Thursday afternoon
‘“Spastic eyeballs”…’ Miss Dunbavin shook her head. ‘That is so unlike you.’
Derek carefully examined the graffiti etched into his desk. Rudi woz ere ’82.
‘I know Sophie can be a bit… forthright sometimes, but to see you round on her like that… What got into you?’
If your reading this your not listening to the teacher! He noticed the mistakes and wished he had a penknife so he could fix them. Miss Dunbavin walked around and perched herself on the desk in front. As she sat her blouse rustled and her pencil-thin skirt creaked under the strain. This wasn’t detention, it was torture. Derek dipped his nose closer to the desk and read feverishly on: Wot? No prospects? True in so many ways…
‘Are you even listening to me, Derek?’
She slipped one ankle behind the other. Her tights stretched thinly over her legs and Derek noticed she has a scar on her left kneecap, an imperfection that made her seem more human, more… accessible.
‘I’m listening, Miss. She started it.’ He still couldn’t look up. His Problem stirred and he was very afraid that if allowed his eyes to journey to her face, they’d stop and set up camp somewhere near her breasts. ‘She’s always picking on me! Everyone’s always picking on me!’ Continue reading “The Early Springer’s Book Club (Part 5)”