**************************************************
Chapter 5: The Issue with AP Literature Teachers and Partners
~Jemma~
AP Lit teachers. I don’t know if they’re all like Mr. Matthews, but I bet they aren’t too different.
Crazy, insane, psychotic, mental. They were all fine qualities of our fine AP Lit teacher. He who willing danced in front of us, sang out his favorite song at the top of his lungs, played his air guitar, and blasted the radio until another teacher told him to turn it off.
He was insane.
But he was always so very, very fun.
Even though half the kids rolled their eyes at him and pretended not to care, they smiled. We all did, even Angelina. Maybe that was his purpose. Maybe his purpose was to take us and put us in this AP Literature classroom that could be like any class, to make it different by being totally crazy and maniacal and giving us a refreshing lapse in the day.
I didn't know how Mr. Matthews’ mind worked , and honestly, I didn't want to find out. What went on in his head should solely and surely stay only to him.
But he was not ashamed, and he was certainly not self-conscious. Maybe because he wasn’t, he expected a classroom of seventeen-year-olds---teenagers---to freely express themselves in front of their peers. A huge overestimation, where we were concerned.
“Come on, guys! Our next unit is poetry and there is nothing more expressive than that!” Mr. Matthews dropped into his chair, his hands running over the smooth metal handles. “When you go out into the world, you don’t want to have to hide behind some shell. You want to crack open the surface and burst out, letting yourself shine and waving your hands into the air, because if you’re not who you really are, how are people going to actually like you for you?”
Wow.
In some twisted, psychotic way, Mr. Matthews made a lot of sense.
*****
Jacob found me again at lunch and this time when he sat down beside me I didn’t push him away. I would try to be cooperative. A little. But only if he didn’t start being a pain.
“Hello,” I said faintly, not taking my eyes away from my book. It was windy. I had my hair in a pony-tail to keep it out of my face, but the wind blew some of it loose.
“You never have lunch,” Jacob said suddenly.
“No,” I replied, turning the page. “I don’t.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t like lunch that much. It’s so in the middle of the day.”
“Really? Wow, I can’t live without lunch.”
“You’re a guy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You all have bottomless pits for stomachs.”
Jacob chuckled and let go of his backpack. “Yeah, I guess we do.”
I snapped my book shut, sighing. “So what do you want?”
Jacob took out his envelope and wagged it in the air. “I thought we should return these to Mr. Matthews.”
“Good idea.” I shoved my book in my backpack and retrieved my envelope. “Let’s go.”
We walked---yes, together---up the hill and through the doors of the school, down the main hall and to Mr. Matthews’ door. Jacob knocked lightly.
“Yes?” he asked on the other side.
“It’s Jacob and Jemma.”
“Come in.”
Jacob held the door open and we both entered Mr. Matthews’ class. He was grading papers at his desk, leg busily tapping to an unheard beat in his head. “What can I do for you guys?” he asked, scribbling a quick note on a homework assignment.
“We have our envelopes,” I muttered, flinging mine onto his desk. Jacob handed it to him and I rolled my eyes.
“Excellent, now, I’ve thought up one more thing.” Mr. Matthews set his red pen down and swiveled around in his rolling chair to face us.
“That’s really not necessary, Mr. Matthews. Really.”
“No, no, I think it is. You see, if you just write these letters in the beginning, there won’t be any real proof about how you’ve both changed. Thus, when this project has ended, I want you two to write letters to each other after all this is behind us. “
I stared at Jacob, then back at Mr. Matthews. “Why? What if we don’t grow any?”
“Oh, I’m sure you will.”
I pressed my lips together tight and dug my nails into my palm. Hard.
“Have you anything to say on your behalf, Jacob?” Mr. Matthews asked.
Jacob shook his head, brushing brown hair out of his eyes. “No, sir.”
“Alright, then. Now, be off, you two. I’ve got papers to grade and a faculty meeting to attend! Oh, the joys of education!”
