Huggins - Labor Pains

Copyright 2013 by C.A. Huggins

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination orare used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living ordead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Captain of My Ship Publishing
P.O. Box 84089
San Diego, CA 92138

Writing this novel was definitely the mostdifficult task I have ever completed. And thats saying a lot as Iam someone who has assembled boxes and boxes of Ikea furniture. Allof the days and nights of staring at blank screens of my computerwould not have been possible without the help of my support system.My parents, Byron and Felicita, who have instilled in me a workethic to accomplish my goals. My sister, Alyssia, and mybrother-in-law, Sean, have cheered me on me throughout the writingprocess. And my lady, Adaobi, has read and re-read drafts upondrafts of my manuscript, provided me insight, and honest feedbackalong the entire journey. Thank all of you for time andencouragement.

CHAPTER ONE

Ive been sitting in classrooms for the lastthirteen years of my life while teachers have stood in front givingus students the keys to becoming successful adults. This classroomisnt much different from the very first one I ever occupied. Sure,there are no colorful tables standing two feet off the ground or anaptime area, but its all the same. Kids are still napping,because nobody really has any interest in high-school biology,unless youre a nerd who gets off, literally and figuratively, onscience or a future serial killer who likes hacking up defenselessamphibians for fun. I am neither of those, but Im unlike mostpeople at my suburban high school.

In theory, this classroom should be filledwith future congressmen, CEOs of Fortune 500 companies, and NobelPrize winners wholl cure rare diseases. But this is RedbrookRegional High School and thats just a theory adults have beenfeeding us since I stepped into that colorful-tabled classroomtwelve years ago. Now, I know better. All we have in here arefuture Walmart clerks, garbage men, welfare recipients, gaspumpers, and low-grade porn stars. You cant lump me in with thatlot of losers though.

With the shades pulled down, theres a hintof sunlight seeping into the room, allowing me to see all of theuninterested faces of my classmates. You cant really blame them.With only two weeks left in the school year, youre either passingor failingmost failing. And thats practically set in stone. Nomore tests, pop quizzes, projects, or extra-credit assignments tosave them. And lets be real, if they had a chance to take actionand change their grade, theyd probably end up with a worsegrade.

The school districts curriculum recommendsstudents take bio in the tenth grade, but I just got around to itmy senior year. I opted to take my tougher classes earlier, beforeI became a senior. Im blessed with unbelievable foresight. Plus,Im a complex young man who cant be bothered with regimenting mylife to the schools coursework suggestions. A few of the kids inhere are seniors like me. Well, theres one other kid, and I dontknow if hes actually a senior. I do know hes been going to schoolhere for a long time, and I think he has a five-year-old of hisown. Anyway, Im used to being the elder statesman of large groups,whom others can lean on when they seek wisdom. The younger kids canlook to me as someone whos achieving his dreams. Two more weeksand Im out of here. Then, in the fall, Ill be off to the prizedfour-year college of my choice. Not like the rest of the graduatingclass of 1995. Theyre more inclined to enroll in the thirteenthgrade: Redbrook Community College. Its basically the same asRedbrook Regional High School with permitted cigarette smoking andno dress code.

Being one of the few brown faces speckled inthe sea of suburban white faces leaves me with no other option thanto stick out. But my race isnt the only thing that sets me apartfrom the rest of the student body. Unlike them, my identity isntsolely dependent on my popularity. Dont get me wrong. Imextremely popular and well-known, but not for the same reasons theyare. Im not an athlete, so I never get lauded for catching thegame-winning touchdown. Im not the best dressed or the classclown. I can go on record saying Im the most handsome, but wouldnever get voted as such due to politics and whatnot. Im thepeoples champ. And my notoriety comes from my wealth of positivetraits, not because its in peoples best social interest to likeme. Im not a part of any particular clique. Im just me. I have aconfidence that exudes way past these cramped halls. I dont need aclass presidency or the prom-king crown to be respected. I lack thesame insecurities most teens cling to that lead them to constantlyseeking validation from their peers. Im intellectually andemotionally superior compared to the rest of the student body, andpossess a maturity of someone twenty years older (according to atest I took in an issue of Esquire during study hall). I noticethings that others dont.

For example, Ive noticed that not only havethe other students mentally checked out but our youngtwenty-something teacher, Ms. Denning, has done the same. She sitsin front of the class reading her Budget Travel magazine. Imguessing shes planning how to spend her next two months away fromkids who still laugh hysterically when she shows diagrams of thehuman reproductive system. Shes only in her second year, meaningstill young enough to have some semblance of a life outside of theclassroom, but has enough experience to recognize when its time tostop teaching because the students have given up on learning.

Being one of the younger teachers at RedbrookHigh automatically vaults her into every male students top fivehottest teachers list; although, shes not attractive enough todistract me on a daily basis and interfere with my learning. Imean, I made it through Mrs. Montoyas remedial Spanish II, andshes twice as hot, even though she looks to be at least five yearsolder and has three kids. Must be the unfair edge she has with heraccent, as it appeals to my worldly sensibilities.

Ms. Denning has waived the teachers versionof the white flag: the classroom video. She either hopes thisoft-recycled biology film, The Wonderful Life of Lemmings, willhold our attention for the miserable forty-five minutes well spendin class today or doesnt mind if her students doze off while shedecides if she has the financial means to spend an entire week inthe Bahamas this summer. Probably not on her salary, but at leastshe can dream. I hope she didnt get into teaching for the money.But then again, if she got into the profession to help mold youngminds, then this class probably would depress her more than herpaycheck, as Im the lone bright spot, being her prize student.

My eyes stay fixed on the clock placed rightabove the classroom door. Im waiting for the right time to springmy surprise on the class, as I alternate between clock-watching andreaching into my pocket to make sure my trump card hasntdisappeared. Im a pretty skinny kid, so I tend to shift back andforth in my desk, especially when Im not comfortable, but myshifting is even more frequent now that Im anxious. The anxiety isa direct result of my appointment. In an attempt to keep my cool, Istroke my ill-fated goatee. My facial hair is not quite grunge,because Im black. And quite frankly, I dont know any grungy blackpeople. However, it does have somewhat of a Malcolm X vibe. Atleast, thats what Im shooting for. Menacing but intellectual andmasculine. Its all a part of my plan of demanding respect fromothers. I think it looks fresh, but all the girls in my gradeandthe eleventh and tenth gradesthink it looks ridiculous, whichleads to a day planner in my Trapper Keeper thats completely emptyon Friday nights and weekends. High-school girls simply cant graspmy complexity anyway. They do nothing for me, because we havenothing in common. I need a grown, cerebral woman, someone whollunderstand me.