense of the new social studies teacher and it was he who had thrown the offending ball. "It's Friday afternoon," Brian whispered. "Time to lighten up a little, Mr. Turner." Then the bell rang.

As they entered the office together before the last class of the week, Scott's nod and smile in Millie's direction went unnoticed, or maybe ignored. She was busy sliding into her jacket, as she was done for the day. Scott reached instead to empty his mailbox. As he sorted the junk from the rest he sighed. "Ah, well, it's Friday. Big weekend coming up?"

Brian leaned on the counter. "Nah. Just gonna laze around the house unless Trish has made plans for us she hasn't shared yet." There was a hint of bitterness in the remark and Scott let it slide. "But you talked about looking at our tenth grade classes and seeing about chances to overlap our curriculum. Want to get together and compare notes?"

Scott thought for just an instant. "Can't this weekend. I'm painting two of the spare rooms and going shopping for a desk. How `bout Monday morning before school? I like to get moving right away on Mondays. We could meet for breakfast at Gustavson's." Gustavson's was a tiny diner in the heart of town Scott had wanted to visit anyway.

Brian tossed some junk mail into the recycling bin. "Works for me. I'll talk to Tara and see if she'd care to join us." Then he grinned and ducked his head a few inches. "You realize that this could lead to my teaching Grapes of Wrath or To Kill a Mockingbird' out of the regular sequence, don't you? Maybe I'll even add a title or two to this year's reading list if they'd fit along with your units. I wouldn't mind adding The Autobiography of Malcom X'. The Iron Lady' will have a friggin' cow!"

Scott whispered back with a grin. "And that alone would make it worthwhile for you wouldn't it?"

Brian giggled and posed as if in deep reflection. "An iron calf born to the English department. Will that make us guilty of idolatry?"

Scott grabbed the door and held it open. "Only if you worship it, I suppose."

Brian laughed again. "Fat chance." He nudged Scott's shoulder. "Have a good weekend, Mr. Turner."

"You do the same Mr. Early."

It was a warm Friday afternoon when Scott hooked Brett on the rope tied to the rail of the deck's steps and went back in to change. He quickly shed his tie and other work clothes in favor of some old cargo shorts and one of a half dozen `Turner for State Senate' t-shirts in his dresser. He only wore those around the house. He flopped on the couch and put his bare feet on the coffee table. He contemplated the weekend looming and sighed a couple of times until Brett the Dog whined at the screen door that his business on the back lawn was finished and he wanted back in. Scott slid the door open, fished a Milkbone out of the box next to the toaster and tossed it in the air for Brett to catch before returning to the sofa and plopping down on the end opposite the fattest cat in the world. His feet returned to the edge of the table.

He looked over at the cat. "This growing up shit is seriously over-rated sometimes." The cat didn't miss a beat of the cadence he was working on, licking his right paw and cleaning his face. Lick, lick, wipe, wipe, wipe. Lick, lick, wipe...

He looked from the cat to the dog, and then to the ceiling. "Okay, kids, let's review. Greg's gone. This is a well-established fact." He looked at the dog to see if Brett was listening. He was, but was mostly watching to see if Scott might move toward the kitchen again anytime soon. Scott shrugged at the alert brown eyes. "Not that anybody's to blame for that, or that we even need to blame anybody. We've been over that about a dozen or so times, haven't we?"

He rubbed his right hand over his hair. "It's just that, time was, I was getting' laid all the time. Practically whenever I wanted and sometimes when I didn't even expect it."

