The Temptations of St. Frank by Anthony Bruno Page A

for the door, but Mr. Dalton yelled over them. “Boys! I want you to read the Hemingway story in your anthology.” He pointed to the blackboard where he’d already written down the assignment. “It’s short. Read it tonight and we’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
    Richard “the Brown-Nosed Reindeer” Bauerman waved his hand like a drowning man. “Will there be a quiz on it, Mr. Dalton?”
    Dalton gave him a withering look. “No, Bauerman. Just read it and
enjoy
it,
appreciate
it.
That’s
the assignment.”
    Frank hung back, waiting for the other guys to leave. Dalton noticed him as he tossed his class ledger into his attaché case and closed the lid.
    â€œNice story, Grimaldi.”
    â€œThanks.” Frank kept his voice down, not wanting any of the other guys to think he was trying to be a brown-noser. “You wrote on my paper that you wanted to see me?”
    â€œYeah, I wanted to talk about your writing. I think you’ve got some talent.”
    Frank shrugged. He didn’t know how to take a compliment. In his house compliments were always backhanded or came with qualifiers, like “nice story, but too bad you’re not better at something that will make you some money some day, like math.”
    â€œYou ought to stretch yourself a little more,” Dalton said.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Frank automatically became the defensive, waiting for the compliment to turn into criticism.
    â€œWell, I liked your story about the cider vendor. It showed a lot of imagination. But I’d like to see you write something from life, something you’ve experienced, something you know.”
    â€œBut this was supposed to be fiction.”
    â€œA lot of times there’s more truth in fiction than non-fiction. When you don’t have to stick to the facts, you’re free to write what you feel and get to the heart of the matter. You know what I’m saying?”
    â€œYeah… I think so.” Frank wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to say so. He didn’t want Mr. Dalton to think less of him.
    â€œYou’ve turned in a couple of stories for
The Nest.
”
The Nest
was the school literary magazine, and Mr. Dalton was the faculty advisor. “I’m hoping you’ll write more for us, but in your future stories try to incorporate pieces of your own life. Not the particulars, but the feelings, the emotions, your wants and needs.”
    Great, Frank thought, a story about wanting to get laid before going to college? How about a story about wanting to start a band so that I can be cool enough to get a girl who will do it with me? Or a story about wanting to go away to college so I can escape my crazy family and live in a dorm where I can get laid? I don’t think so, Frank thought.
    â€œGive it some thought, Grimaldi. You can bounce your ideas off me anytime. I’m always available.”
    No thanks, Frank thought. Dalton was a good guy, but he was still a teacher, and Frank’s strategies for getting laid weren’t something he was ready to share.
    The second bell rang.
    â€œShit!” Frank muttered, looking toward the door. “I gotta go, Mr. Dalton. I have to see Mr. Whalley.”
    Dalton looked surprised, and his expression wounded Frank. He didn’t want Dalton to think of him as one of
those
kind of guys, guys who get into trouble all the time and have to do jug. Frank was no goody-goody; he was just good at not getting caught. He liked to think of himself as a behind-the-scenes kind of guy. A Cardinal Richelieu type.
    â€œWell, you’d better get going, Grimaldi. We’ll talk about this some more later.”
    â€œOkay, Mr. Dalton. And thanks.” He held up his story.
    â€œDon’t thank me. You’re the one who wrote it.”
    Mr. Dalton’s encouraging smile stayed with Frank as he rushed out of the classroom, shoving his story into the pages of his world history