The Unlucky Avery Stewall

“What’s all this commotion in the hallway?!” I heard my teacher Mr. Jenkins yell from behind a sea of students crowded in the hallway.

“It’s fatherless Jaz, she’s at it again!” I heard peppermint Penny from hall A respond. I have no idea what her issue is with me, but she has been the vain of my existence since we met in first grade. I was born in a small town called Blakensmith. We sit on a small island that was apparently cut off from the rest of the world during the Pangea split, somewhere on the far east of the world. There are two other small towns that sit on both sides of Blakensmith; that’s Nesmith (where my only friend in the whole world lives), and Barderworth (where most people go to make something of yourself). We all sit around a giant watering hole that we call Bussa. My town is the smallest of the two, and less advanced. With a population of a mere 500 residents, it is easy for everyone to know everyone’s business.

This is where my issues set in. Everyone here is very “old school” in their beliefs and principles. We are the only town of the three that still gives offerings to the Bussa, for crying out loud! Back to my problem, there are some superficial principles held by the people of my town as well: a child that is forced to go through life without both parents is considered cursed by the Bussa Gods, and a man who has not risen to higher roles in society as he age is a reflection of the women he has in his life. It’s stupid- I know, but because of this stigma, any child missing a parent was seen as a scar on the town, and any boy or man that didn’t grow up to be successful was the fault of the women in his life, thus the women in that man’s family was cursed to walk around with something like a scarlet letter on their heads. I have asked my mom when we were going to move from this god-forsaken town, but she always respond with, we don’t have enough money. Therefore, I’m forced to live as the scar of the town until I die, or I finally get enough money to move somewhere else- whichever one happens first. But as you can imagine, being in middle school doesn’t leave me many money options and being the scar of the town doesn’t make you popular… to my classmates my presence is a threat.

“Ms. Stewall, I simply don’t know what to with you! This is the third fight you been in the start of this semester year! If you keep going down this path the school board will see you as a troubled student and have will have no choice but to send you to alternative school!” Mr. Jenkins stated with fake exasperation. He knows he wants me gone just like the rest of the student body.

“Mr. Jenkins, this wouldn’t be an issue if you were talking to the right people,” I stated with an air of frustration and sarcasm in my voice.

“There you go again; I’ve asked the student body several times who started the issue and they all point their fingers at you being the aggressor. It was the exact same the last two times I had to reprimand you for fighting!” he says with his voice escalating while throwing his wrinkly two fingers in my face. Most times, I can’t tell if he is really this stupid or if this is all an act because he really wants me gone.

I cracked a little smirk to myself, I might as well mess with Mr. Jenkins if he’s not going to listen to me, “Eeew… Mr. Jenkins, that’s unsanitary. I don’t know where your fingers been!” I said sitting up off his desk, gently brushing his hand out of my face with my nose twisted up in the air.

Mr. Jenkins golden brown complexion quickly shot up with bright red undertones as he tried to contain his anger to appear as professional as he could. It was so easy to get under Mr. Jenkins skin, but I was nowhere near ready for the trick he had up his sleeve, “I’m glad you find this funny, Ms. Stewall, because as of today I am no longer just your homeroom teacher, but I am also your personal administrator. That means that the decision of whether to send you to alternative school will be based off my personal reports,”

“Wha- you can’t do that! You would have to get my mother’s signature first, and she’d never agree to such a thing! So tough luck Mr. Jenkins!” I retaliated, crossing my arms engaged in a brutal stare down with my teacher; assured by the fact that my mother couldn’t stand Mr. Jenkins, so she wouldn’t agree with him even if it sounded like something that would benefit me.

A smug grin wiped across Mr. Jenkins sick, wrinkly face, “On the contrary, she already signed it,” he said sliding a form for his Administration down to reveal my mother’s handwriting.

I drew my face closer to the form to get a better look at the signature. It was legit, “But she would never…”

“To be completely honest, she wouldn’t go for it initially, but it’s amazing what a little persuasion and a letter from child protective services can do,” he stated holding on to his smugness. This leach practically forced my mother to sign my future over to him using blackmail!

My rage sky-rocketed through the roof as I slowly rose from my seat, gliding my hands to a choking position. The longer I looked in his crooked face, the more I wanted to ring his scrawny neck. And what was worst, was that I could not look away. It was as if I were stuck in a trance… a trance of hatred.

“YOU…” just as I started to lung in to get him, Mr. Johnston, the custodian (more like the school’s do-boy), popped in unannounced.