Scott and Greg had never made any clarion promises of absolute fidelity when Greg moved north, nor had they after Greg was in Mankato. Scott had assumed, correctly as it turned out, that Greg and Nick were getting it on now and again. And, Scott had assumed that Greg had assumed that he'd been getting busy in Madison from time to time. Their friendship and love for each other was real, but they'd lived a mostly don't ask, don't tell' relationship where occasional and convenient dalliances were concerned over the past two years. There'd been a guy, Bryon, who was a teaching assistant for Professor Falkenthal in Poli-Sci, whose office was just down the hall from Professor Cushing's. They'd gone out to a couple of parties and wound up back at Bryon's sweating up the sheets both times. He'd also messed around with a wiry and well-hung blond guy who worked out the same time he did three times a week at the Natatorium on the south end of campus. His name, as it happened, was also Greg. He gave outstanding head, but that was it. No kissing with this Greg and he professed that he'd only given a few fleeting thoughts of ever fucking another guy, let alone taking it himself. There was a young Marine who was in Madison for a friend's wedding and came to town early to carouse on his own. Scott met him in a gay bar on the far south end of town one Thursday night, and went back to his hotel room, staying until they'd washed each other slowly in the shower at about nine the following morning, each guy cumming for the fourth time. Josh had changed his travel plans so he could stay over Sunday night and the two of them scheduled a repeat performance before the beautifully toned and honed, and amazingly agile jarhead had to leave for San Diego. Scott smirked. Damn. Wish Josh the Marine was back in town.'

The dog watched Scott's shift of weight for any indication that he might stand, and wagged his tail in encouragement. "But now? Nooooooh! We gotta act all growed up."

Scott leaned back and sighed again before reaching over to pet the cat's back. The cat was undeterred in his primping. Scott scoffed. "You got a date or something tonight, lardass? Gotta look all cool and shit for some hot stuff that you're not telling ol' Scotty about?"

He grabbed the remote and hit the power button. TNT came on with an episode of a syndicated rerun of some crime show he'd seen a couple of times. He hit `mute' and looked back at the dog. "And even with Greg gone, Marty's never really leaving, of course. He'll always be around for us, sort of, ya' know? But...but...like the two of us said, he's out of reach...off the market. Plus, he's over two hours away. And even if he was just around the corner..." he caught himself and used one of Evelyn's old lines. "IF...if...if my aunt had balls she'd be my uncle. But that ain't exactly the case now, is it?" He scratched the dog's head. "Wasn't it fun havin' Marty here for a couple days last weekend? Ya' miss ol' Marty?" Brett thumped his tail on the floor and Scott smiled. "Yeah. Me too."

He was quiet a full minute while he surveyed the blank wall above the TV. "And here we are, boys. Friday night after the first week at work, and we're all growed up. No dope smokin'. No messing with other illicit substances...not that I really want to, mind you." He patted the cat as if to reassure him. "No `bombs bursting in air' wild sex." He pursed his lips and shook his head. "Nope. We're growing up all over the place. And, ya' know?" He rubbed the bridge of Brett the dog's snout with his fingertips. "It kinda sucks at times."

He went to the kitchen, snatched a tumbler from the cupboard, filled it with ice and grabbed the bottle of Jim Beam. He filled it a third of the way with booze, topped that off with what was left of a half-empty bottle of Coke from the fridge and went out to the deck. He reminded himself of the painting that waited for him on Saturday and Sunday, sat down on one of his new deck chairs facing the back lawn and set the glass down on the wide wooden arm.

He considered that maybe he should have told Brian Early that he wanted to go out for a few after work. Or maybe he shouldn't have stiff-armed Tara when she popped into his room after the last class and asked if he wanted to go to the football game tonight over in Weldon Falls. Perhaps he should have said yes. Maybe not. He slumped a little lower in the chair. `What's up with her, really?'

Scott scoffed at himself as he sipped his drink. She's flirting with you, dummy. Big time. All the time." He propped his bare feet on the deck's lower rail and reached down to scratch the dog behind the right ear. Brett looked up with his tongue dangling. "What d'ya s'pose I'm gonna do about that, huh boy? She's a nice gal. A great lookin' gal. She's pretty fun, and funny most of the time. She's good company. Easy to talk to and easy to joke with. And we have a lot in common...our age...we're both fresh out of college with stories to tell...we're both small town Wisconsin kids...we're both new to teaching and we're working in the same building. And, of course, we're both into guys." He took another mouthful of his drink and leaned back to look up at the blue sky. "Yep. Whatcha gonna do bout that, smart guy?"

