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[EN / Samuel Clemens] - Teachers aren't all that smart
« il: 29 Gennaio 2012, 03:29:38 »
The rain seemed to come every day at 11 and last just until lunch period was over. 

Mrs. Williams, our teacher from the city, must have thought we would all melt in the rain so she kept us in.  For days.
Well for three days at least.

Anyway, the lunch break was a time to get outside and blow off steam, Not that reading lessons and math and gepgraphy weren't terribly exciting but they were terrible.

We were 14 and needed fresh air but Mrs. Williams told us that we might get hit by lightning - like we were taller than the buildings or trees or made of metal. Did she think we were lightning rods?  Those were invented by some old dead dude named Benjamin Franklin.  See? I did learn something in history. 

Now I suspect that history was not all that different than the stories we read in reading class because how in the heck does someone know what anyone really did long ago?
Grandma doesn't remember what her name is most days but this Benjamin was older than Grandma and was dead for a long time. 

Well, on the first day of the great rain she told us we had to stay in.  As you might expect, it wasn't pretty.  The girls were reading and drawing and other stuff but we, that is, the boys couldn't see much good in doing more of what we did all morning and did something better -- fight.

On day two the rain came again wrecking plans for some fist ball (baseball with a rubber ball and your fist as a bat) and we all got into stuff again that Mrs. Williams could not abide in.

So on day three we were sure she woujld let us outside to brave the rain and the lightining but we were wrong.

As we finished our bag lunches she announced that our class would join the other class for some 'games'. Oh joy. The other class was 7th graders.  We really looked forward to that -- almost as much as another chapter of Great Expectations.  The only thing Great about the book from my view point was that it had to end as some point and hopefully soon. Pip, the main dude is this story was not very fun.

The games were actually contests like dodge ball and four squares.  We wanted to play fist ball. 

After a while the combined class of maybe forty split into smaller groups for different games.  After a bit there was some cheering from a corner and we went over to check out the action.

The lame 7th graders were having arm-wrestling contests.  Someone was actually betting.  Great! My buddies and I decided we could use some money and would take the little lamers for some quarters and put up our dough in the line (actually a kid's pocket so the teacher wouldn't see the gambling.)

After a few minutes my friend Will got called for a turn.  I was rapidly losing interest and was looking for a way to do something more fun.  Then Will came back shaking his head.

"Well, how much did you win?" I asked him.

"I lost," he said sheepishly.

"What?" I asked. Will was pretty tough. "To Clay?" Clay was pretty tough and he was in our class.

"No," Will said glumly. "It was a 7th grader."

I started to laugh. Will lost to a 7th grader. 

And then they called my name.  "Okay, last match and then the winners pair off," the kid holding the money said.

Great!  I walked to the table and sat down looking for my opponent.  Who was he? I could take Will, I had.

And then I saw the opponent.  But, it wasn't a he.  It was a SHE.  As in Erin Scott.  She was a 7th grader.  I knew who she was because her older brothers were the football stars at the high school.  The whole Scott family played sports.  Erin was the only girl Scott.  She had long, straight blonde hair and was really good looking.  Surely Erin wasn't hadn't beaten my friend.

I was confused and took her hand thinking their had to be a mistake. 

"She's beaten four of us," a kid said to me leaning over my shoulder and whispering.  That seemed weird.  Was it a secret. 

I looked at her and she just smiled.  She broke the grip and pulled her hair back into a pony tail arching her back and thrusting out her very nice, young and firm breasts.

"Are you ready?" she asked me sweetly.  That was her rep -- really pretty and really sweet.  We had all been wondering about her for weeks.  She transferred to our school from St. Phil's a few weeks ago.  Some guys said that she had kissed a 9th grader but no one could confirm that.

She moved back to the table and I put my arm on the table.  Yeah, I was nervous but nervous like being the first guy on the dance floor at a school dance.  I was a couple of inches taller than the girl and heavier.

"The guys in your class aren't very good at this," she said to me quietly as if disclosing a secret and not wanting to offend the guys she had beaten. 

"I've been doing this with my brothers forever," she added gripping my hand.  Damn, her grip was good. I couldn't help noticing that she had polished her nails so that each had a little edge that was white.  She wore a sparkling brackelt on her right hand and it slide down on to her forearm as we got ready. 

Then she tensed and her arm changed.  A bicep popped up!  And it was pretty big.  And round. Like a scoop of ice cream.  It looked hard. 

Sweat formed on my upper lip and I could feel a line drip down from my hair on to my face. But the room was actually kind of cool.

"Nervous?" she asked.  I didn't respond.  "Don't be," she said, "it won't hurt."

I looked startled. Then she said "I won't take you down right away," and the smile stayed on her face.

some guy counted down from 3 and we started. Actually, I anticipated the count and started a little early. 

She noticed and let out a little yelp. But my fast start didn't help much.  My first push moved her arm a few inches but she quickly pulled me back.  I was surprised. She was really strong.  And as she pulled me back I felt my wrist turn a bit.  I held on and decided to really pull and end this quick.

I pulled at her nard increasing the pressure but when she turned my wrist it must have put me in a bad position and our hands only moved slightly and mostly it was toward her chest. 

I gave it all I had but in focusing on our locked hands I also saw her nipples pressed against her starched shirt.  And I couldn't help noticing that she was still smiling.

I let out a puff of air and tried again to gain an advantage.  She looked like she was counting.  After a few more seconds I still could not move her. 

"You're not doing bad," she said.  I noticed that the rest of the room had gotten pretty quiet and then the girls strated to cheer -- for her. 

I took another breathe more determined to get her but she pulled harder now. I could feel the pressure and when I tried to pull my arm felt like it was slipping on the table.

She had gained a larger advantage even though I tried as hard as I could.  And then I realized I was losing strength. 

She rotated her shoujlder a bit and pulled my hand even more toward her.  There as no way I could resist her.

I thought for a second about quitting -- to let her win -- or actually, to make it look like I let her win. That would be a laugh -- better than getting beat my a girl -- and a girl younger than me that looked like Erin.

Before the thought really settled in my brain, the girl applied more pressure.  I realized she still wasn't giving it everything she had and I was at the end of my strength.

If I quit my hand wouldn't have gone down any faster or harder.  She went from a slgiht advantage to the pin in about two seconds.  Or maybe one.

My hand slammed hard on the table.

The girls and many of the 7th grade guys yelled and laughed. 

I looked up at my friends but they all seem to have melted into the walls. 

I heard her say "thanks" and looked at her for the first time.  She was putting a handful of quarters into her pocket.

She stood up and smiled at me. 

"Nice try," she said with that same smile.

And then we all went back to class. I prayed that the rain would stop so we could go back to fistball tomorrow and that Erin didn't play fistball.


Evviva lo "slancio in quadrupedia"