High School Honey by Bill Bowler	Table of Contents
Chapter 4: World History

Mr. Bloman was lecturing his second period World History class. He paced back and forth behind his desk, turned to face the class, placed his left hand on an open book, raised his right arm and poked the air with two fingers.

“We can identify two primary contributing factors in the general lowering of the moral threshold, two essential and underlying reasons for the decline in ethical and religious orientation, two glaring, two inescapable, two nefarious...”

Flea and Floater entered the classroom, interrupting Mr. Bloman in mid-sentence. Floater tripped Flea. Flea turned and shoved Floater. The class laughed. Mr. Bloman rapped his ruler on the desk top. He examined their late passes.

“You gentlemen,” he said loudly, “are skating on thin ice. You are by no means assured of a passing grade this term. Quite the contrary. In fact, no one will be as surprised as I if either of you manages to pass this class. You find that amusing, Mr. Fleanor? Now please sit down and since you find it impossible to pay attention at least try to remain quiet.”

Flea and Floater strolled to the back of the classroom and sat by the window. Mr. Bloman resumed speaking.

“Atheism and pornography! The two greatest threats, the two principal factors, to which I was alluding before this unfortunate interruption, the two underlying causes of the spreading nihilism that increasingly undermines society in the Western democracies, where the threat of growing anarchy...”

In the back of the classroom, Flea’s eyelids felt like leaden curtains that were coming down and could not be raised. He began to nod as Bloman’s voice droned on in the background, lulling him to sleep. Flea tried to suppress a yawn, rubbed his eyes, glanced out the window, and was suddenly wide awake.

Mr. Bloman finished an important sentence and paused to ascertain whether the students were taking notes. The diligent, well-behaved ones were paying attention and waiting eagerly for him to continue, but a few poor students were not. Floater Loom was slouched in a casual, lounging position, reading a comic book. Flea Fleanor was staring out the window. Mr. Bloman followed his gaze.

Miss Ravich had the second-period girls’ gym class outside doing calisthenics. She blew a whistle and shouted, “All right, girls, look lively! Line up for Jumping Jacks. Now, one-two, one-two...”

Honey and Shirley were in the third row of gymnasts, talking and giggling. Miss Ravich strode back and forth as she counted out the exercise and when her back was turned, the two girls slipped away around the side of the building.

“God! What a bore!” gasped Honey, and the two girls laughed.

From around the corner, they could hear Miss Ravich blow her whistle and shout, “All right, girls, now sit-ups!”

Honey and Shirley lay down on the grass slope near the side of the building. Honey took off her sneakers and socks, rolled up her gym shorts to get maximum sun on her thighs, and rolled up her t-shirt so her stomach would get some rays.

“I lost three pounds this week,” said Shirley.

“I can see it in your face,” said Honey. “Your cheekbones are more prominent.”

“They are?! You really think so.”

“For sure.”

“But I’m still disgustingly fat! Let’s diet together. It will be easy if neither of us eats. We’ll fast today to cleanse our systems and then only vegetables and water for two weeks. When you drink a lot of water, it flushes your system and you don’t get as hungry. We’ll lose fifteen pounds each. There’s just one problem.”

“What?”

“I hate vegetables,” said Shirley.

They lay quietly for a few moments, then Honey said, “I’m going to do my stomach for fifteen minutes, then my back for fifteen minutes. Am I getting even exposure? Are there any shadows on me?”

Shirley rose to one elbow. “No, you’re fine. How about me? Am I getting any color?”

“Your freckles are getting darker.”

“God! I hate freckles!”

Shirley lay back down. The two friends were silent for a moment. Honey felt the warm sun on her face and her thoughts drifted to the handsome man with the nice suit and briefcase who would love her and marry her someday, but a shadow fell across the girls.

“What’s the meaning of this?! Who authorized you girls to lie here?!” Miss Ravich exploded in a flood of indignation. “I want both of you to report to detention after school today!”

Honey put on her socks and sneakers. The two girls obediently stood and rolled down their shirts. From a classroom window in the opposite wing, two faces watched them. As the girls tucked in their t-shirts and their belly buttons disappeared from view, Mr. Bloman turned to Flea.

“What are you staring at, Fleanor?”

Flea grinned.

Mr. Bloman spoke in a low voice. “I know what you’re thinking when you stare at that girl. It’s sin. It’s the cleft hoof of the devil.”

As Mr. Bloman turned from Flea, Floater coughed into his fist, “Fuh-yu.”

The class giggled. Mr. Bloman glared around, but found no flagrant miscreant.

Mr. Bloman strode to the front of the classroom. “So, now, a-hem, where was I? Yes, the source of anarchy.” He wrote “ANARCHY” on the blackboard. “The two principal factors in the breakdown of the social fabric, as witnessed in Russia at the turn of the century, or in present-day Cuba and Albania, factors that lead to the rise of tyrannical atheistic dictators like Lenin, Castro, and...”

“Your momma,” Floater stage-whispered from the back row.

The class laughed.

“Please stop that talking in the back row. Raise your hand if you have a question. And I’m telling you for your own good, son, really, if you don’t learn to keep your mouth shut, you’re going to find yourself in trouble.”

Floater was unfortunately not capable of following such excellent advice.

“Now, where was I?” continued Mr. Bloman, “Yes. The rise of dictatorship. The Russian Communists, for example, are slaves to a dictator. Their farms and factories are unproductive. Their workers are apathetic because they have no chance to make a profit. The dictatorship government subjects the citizens to surveillance and controls the media. Their armies have conquered half of Europe! They’re atheists, you know of course. Opiate of the masses, right?... Wrong! Don’t shake your heads like that without thinking! What’s the matter with you kids? It’s incredible! No God?! Why, I have a garden. All I have to do is go to my garden and look around, and I have no doubt. Who else could have created it?”

By this time, Floater’s boredom had grown beyond all proportion and he was in desperate need of an immediate outlet for his energies. He pulled the ink cartridge out of a bic pen, chewed a small piece of loose-leaf paper and fashioned a spitball. Using the pen casing as a blow gun, with deadly aim, “thwap,” he hit Flea on the right cheek. Flea raised his middle finger and rubbed the spot. Several students laughed.

“That’s enough!” cried Mr. Bloman. He glared at Floater. “Report to detention after school today, young man. You find that humorous, Mr. Fleanor? You can report to detention as well.”

The bell sounded and the class rose to go in a burst of chatter.

“And don’t forget,” Mr. Bloman shouted over the rustling papers, the shuffling feet, and the buzz of young voices, “we have an hour exam next Monday.”

Proceed to Chapter 5...

Copyright © 2010 by Bill Bowler