The sun was just starting to sink below the tree tops. In another month, by this time of day, it'd be completely obscured behind branches losing their foliage, and he'd be wearing sweatpants. A month after that, he'd probably need to bundle up and turn on the deck light. He swatted his shin. "At least the mosquitos might be gone by then," he muttered as he scratched the fresh bug bite.

He shut his eyes and laid his head back. 35 miles...only had half a drink so far, so good to drive...open invitation to crash at Craig n' Steph's place if needed...should paint tomorrow, but if it didn't happen, oh well, the pets won't complain. If I stayed overnight, they'd be good til then. Feed em both, put the dog in the kennel and, even if you're gone a full twenty-four hours, they'll be good."

He opened his eyes and looked at Brett the Dog. "You're in charge for the night, Brett. I'm goin' to Madison."

He finished the drink, took a shower and brushed his teeth, and then quickly packed an overnight bag. He slid into a pair of tight jeans that he thought did his muscular butt justice and a tight ribbed black tee that did the same above the belt. He checked in the mirror and didn't mind what he saw, but reminded himself that he needed to plot a new running route this week and put that back into his regular regimen. The forecast called for a mild evening with no rain, but he grabbed a white button-down to put on over it, just in case. He called Craig's cell and got his recorded voice inviting him to leave a message. "'Sup, bud? I suppose you're either still working or out with the beautiful Stephanie on this lovely Friday evening. Just lettin' you know that I'm coming up to Madison tonight and am gonna take you up on your offer of some refuge when I'm in town. Gimme a call back on the cell or leave the side door open. Not sure when I'm gonna be there, but I'm pretty sure I'm gonna need a place to crash."

The Club was one of three gay bars in Madison that Scott was aware of. It was just a half-block off the capitol square. Scott hadn't been there in quite a while, and he chuckled softly to himself as he opened the door. He recalled the night he'd convinced Craig and Brett to venture into the establishment. Like the last time he'd been there, it was starting to fill up with what appeared to be a wide variety of clientele. He'd been sipping a beer and enjoying some of the eye candy around the bar when he caught the reflection of a guy in the mirror taking the seat to his left.

He was a cutie. Asian, maybe Hawaiian, Scott thought. He was short, about five foot six, and had a compact, tight but very nicely contoured frame. He wore his maroon silk shirt opened to the third button to show off a fine gold chain, and wore the sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm. His wore his straight, jet black hair with bangs covering his forehead about an inch above his brows, and the almond-shaped dark eyes caught his as soon as he turned and nodded.

The stranger flashed a bright white smile of perfect teeth. "Good evening." There was no hint of an accent, to Scott's surprise.

Scott swallowed a sip of beer and nodded. "How's it goin'?"

The guy ordered a beer from the bartender and then turned and shrugged. "Been better. Been worse, I guess." He stuck out a hand. "I'm Willie."

Scott offered up his own hand and nodded again. "Scott." Willie kept the hand longer than Scott had expected, though he didn't mind. `The dude's a hottie,' he thought.

"You a student, Scott?" Willie asked after releasing Scott's hand and grabbing his beer.

Scott followed suit and shook his head. "Not any more. Graduated last spring. Just started a job a little more than a half hour or so southeast of here in New Allsted."

Willie's knee brushed Scott's. "Yeah? What do you do?"

Scott didn't move his leg. "I'm teaching high school." Willie gave him a thumbs up. "And you? Going to school here?"

"Yep. Senior this year in international relations."

Scott smiled and nodded. "Very cool. And then what?"

