sat back down and winked at Mrs. Rasmussen as he heard everyone behind and next to him opening their books. The corner of her mouth curled just the slightest bit, and she pushed her glasses up higher on her nose. Apparently, the “lots to cover” his teacher was referring to was calm, cool, and collected—and presentable—though for whom he wasn’t sure. She spent the next twenty minutes fussing with her ash gray hair, smoothing out the wrinkles across her blouse, taking deep breaths, and exclaiming, “Oh, my” every couple of minutes.
No one in the class expected to learn anything new the last three months of her class. Certainly not Axom, who’d had to remind her several times over the past year that she was teaching economics and not Spanish, which she not only had never taught but barely spoke or understood. The bell rang, and the class, with the exception of Axom, jumped up in unison and bolted out the door. He took his time gathering his books and placing them carefully in his backpack.
“You okay, Mrs. R?” he asked as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked over to her desk.
“Sí, estoy bien,” she mumbled almost unintelligibly as she hoisted herself up from her chair.
Axom smiled compassionately, and leaned over to kiss his teacher on the cheek. “I’ve really learned a lot from you, Mrs. R,” he said softly. “You’re a wonderful teacher.”
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Rasmussen gasped, and pulled on the waddle of skin beneath her chin. He waited for something more, but when his teacher only looked at him blankly, he turned and walked to the door.
“Axom,” Mrs. Rasmussen called as he reached for the door handle.
“Yes, Mrs. R?”
“Thank you,” she mouthed silently, and wiped a tear from her eye.
Axom blew her a kiss and walked out into the hallway.
“Bayh!”
Axom jumped to the right out of automatic reflex, just in time to miss having his best friend, Aaron, slam into him. Instead, the door next to him rattled loudly as the oversized junior crashed against it.
“Damn it,” Aaron said as he lifted himself from the ground and rubbed his shoulder. “Almost had you that time.”
“Yeah,” Axom said, pushing his friend against the wall, “but that one almost didn’t count as a legal warning. You were practically on top of me when you yelled.”
“Fuck you,” Aaron said as he turned to watch Madison Chaddon strut past and then behind him. “Next time I won’t warn you at all. Maybe then I’ll finally get you.”
“Maybe. But it’d be a false win. You know the rules say you have to warn …”
“Whatever. Hey, did you hear about Matt Robinson and Christy Barton?”
Axom rolled his eyes. “No!” he said dramatically. “What happened?”
“They were making out up at Makeout Point and he was fucking her boobs, dude! Right as he started to splooge all over her face, the cops flung the door to his Jetta open and dragged them both out of the car,” Aaron choked out as he laughed so hard he had to stop and lean against the wall. “Matt’s cock shriveled up like a deflated balloon, and Christy still had his cum dripping from her face when they handcuffed her!”
“I’m kidding, stupid. Of course I heard about it. Everyone in the whole fucking school heard about it. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Matt didn’t start the chatter to begin with, just to let everyone know that he got to home plate with Christy. And please tell me you don’t believe that the cops would actually handcuff a high school girl for having sex in a park, especially that park.”
“Doesn’t matter who started it,” Aaron said. “It’s still frickin’ awesome! And why do you have to spoil everything by debunking the details, dude?”
“You’re so easily amused.”
“Yeah, well not all of us were born with a silver spoon in our mouths, Axom,” Aaron said with more than a little edge in his voice. “Some of us get our nuts off any way we can.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not rich. Far from it, actually.”
“Yeah, which makes it even worse. Only the uber-wealthy enjoy the kind of popularity and adoration you do. Well, only the uber-wealthy and you. Would you prefer the analogy of walking on water?”
“What’s up your ass today?”
Aaron took a deep breath, and draped his arm across Axom’s shoulders. “Sorry, man. I just get really tired hearing my mom saying, ‘Why can’t you be more like Axom?’ or ‘Axom wouldn’t talk back to his mom like that.’ It gets really old after a while.”
“Yeah, it would get a little tiring. But it’s not my fault, so chill a bit, okay.”
“You’re right. Forget it. Hey, what are you doing tonight after practice?”
“It’s Thursday, moron. I’m volunteering over at Sunset Manor.”
“Of course you are,” Aaron said, and pushed Axom ahead of him. “Gimme a call when you get home later tonight. I’m gonna go see if I can get Joanna Pratt to blow me under the bleachers again.”
“I thought you said she scrapes your dick with her braces.”
“She does. But it’s still better than my hand. And besides … practice makes perfect,” Aaron said as he grabbed his crotch and ran off down the hall.
On the first Sunday of every month, Pastor James asked the members of his congregation who felt so moved by the Spirit to form three lines for communion. Even after two years, Axom still blushed a little whenever his minister feigned indignation over the length of the line in front of him whenever he helped serve communion.
“In the sixteen years I’ve been senior pastor at Riverdale Community Christian Church, I’ve tried everything I could think of to get people in those pews to understand the importance of communion,” he said again as he carefully removed his robe and hung it on a wooden hanger. “When they finally did get it, and participated, then it became a challenge to get them to understand that I don’t have to be the one who gives them the communion, that it’s not a confession and I’m not forgiving them of any sin, and that they can receive the wafer and juice from anyone. It doesn’t have to be the senior pastor.”
“Well, we can be a little dense at times, Pastor James,” Axom said with a smile as he placed the juice goblets and wafer baskets in the box to be taken into the kitchen. He looked around the small study. “Sometimes we need to have a picture drawn for us. Have you seen my iPod?”
Pastor James pointed toward the recliner in one corner of the room. “No, apparently all I had to do was ask you to be one of the communion assistants. Have you noticed that on every Sunday that you help out, your line is three times longer than mine even? And poor Betty Slovacek; she gets no one in her line.”
“That’s not true. I’ve noticed that every time Mrs. Slovacek serves, Mrs. Howard and Mrs. Pitts always go to her line. Any other Sunday they insist on being in your line.”
Pastor