“Sorry to interrupt, but the principal requested to speak with Ms. Stewall,” he stated reaching for my hand.

“Aaaaah! This school makes me so sick!” I yelled out of frustration as I passed Mr. Johnston’s hand and slammed the door behind me.

Mr. Jenkins opened the door right after we left and yelled out to Mr. Johnston, “Oh yeah, Mr. Johnston, have you found any luck yet with finding a partner?”

I could tell that the statement touched Mr. Johnston deeply in the short pause he took before responding to Mr. Jenkins unprofessionalism, but he simply smiled, “I don’t think this year is my year, Mr. Jenkins.”

“Well with your type of luck, it probably isn’t your lifetime, am I right?” Mr. Jenkins laughed slowly closing the door.

I recognized the pain in Mr. Johnston’s fake laugh. It was all too familiar. That was the last straw! I did not know what was going on with Mr. Johnston that made him unlucky, but this treatment that he received by Mr. Jenkins was downright unprecedented and degrading. Somebody had to teach him a lesson, so I slipped my shoe off my foot as Mr. Jenkins was laughing and closing the door and hurled it at the door to let him know that I meant business, “You smug little sack of despair! How dare you ask this man about personal affairs out loud like that!” as I continued my meltdown, Mr. Johnston restrained me from ever reaching Mr. Jenkins. I tried to jump over him, since trying to get through him was an epic fail, “Wait till’ I get my hands on you, you pompous raisin!”

In my efforts to fly over Mr. Johnston, I accidentally elbowed him in the head. I figured it was time to calm down after that happened. I could tell he was holding back his anger. Mr. Johnston was my go-to guy for anything while I was in school. He made school bearable. He was always there with an excuse at hand if I was running late for class, he helped me through tough subjects, and even confronted bullies at school who put their hands on me. I always overhear, however, that he’s the unluckiest man in town. I

wonder how suck a kind person ends up without any women by his side. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with that. We walked down the hallway and made a quick right down the hallway before reaching the principal’s office, “I thought you were taking me to the principal’s office?”

“Not unless you want to go,” he said with a smile, mildly massaging the area that I elbowed him at by mistake, “You got some hard elbows, don’t ya’?” he laughed as he took me to our secret base. Our secret base was the school garden that he kept up. It was so majestic to be in. The way some of the flowers cascaded over the little coffee table he placed back there was a sight to behold. I often wondered if he may have somebody that he’s interested in, or maybe an unrequited love affair. It just seems like he was making a statement with the layout of certain flowers. He’s so wise and mild tempered, he would make a wonderful father for any lucky girl, so why was he not trying to find that family?

The question flipped around in my mind, mixing with frustration. I could not understand how somebody could be okay with being treated like crap and ran around like a dog, “Doesn’t it bother you...?”

He stopped laughing and gave me a puzzled look, then with a look of certainty he responded, “Oh, I knew the risks when I decided to jump in. Besides, I’ve been told I had a hard head; I’m more concerned about your little bitty elbow,” he picked at me.

I swear, sometimes he acts just like a stupid older brother, “I’m not talking about your head!” He paused for a moment, reading the sincerity in my voice, I hate when he does that.

His demeanor shifted to a more serious yet warm tone, “Then what are you talking about?”

I bit my tongue for a moment. I didn’t think he was going to take this conversation seriously. I figured he would brush it off like every other adult has done, so I didn’t think this all the way through. I mean who am I, an unlucky 12-year old, to reprimand a grown man about how he should be living his life... me- the only fatherless child in town, “Never mind...” I coyly responded, reminding myself of my own place.

“You can’t just bring something up and chicken out in the last minute,” he said with words just as piercing as his gaze. As if he already knew what I was going to say before I said it.

I didn’t want to risk the only partnership I had at this horrible school over something that wasn’t even any of my business, so I tried to evade his invasion, “Well, I just did! So, forget about it!”

He stared at my face for a moment, then took a deep exhale, “Alright, if you say so. Are you hungry? Do you want something out of the vending machine?”

My face lit up at the thought that I might be able to get my favorite snack... a Cinna-bon! “Yes!” I replied smiling ear to ear.

“The usual?” he asked knowingly with a warm smile. I could feel my grin widen as I vigorously nodded my head, affirming the obvious, “How many...?”

My jaw dropped open at the idea of getting more than one of those sugary balls of delightful escape, “Ooouu... can I get five?” I asked with excitement.

Which lasted for a record short period of time as he quickly proceeded to shoot me out of my sugar filled sky, “Most definitely not! Your mother would kill me if I took you back home geeked up off five sugary balls of diabetes!”