Willie took another gulp from his glass and sighed. "Probably back to D.C. My dad's been attached to the Philippine embassy in Washington since I was a little kid. I was born in Manila, but the old man got plucked out of the corporate world to become a diplomat when Marcos got his ass run out of town and I was really young. So I grew up here in the States. Only been back to the Philippines three times."

Scott was now fascinated, both by Willie's story and his hot body and alluring smile. "So, what brought you to Madison? Seems a diplomat's son could go just about anywhere."

Willie grinned. "I could have, prob'ly. Met a guy going to Georgetown when I was just in high school and we had this thing going. He was from here, and I drove my parents nuts by coming back with him for a five-day weekend during the winter break my senior year in high school. I discovered I love the snow. Learned how to ski and snowboard and we had crazy wild sex all week long." He wiggled his eyebrows up and down with a sly grin. Then he sighed, "But then he dumped me for a congressional aide with TV good looks and, I'm guessing, a really big cock."

Scott was a bit taken aback by Willie's blunt account, but shook his head in sympathy. "His loss. But you came here for school anyway?"

Willie emptied his glass and motioned to the bartender. "Jimmy, give us a couple more, will you?" Then he looked back, pressing his knee more firmly against Scott's. "I do like the snow and I like Madison a lot. The hubbub of your nation's capitol can be a pain in the ass, and coming to the middle of the country like this makes my folks a little crazy, so all the better." He laughed. "They think I'm living in fucking Podunkland, even though they've never been here. Plus, it's a good school."

They chatted and flirted for the better part of an hour over two more tap beers. Willie talked about growing up and going to top-tier private schools near Embassy Row in the District of Columbia. Scott mentioned, mostly in passing, that he'd been part of the student government at UW. Suddenly, Willie's eyes widened and his lower jaw dropped. "You're the dude who was the president of WSA! The one who told that religious nut to `sit down and shut the fuck up' in the middle of a meeting a couple years ago!"

Scott giggled and felt himself blush. "That was in a former life. And, actually, it was near the end of the meeting. Still, it was fun, and I'm glad I did it."

Willie ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. "No fuckin' way! Me and some of my buds talked and laughed about that for days. I was never really into the whole political thing on campus, but, dude! That was a choice move!"

Scott shrugged and put down his glass. "Want to have another?"

Willie grinned. "One more, and then I gotta go. But first, I'm gonna need to make some room for it." As he stood to go to the men's room he put a hand on Scott's knee. Their eyes locked and Willie didn't move his hand. "And maybe, after this round, you'll want to come back to my place with me." He grinned and slid his hand up Scott's thigh as he stepped off his barstool.

Five minutes later, a maroon clad arm dropped across Scott's shoulder as Willie reached over and grabbed his fresh beer with the other hand. Scott leaned into the half-embrace. Willie took a long gulp and then whispered. "What say, sport? My place when we're done with this one?"

Scott took a long drink and glanced back. "And then?"

Willie leered as his hand brushed across Scott's left nipple. "And then you fuck me silly." His thumb rubbed up and down on Scott's hardening nub. "Do what you want with me. Make me your whore, if that's what you want."

Scott looked around self-consciously at first, but nobody seemed to be paying attention. Then he leered at the Asian beauty. "Well, I aim to please, and can be as aggressive as you might want."

"Might want?" Willie whispered, and his tongue flicked the top of Scott's ear. "I know what I do want. I want you to make me your bitch."

Scott held his gaze. "I drove up here tonight. Where's your place?"

"I walked over from the other side of the square. I have a condo half-way between the dome and the lake, and there's parking in the lot next to the building. It's gated and very safe."

Scott nodded. "The new ones. They were gutting out that building when I worked over there, and putting the finishing touches on the place about the time I graduated."

Willie nuzzled Scott's ear. "I'm on the sixth floor. Great view of the lake on one side. Great view of the capitol on the other." His tongue swiped the edge of Scott's ear. "Not that you'll be spending any time on the view."

