Bottled Up by Jaye Murray

those same girls had been in their high school back when they were pimply-faced teenagers.
    I want to know who the teachers are when they aren’t teaching.
    I had my excuse all ready.
    I was going to tell Fleming that I helped Josie the cafeteria lady pick up a bunch of chocolate milk cartons she’d dropped outside the kitchen. Josie hurt her right elbow and needed me to carry the milk for her. I put my notebook down to help her, but when I went back to get it, it was gone. I went into all the classes near the kitchen to see if anybody had found it, and some kid Jerry said he had brought it to the main office. By the time I got it back, the bell had already rung and I was late for her class.
    It was the perfect lie—full of solid details.
    But merry freakin’ Christmas! Fleming wasn’t there. We had a sub.
    â€œSorry I’m late,” I said, ready to go into my milk carton story.
    â€œThat’s okay. Glad you could make it. I’m Mr. Kirkland.” The sub smiled at me as if we were old friends. I’d never seen the guy before in my life. “Take a seat wherever you like,” he said.
    There was a free spot right next to Jenna. She sits in the first row and normally I’d never be caught dead up front, but I headed right for it anyway. I didn’t know how she was going to feel about it. She’s not the kind of girl who hangs out with guys on their way to having a rap sheet, and the last time she’d seen me I had a cop for a chauffeur.
    â€œSo when is Ms. Fleming coming back?” Maria Lopez asked from the second row.
    â€œNever, I hope,” another girl said.
    â€œWhat happened to the old bat?” I asked.
    â€œShe had a car accident,” Jenna said, looking right at me. She looked right at me. I couldn’t talk, I’m not even sure I was breathing.
    â€œIs she dead?” some idiot football jock wanted to know.
    â€œNo, she’s very much alive.” Kirkland leaned against the desk and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. He looked as if he wasn’t used to the shirt-and-tie gig.
    â€œThings could be better for her,” he said. “She’s in the hospital, and chances are I’ll be your teacher for the rest of the school year.”
    â€œYou give a lot of homework?” asked a kid who actually does homework.
    I was still looking at Jenna—watching her listening to Kirkland. I wondered if she was checking him out, maybe getting a crush on him. He had that blond-haired, blue-eyed little boy look that girls like. I felt sick just thinking she was hot for him.
    â€œJenna,” I whispered.
    She looked at me but I didn’t know what to say when she did. I shrugged my shoulders and looked behind me as if it had been somebody else calling her name. Mr. Smooth strikes again.
    â€œEverybody introduced themselves at the start of class, but I didn’t get to hear from you,” Kirkland said to me. “You are?”
    â€œPip. Pip Downs.”
    â€œWhat a great name,” he said. “Sounds like something out of an eighteenth-century British novel.”
    Jenna smiled when he said that. I wasn’t sure if it was because she thought my name was cool or because she thought he was.
    â€œI want to know what everyone’s favorite book is,” Kirkland said. “So let’s start with you, Pip. What’s the best book you’ve ever read?”
    I was going to say something smart-ass to him about how I couldn’t remember the last time I’d read a book. But he was smiling that old-pal smile at me and Jenna was waiting for my answer as if she really wanted to know what I was going to say.
    â€œI forget what it was called. The Outsiders or something like that.”
    â€œS. E. Hinton. A great book. So you’re a fan of stories with a lot of internal and external struggle—man against man, man against himself. The novel I’m assigning today is one of those.”
    He went on