“Awww... You say that like you’re talking to some dumb 5- year old! I am a whole 12- years old! I’m double digits just like you! I believe I’m mature enough to handle 5 little Cinna- bons,” I said sarcastically,  

waving my 5 fingers in the air as we made our way to the vending machine.

“Well, how about I get you 3 Cinna-bons and see how well you do tonight. Then, if you do good, I’ll get you 5 from now on,” he replied holding his 3 fingers up over my 5.

He was good, but I was better! I trained my mind for this very moment, “Alright, 3 Cinna-bons and a soda, I can settle for that.”

“Whoa- whoa, I never said anything about a soda!” he stated quickly, catching my fill in.

I wasn’t surprised that he caught that, but I was way ahead of him, “Mr. Johnston, now that’s just selfish! You said yourself that I’m itty-bitty! Now what if I accidentally choke a piece while eating? I’m going to die, under your watch!” I said jokingly, knowing that my mother would probably never press charges on Mr. Johnston. I take it that he is an old family friend. With the way mom treats him, you’d think he was already part of the family.

He thought about what I said for a moment, “Alright, I’ll get you a water.”

“What about a juice?” If I can’t get a whole point, I’ll settle for half.

“Alright, but I get to choose the juice,” He said smiling slyly.

It wasn’t what I was going for, but it was a decent home run, “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Johnston, but I accept your conditions,” I said in my most business worthy tone of voice.

I munched on my snacks for a while, submitting to my silence as my mind replayed the conversation, I had with Mr. Jenkins moments earlier. Mr. Johnston did that thing that he always does, reading my mind based off reading my actions, “If you want, I could take you home for the day.”

My eyes shot open with amazement, “Mr. Johnston, how inappropriate of you! To ask such a thing of a young lady!” I exclaimed with sarcasm.

Mr. Johnston gave me a look of pure disgust, “Eeew... remind me to never again interrupt you when you’re in deep thought... disturbing...” he stated shuttering away from me.

Darn, he won this round, because now I began to regret ever trying to pick at Mr. Johnston. It wasn’t fun anymore. Switching the subject, “Wouldn’t my mom get mad at you for helping me skip class?”

“On the contrary...,” he said while lifting up his cell phone, showing me a message from my mom, “she asked me to bring you home. When I called to ask if anything was wrong, she stated that she had something important to discuss with you.”

Important? I’ll say... things like how she could let them bully her into signing me away to that dried up prune, Mr. Jenkins, for one. And for another thing... since when was my mom and Mr. Johnston on cell phone conversation basis? If you ask me, she got a lot of explaining to do, “Yeah, I should probably go home for the day. I think I’ve had enough of this scenery,” I stated with sunken despair. I couldn’t believe that Mr. Jenkins would go this far to try to ruin me. Why must this be my life! The ride back home was quiet. I couldn’t bring myself to joke around with the seriousness of the conversation I was about to have back home. Don’t get me wrong, my mom is my best friend, which is why I’m stumped at the fact that he didn’t at least confide in me about what was going on.

We arrived at my house, where my mom was waiting on the front porch. I don’t know where I got this anger from. My mom always told me I got it from my late father who was a stern architect of a few of the buildings in the town. She said he died in a company accident that lead to a bad fire, burning a lot of his

personal records that he kept hidden in a safe that was lost in the rubble. I wonder if any of that is true since she’s keeping secrets, now. I overheard Mr. Johnston ask my mom if she wanted him to stay to help ease the tension; to which she replied no. I quickly flew back down the stairs to ask him not to leave. Not so much that I was being belligerent, it was just that I was afraid of getting kicked out by this conversation. My mom gave me that look, I could tell her patience was already worn out by my outburst. I swallowed hard as I forced my questions out of my mouth, “How could you sell my future to Mr. Jenkins without at least telling me, first, and since when were you and Mr. Johnston on phone bases?” I yelled.

My mom looked shocked and embarrassed by the question I asked. Meanwhile, Grandma, who was rocking in her chair in the living room burst out with laughter, “THE JIG IS UP, HONEY! Baldy Mr. Jenkins had a crush on your mother when she was in college, and that handsome devil over there had your mother’s number for ages! That’s because he’s your father!”

“GRANDMA!” my mom and Mr. Johnston yelled in unison.

“WHAT! I come from a long line of custodians!” I said with amazement... and here I was thinking that I was fatherless for all those years. Ironically, he didn’t want us to suffer any slander while he was getting on his feet. And his real name... Avery Stewall.