Scott reached down with his free hand turned backward and his palm found Willie's package. He curled his fingers up and lightly squeezed what he judged a hefty and plumping cock. He shrugged his indifference to the views. "I've seen `em both plenty of times."

The door was barely shut when Scott had Willie pinned against the wall with his own body and he had a firm grip on Willie's wrists, holding them motionless just above the head. Willie gasped and Scott swooped down and took advantage of the slightly opened mouth. He ground their lips together and probed Willie's teeth and tongue with his own. Willie offered a slight squirm under Scott's strength, but wore a soft, glistening grin when Scott broke off the assault of his mouth.

Willie whispered his throaty encouragement. "I like your style, Scott. I like a man who knows what he wants and knows how to get it."

Scott pushed his swelling package forward and ground it into his willing host. "I know what I want and what I need right now, and I plan to have it." New Allsted was a million miles away as Scott pulled Willie away from the wall and wrapped his arms around him. He reached up from the back and grabbed a handful of Willie's hair and pulled it back. Willie closed his eyes and sucked his lips into his own mouth, whimpering through his nose. Scott bent down a few inches and teased Willies exposed neck with his teeth and tongue. He scraped the enamel up and down the light olive skin by slowly turning his head left and right, with his tongue darting in and out in random swipes at Willies smooth flesh. Willie whimpered again and opened his eyes half way.

"I'm all yours, sir." His gaze was a smoldering.

Scott didn't even try to suppress his lascivious leer and he followed Willie's lead. Both hands found Willie's pecs and the pert little nubs that peaked beneath the maroon silk. He pinched them both, hard. Willie's eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he gasped. "Oh, god! The nipples are very touchy sir! I'm sorry."

Scott's grin tightened a bit. "I'm not."

Willie whined and squirmed a little beneath Scott's fingers. Scott spread his legs a bit further apart and he pressed his knees against the wall on either side of the small Filipino's hips. He was fully hard now, his diagonal tool aching between the silk of his boxers and his own warm flesh. He pressed his full weight forward and enjoyed the sensation of his turgid member being squeezed against his willing and whimpering partner. The little guy was his prisoner, faking a mild protest. Willie's hands found Scott's thighs and he kneaded them through the denim. "Such strong thighs."

Scott sneered. "All the better to hold your head in place while I lie on my back and feed you, or to hammer myself home...into you...if the mood strikes me."

Willie smiled again. "Whatever your pleasure, sir." Willie dropped to his knees. His fine, silky black hair formed rows that danced lightly as Scott ran his hands, fingers slightly splayed, from his temples to the back of his head. Scott's fingers found each other and locked together and he pulled Willie's face forward. Following Scott's lead, Willie's lips parted and he gently gnawed on the outline of the diagonal tube straining behind the denim of Scott's jeans and the silk of his boxers. The pressure, expertly applied by the hungry Filipino, sent a jolt of joy through Scott's groin. He rocked his hips forward and back, left and right and a let go a sublime sigh that made Willie smile with his face still seemingly joined to Scott's swaying crotch.

Slowly, starting just above Scott's knees, Willie's hands slid upward over Scott's taut thighs. Eyes closed, Willie continued to lick and nibble and suck at the bulging fabric in front of him. He didn't pull his face back until his fingers found the loose end of Scott's belt. Willie kneaded Scott's aching, now leaking member through the heavy cloth and pulled on the belt's end. Scott heard the buckle's pin fall loose from the small eyelet of his belt and admired the adept speed with which Willie was able to unbutton the top button of his jeans.

Scott's head was back against the wall, his eyes only partially opened and only dimly focused on the opposite wall where it met the ceiling. He sucked both lips in between his teeth and sighed again as he placed his hands firmly on Willie's shoulders. Then he pushed. Firmly, but not quite forcefully. Just as Willie's hand hit the floor behind him to prevent falling over, Scott heard himself blurt out, "No!"

Willie giggled and reached up and forward again. "I can do better, sir." He reached again for Scott's zipper. "Willie just needs to get at that beautiful..."

