In 500... (or less)

One Man's Footnote...

Brandon scanned his class schedule for his sophomore year and found it was all wrong.

"I wanted to take the baking class during third period," he complained to his friend Jeff.

"Baking? Seriously? You just wanted your schedule to be the same as Carla's."

Jeff knew the score, Brandon was angling to be in as many classes as possible with his girlfriend. They started dating the prior school year, and had five full months of relationship under their belt.

"Shut up, Jeff. You know I like to cook." Brandon felt himself go a little flush as he realized how stupid he sounded.

"Well, what do you have third period, then?" Jeff asked.

"History class...ugh!" It wasn't the class itself - Brandon didn't mind history - it was the teacher. Mr. Stevenson was old and boring. The old teacher had taught Brandon's father, and Brandon was sure the old codger had personally witnessed many of the historical events he discussed.

"Stevenson, that's rough, man" Jeff said, trying to console his friend. "And right in the middle of the morning, when you're still waking up. Use your book as pillow, Brandon."

The first two classes seemed to drag on forever before the bell finally rang, freeing him from an otherwise boring introduction to Geometry. 

Carla grasped his hand and swung it along with hers, until they reached an intersection of hallways, where they would have to part ways.

"I'll miss you," she cooed to Brandon. "Won't you miss me too?"

"Yeah," he tried to say as quietly as he could. Carla hadn't heard him and prompted him again.

"Brannie-Bear says he'll miss his little Carla cupcake," Jeff interjected, much to Brandon's embarrassment. Carla glared at Jeff  before giving her boyfriend a peck on the cheek and heading toward the Home Economics classrooms.

The pair of friends walked a little further, until reaching Brandon's classroom.

"Here we are," Jeff droned, imitating Mr. Stevenson's voice, "where history comes alive."

Brandon sighed and went inside. He took a seat in the middle as was his general policy, since he believed teachers were always on the lookout for troublemakers in the back and only the nerds sat up front.

Mr. Stevenson was even more boring than he imagined, his voice sounded like the drone of an airplane propeller.

"You should take good notes on my lectures," the old teacher said. "Just don't take them with your feet."

"Our feet?" one of the girls up front asked.

"Footnotes," he said. "It's always bad to be a footnote in history."

Brandon smirked. It wasn't at all funny, but it was funny listening to Mr. Stevenson try to be funny. So engrossed in the stupidity of the joke was he that he hadn't noticed a latecomer to the class.

"You're late, Miss..."

"Holly. Er, Mills. Holly is my first name."

"Is this seat taken?" she asked Brandon. Only then did Brandon realize that the goddess Aphrodite was about to sit next to him.

"Da-ad!" The tugging at Brandon's arm brought him back to the present. "I said, 'How did you meet Mom?'"

"In history class," he answered, winking at his wife, Holly.