So Jacob and I left Mr. Matthews in his bitterness and his sarcasm and went our separate ways in the courtyard for the remainder of the lunch period.
At home Aunt Clara was in a frenzy. She had her favorite lounge pants and her rainbow slippers on, so I instantly knew it had been a hard day. Papers were scattered over the kitchen table and the phone was in her outstretched hand. Outstretched because her head was in her arms and she was moaning to herself.
“Rough day?” I asked, sitting across from her with a glass of lemonade in my hands. “You look terrible.”
Aunt Clara looked up at me through baggy, bleary eyes. “Thanks. Thanks so much.”
I shrugged happily. “You’re welcome.”
She exhaled loudly and cleared the hair out of her face. “The funeral home called and cancelled the procession. Apparently we’re being ‘worked in’ at another date, but what if it doesn’t work for us? Damn funeral agents! Isn’t bad enough we’ve lost someone in our family. Why do they go and have to put a cost on everything, and make everything difficult?”
I shook my head. “They are mean, nasty, greedy people. They want our money and they have no pity for us.”
“You got that right.”
“They’re monsters in disguise who suck the remaining life out of the dead corpses.”
Aunt Clara stared at me funny. “That’s . . . creepy. And a little morbid.”
“We are what we are,” I whispered, taking another sip of lemonade.
*****
~Jacob~
Hey, Mom. It’s me, Jacob.
Don’t ask why I’m writing this. Don’t ask why I’d take any of my precious time away to write to you who never takes even a minute amount of her precious time to raise her two sons.
Maybe I’m just crazy.
So, in case you ever care about what happens in my life, I’ll leave this for you to read. Since I never actually really get to talk to you, I highly doubt you know anything about me. Especially Tony, for that matter. Oh, and I’m not even mentioning Dad. That’s a whole other letter entirely.
Here goes.
My favorite color is red. I love cookies to no end (chocolate chip) and I truly would love to become the president of the United States when I get older. However, seeing as that is highly unlikely to come true, I would willingly settle for a cop or detective.
My favorite subject in school is English. Well, it used to be. More on that later. I want to go to college and I’d like to go somewhere where I can get a legit education. I’m smart, but why would you take the time to figure that out? I’m the top in my class. Did you know I’m the basketball star, too? Who knew? I always dreamed of playing football and even though the coach wanted me as quarterback it turns out basketball is my thing. Remember when I wanted to play soccer? Probably not. I suck. My feet and I do not cooperate very well.
I feel like I’m talking to Jemma. Oh, she’s this girl in my English class, which is why it’s no longer my favorite subject. She’s dark and weird and enigmatic and lord is she beautiful, but, she is such a pain in the ass. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, and I don’t care. But I need an A in this class so it looks good on my permanent record. I can’t taint it now. I still have senior year left.
Anyway, we have to do this project together where we tell each other about ourselves. I hate it. It’s such an invasion of privacy. I’m pretty sure this violates some law in the constitution, but, as Jemma would say, I probably missed that civics class.
Now, to end this ranting and informational letter, I will say this. My dear mother, you will read this when you start to give a crap about me. I will probably be beyond college and in Saudi Arabia or something tracking a hot trail, so, don’t call me or contact me with tears in your eyes or anything. If you aren’t here for me now, how do I know you’ll be there for me then? You’ve brought this upon yourself. I’m sorry.
One last thing.
Belinda was the only good choice you ever made, besides having Tony, because I love him to death. She’s been more of a mother than you’ve ever been, and I’m being truthful and honest here. I hate her and I yell and I’m often very pissy at her, but, I’m a teenager and that’s what we do.
But she’s handled it well, and I love her.
I love her like the mother I never had.
The mother---that’s you---that rejected me because she was too weak.
I know it hurts, but reality hurts sometimes.
Wherever I may be, I wish you farewell, as I will probably never be back. Somewhere deep down inside me, I know I love you, so I will keep digging for the proof. But I don’t think I can forgive you for leaving Tony alone.
Even though he has Belinda.
Who is great.
In my thoughts,
Jacob.