Scott grabbed Willie's wrists and raised his right leg in an attempt to confound Willie's well-intended efforts. "No. Really! I mean it, man! This was a mistake."

Willie's submissive little boy face evaporated in an instant, and it was now contorted with a combination of very adult-like confusion and indignation. He sat his ass full on the floor, both hands flat on the hard wood and looked up in befuddled scorn. "Well you sure as FUCK could have fooled me! What is this, some kinda sick game you like to play?"

Scott fumbled to fasten the top button of his jeans, wishing the guy would at least stand up. While he hastily hitched his belt, Willie finally stood. Scott stuttered. "Look, Willie, I'm...I'm really sorry. I thought I..."

Willie planted his feet firmly and leaned forward at the waist. Rage flashed in his dark eyes. Scott looked away. "Dude! Being a dick tease is one thing. Shit! I can play that fucking game with the best of them! But you come over here...into my condo...pin me against the wall...get us both all hard and hot and bothered...and..." He wiped his forehead in disbelief and took a deep breath. "You know, I coulda come back here with any of the hot guys in that fucking bar tonight? You know how many dirty leers and `I wanna fuck you' vibes I got when I went to the john? Jesus! This horse hung muscle dude at the urinal next to me practically waved his big piece of meat in my face!"

Scott was nearly pleading now. "I'm sure you could have...I mean...look man...I'm sorry...I just..."

Willie cut him off. "But I said to myself, Nope. Not this time. Tonight my ass is gonna be all Scott's. I'm gonna rock this hot dude's world and maybe,' he used his extended index finger to jab Scott in the chest and he sprayed his furious words in Scott's face. "'Maybe,' I thought, maybe it'd be fun to teach this hot young teacher a thing or two that he'll never forget.' So I just kind of shrugged at the hunk in the john and said, `I'm with somebody.'"

Scott tucked in his shirt, if only to have something to do with his hands. "Willie! I'm sorry, man! You're damned hot...sexy as shit and all that...and I do...or I did want...I mean I didn't mean to...no, this isn't some sick game I play. When we came over here, I did...that is...oh, fuck!"

Willie leaned closer as his arm shot out and he pointed at the door. "Get out! Just get the fuck outa here! Go back to wherever and jerk the guys over there around for kicks. Maybe there's a hot young stud at the high school you can play your fuckin' mind games with. One who doesn't know any better."

Scott scoured his brain for something, anything that might possibly resemble any kind of redemption. "Look, man, it's still fairly early. Lemme give you a ride back to The Club. You can..."

"Aw, fuck off, you sad ass poser! I wouldn't take a ride across the fucking street from you. You'd probably slow the car down and roll me out half way there. Now get the fuck out!"

Scott stopped at the threshold and turned. He opened his mouth again without a clue as to what he might say. Willie's lip curled again and he nodded Scott away with a toss of his head. "Time's up, asshole." He started to close the door. "Don't waste another fucking breath and get the fuck outa my doorway or this fucker's gonna break your nose. Your fucking loss, loser."

The door slammed and Scott's walk toward the elevator hastened to a jog within the first three or four steps. He pounded on the `Down' button three times, but when the doors didn't immediately open he turned and headed for the stairs at the end of the short hallway. He ran down six flights, two steps at a time and out the front door of the building. The cool night air hit him, slapping his perspiring forehead and upper lip with an instant chill. He picked up his pace again past the iron fence that protected the parking lot, finally grabbing onto a rail to swing himself through the gate, and headed for his car at the far end of the lot.

Author's Note: Thanks to Kory, Peter, Ted and Scott for their unfailing help in producing the finished work. Any remaining typos are the fault of the author for missing or overlooking something along the way. And my two southern advisors, Scott and William, are a great help in assisting this dopey cheesehead to write a character from south of the Mason-Dixon line. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated at: scotty.13411@hotmail.com.