Nothing To Lose [A Teacher/Student Love Story]

Nothing To Lose [A Teacher/Student Love Story] 11

I sat on the cold toilet seat, my mind clogging my vision.

            When I was little, I got stressed a lot. The solution to my stress was sitting on the toilet seat, for some odd reason. I’d never do it on purpose. It would just come naturally. Like normal, I would go into the bathroom to pee, and end up spending half an hour there, the reason not of my urine.

A lot of times I’d find myself just sitting there on the toilet seat, my pants down, and I would just think. I would review all the things that had made me stressed that day. Then I would silently whack my stress with an invisible baseball bat. That seemed to do it.

But then again, I got sent to the nurse a lot. During school, the teachers would either think I spent so much time in the bathroom because I wanted to get out of class, or because it was my time of month (which, frankly, it usually wasn’t). I’d go over to the nurse, and she’d ask me what was wrong. Again. The first time, she was honestly concerned. The second, the third, the fourth, she knew you didn’t have your time of month 16 times in a row.

So she kept wondering, and wondering, and I’d reply, no, I don’t know. I was using the bathroom, when the teacher got some girl to come in and send me here. I don’t know. That was our routine. She’d tell me it was normal for a girl my age to want to miss out on the class work, so sometimes she’d let me lie down on the small beds they have on the side.

I didn’t refuse, nor tell her she was wrong. I just lied down there, and continued my thinking.

At home, when I’d be sitting in the bathroom all day long, my mom would yell at me and tell me to get out because she needs to pee really bad and she doesn’t like using the other 3 bathrooms in the household. I would tell her, no, I’m not done yet, even though I was done peeing, and I was still reviewing my stressed thoughts. The first time she let it slide.  She also thought it was my time of month. The second time, too, she’d say, Alright, well hurry up, I need to go. When it happened the fourth time, she called the doctor.

You see, she thought I had diarrhea. Those were my problems in my childhood. I’d be accused of having diarrhea, of having my period, and of wanting an excuse to skip class, when all I wanted to do was think and have a moment, just a single moment to relax.

            I found myself in the same position today. After the encounter with Carson, and the argument with Hannah, and Mr. Stone returning my shirt, I didn’t bother to return to Calculus. I went straight to the bathroom and sat on a toilet. I always went to the handicapped one, since no one ever went there, and they wouldn’t care if a handicapped person was taking a million years in the bathroom. It’s not like anyone paid me a visit, anyway.

The noise of the door being swung open snapped me out of my stress thoughts. I peeked through the crack in the door and saw some freshman looking through each stall. When she came upon mine, the only one that was occupied, she politely knocked.

I stood up and flushed the toilet for her benefit, then opened the door. “Yes?”

She smiled awkwardly and looked at the glittery shirt in my hands. “Um,” she squeaked. “Mr. Stone wanted me to come and ask if you were okay.”

Of course. Mr. Stone.

I put on a false smile. “I’m fine.”

“He said you’ve been gone the whole period.” She raised an eyebrow, then looked me up and down, as if to say, You’re handicapped?

“I’m fine,” I repeated firmly.

“Oh, okay!” she said oddly, probably not knowing what to do now. “Well, I better get to class. You should too, bye!”

I gave her a questioning look as she left, then walked out and slammed the bathroom stall door shut. I heaved a large breath as I stood infront of the mirror. I washed my hands in the sink, then played with my hair until it looked presentable. I rinsed my face and then dried it with a paper towel, and headed out.

Once I was in the hallway, I found myself to be completely alone. No one was out here, since they were probably all in class. Brushing my hair aside, I sauntered down the hall, just as the bell for seventh period rang.

Great. Just in time for detention. Triple detention now, probably, because I just skipped again.

The only thought running through my mind as I made my way across the hall to the Calculus classroom was, I’m never going to get into Boston College, I’m never going to get into Boston College, I’m never going to get into Boston College, I’m never going to get into Boston College….

“You are going to get into Boston College.”

I looked up, and realized I was saying it outloud. Shoot.

“Yeah, right,” I muttered. “With three detentions in a row? Sure.”

Mr. Stone paused. “Okay, so get this. You were out of school the first time during your free period, so that doesn’t count as a detention.”

I stopped.

“The second time was infact a reason for detention, but I’ll take that out of your records.”

“And the third time, just now,” he laughed. “I can’t blame you for having diarrhea.”

I frowned slightly and allowed myself to punch his shoulder. I would’ve thought it would be awkward talking to him after… that night, but he seemed to forget about it.

I was glad he did.

“Why are you taking the second one out of my records?”

He tilted his head to the side. “Because you seem to doubt getting into the college of your choice.”

“Well, I—“

“Trust me,” he raised an eyebrow. “It’s hard to get into college with a detention in your senior year.”

“How would you know?”

He laughed humorlessly. “I would’ve been rejected from MIT if it wasn’t for my dad who was an alumnus.”

“You went to MIT?” I inquired.

He glanced at me. “How else would I have an MIT Grad T-Shirt?”

“You have an MIT T-Shir…?” I stopped myself mid-sentence, remembering. “Oh.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah.”

“So,” he said, taking a sip of the Coke can I didn’t notice he had in his hand. “If we got married, it wouldn’t matter if you got a detention or not. You would get in because your husband would be an MIT graduate.”

I almost choked on saliva. I had to literally pinch my arm (just a bit) to make sure it was real. The way he had put it, though, it was so… blunt. He said those exact words ‘If we got married’ without any emotions. As if he was telling the weather.

I ducked my head, and hurried into the Calculus classroom without saying anything.

But I saw something he didn’t know I saw.

I saw his eyes twinkle.

And that was enough for me.