Teachable Moments

Chapter 2

Savannah POV

"Is that really up to regulation?" My dad asks eyeing my uniforms skirt.

I nod innocently and shove a few pieces of bacon in my mouth.

"You're the one who bought it," I remind him.

He mumbles something under his breath before walking around my mother who's bustling about

the kitchen and opening a drawer.

He walks towards me with a ruler and puts it at my knee, not noticing the way I bend over "to

see for myself" adds an extra four or five inches to the hem.

He tilts his head and stands with a sigh.

"Alright honey. Have a good day at school," he says kissing my forehead.

I say my goodbyes and head outside and wait on the porch for my friend Karrie to pull up.

That was a win, I smile to myself.

Obviously, my dad bought a regulation skirt and blouse set. The only problem is that it's hideous.

At least it was. Thanks to my mother signing me up for sewing classes over the summer, I found

that it was no problem to adjust the length accordingly to my preference. It is my life after all and

if I want a skirt that doesn't itch my knees, then why shouldn't I have it?

I scan the ends of my hair with boredom. I wish I could dye the bland black strands a fun color,

but of course school policy deems that inappropriate.

I wonder how yellow a blonde person would have to dye their hair before it's deemed unnatural

and inappropriate.

A honk knocks me back to reality and look up with a smile before jogging to the classic punch

buggy that Karrie pulled up in.

This thing sat in her driveway for years until her dad decided to fix it up for her as an eighteenth

birthday gift. She got to pick the light blue coloring and everything.

I'm jealous. I may be a senior, but it's still a couple months until I turn seventeen. Yes, I skipped

a grade.

No. It's not because I'm extremely smart. When I switched schools last year, the headmaster said

that I was taking more classes than I should have been. Enough to classify as a whole nother

year. So I got bumped up. Lucky me.

"Can you do that to my skirt?" Karrie asks eyeing the hem that rides up almost mid thigh while

I'm sitting.

I shrug as I undo the three buttons at the top of my blouse.

"If you want. Is it too late to stop at Mixed Muffin Russian?"

A little old lady owns a very popular bakery and she's only open for breakfast and lunch. Usually

we get some of her scones from the previous day for free.

"It's not too late, but it isn't open today. Ms. Belikov came down with something and you know

she doesn't have any help there."

"Oh."

I frown at the road as she pulls out of my neighborhood. Her English is pretty average, but my

Russian is pretty average too, curtesy of being forced to take three languages at my last school.

Maybe I could check up on her later.

The drive to school is a short one. Ten minutes without traffic.

We pull up and of course right off the bat, we're greeted by some guys on the football team.

"There's my girl," the brown-haired boy Nate says. He's the captain and also happens to be

Karrie's boyfriend.

"Hey hun," she greets kissing him deeply.

I look away and hug my messy curly blond-haired boyfriend Chad.

We haven't been going out long, only about two weeks, but he's been asking for my attention

since I moved here.

"Are you coming to my game Wednesday?"

I nod and watch his dimples appear as he smiles. Adorable.

"Let's go. The bell is gonna ring in a few."

We all walk in under someone's arm, almost everyone here having paired up with someone long

term. Girls get snatched up quick around here and if there's a break up, everyone knows.

This might be the best school in the state, but it's small. There's about six hundred of us.

My first stop is Language Arts.

•••

It's mid-year. As much as I want to skip my classes, I know I'd get a call home.

With a pout on my face, I let Chad kiss my cheek and take off to home economics while I trudge

my way into the history classroom.

Now I get that you need to learn from previous mistakes, but I don't care about dead people.

They contributed to society. Great. It's irrelevant now. I. Don't. Care.

The bell rings and I make my way to the back.

I sit next to Nate who smiles at his phone, probably texting Karrie from whatever class she's in.

Looking around, I see everyone either chatting or sleeping. Half and half, but the teacher isn't

here yet.

I play with my pen and accidently flip it so hard that it flies to the front of the room and hits the

whiteboard.

"Goal!" One of the soccer players at the front shouts.

I smile and shake my head, pulling out a new pen since I'm too lazy to get up.

The classroom door knob slams against the wall with the force of its opening and we all look at

our flustered tubby teacher with surprise.

His tie is disheveled and his face is red, but he marches to his desk nonetheless.

We all watch in silence as he opens a textbook and picks up a dry erase marker.

"The cold war," he starts like nothing happened. He drones on, using different colored markers

for different topics that we're supposedly supposed to do projects on next week.

It's nothing we haven't learned every year. We forget every year of course, but then they teach us

again. And again. And again. Let's just say that skipping a grade was the best thing that ever

happened to me.

All of the sudden, Mr. Alshote stops speaking at moves his gaze to the door where a fairly good-

looking guy walks in.

He hands the teacher a slip of paper and stands awkwardly as the old man reads it while

nodding.

"Mr. Etton. You're coming in during a difficult time in our studies. If you have any trouble or

need additional help I can assign someone to work with you. Just take a seat for now."

I drift my gaze to the whiteboard and resume taking notes to avoid all eye contact with the new

kid.

Let's not make things awkward by staring.

Alas, he seems to veer into the seat right next to me instead of the open one on the other side of

the room.

Then he stares at me. And stares. And stares.

Who is this kid?