Mila was tired as she stepped into her last class of the day. It was hot and stuffy in the classroom as she took her seat in the back of the class. She pulled at her ill fitting uniform, the standard plaid skirt and white blouse, her breasts straining at the flimsy buttons. It was just another thing to add to the list of things she hated about the damn school. It was her first day at Our Sister of Perpetual Help High School and she was miserable from the moment she set foot in the ancient building. She was surrounded by gawking boys and girls who hated her from the moment they saw her stunning face and figure.
She was at least a year older then most of them having spent the last year touring Europe with her mother. Her mother was once a model and having 'lost her looks' she still traveled in the circle of the posh Euro-trash. They spent a time in the Riviera, they had "done" Cannes, spent a great deal of time in Crete, and in general partied for 12 months. Her mother, Lalo, having been raised in the Greek Islands said that Mila would receive enough education traveling with her. But Mila knew the truth, she was a good accessory. Lalo was still stunningly beautiful and together the two of them with their flowing auburn hair and green eyes, stopped traffic wherever they went. But that had all ended when Lalo met Paulo, a photographer from Milan. He was stunned by Lalo's beauty but did not care for her accessory, so Mila was sent to Connecticut to live with a friend of Lalo's who had left modeling to become a Soccer Mom. She hated everything about Connecticut. The faux culture and elitism put her off immediately. And now she was being subjected to the horrors of Catholic school. She considered herself to be more of a Hedonist but, despite the fact she had turned 18 in August she had to finish school somewhere.
So now she sat in the back row of her Lit class and waited for the day to end. As the other students hustled into the room the scenario was the same as the 5 classes and lunch before. The boys all fought for a seat near her and the girls crowded in cliques away from her ,shooting sideways glances and whispering as only high school girls do.
As Mila wiped the sweat from her brow, closing her eyes against the looming migraine, In walked Mr. Crawford. Mila had been told by the daughter of her host that he was the worst, and that he hated everyone. Though he was one of the few secular teachers at the school he was stricter than any on the nuns or priests. He proved himself worthy of that reputation in the first class. The syllabus he handed out rivaled any the students would see in their senior class or in college for that fact. He spoke in a fierce even tone, as he addressed the class.
" I am not here to be your friend," were the first words he spoke. "I am here to teach you feeble minded troglodytes a thing or two about literature. There will be no more Danielle Steele or Dr. Seuss we are going to study Literature, not pansy pop culture garbage."
"I do not tolerate excuses. Each assignment will be turned in on time and it will be graded accordingly. Any assignment receiving a grade of B+ or less will be redone." These comments were met by a series of grumbles from the class but Mila sat silent. She was intrigued by this man. He was the first sign of intelligent life she had seen since arriving it Connecticut.
He was about six feet tall with salt and pepper hair. She guessed him to be around forty-five years old. He wore stereotypical professor clothing. A charcoal blazer with elbow patches and black trousers, a crisp, white shirt and a black and gray tie. His eyes seemed to match the gray in his jacket. His face had a look not so much of age but of experience. Mila smiled to herself knowing that this may be the only ray of light in what was going to be ,she thought, a very dismal year.
They spent the rest of the class covering the syllabus and rearranging the seating. Mr. Crawford wanted them to be seated alphabetically. So, Mila Angelos who had been comfortably seated in the back of all of her classes was sent to the first seat of the first row. No sooner had she dropped herself into her new seat then the bell rang. The plethora of kids ran for the door but were stopped short by Mr. Crawford. "Do I look like a bell?" he asked directing them back to their seats. Mila who had not left hers was surprised to hear her name. "Miss. Angelos since you remained seated you may leave." Mila rose slowly form her chair and straightened her skirt. She grabbed her bag, a multi-colored back pack she had gotten in Crete and walked to the door. The silence in the room echoed in her ears as she walked to the door. She could feel the eyes of her class mates piercing her back. Tears began to well up in her eyes as she finally made it to the door. Once in the hallway she ran out the first doors she could find and reached into her bag for a cigarette. Slowly her classmates began filing out the doors. The boys all looked at her, their eyes filled with the lust of teenage boys. The girls mumbled about her under their breath. "Bitch…teachers pet…kiss up"
Mila tried to block out the sounds of their laughter. She knew when she came to Connecticut that it would be difficult but now more so then ever she longed for home. Not so much her mother or the partying lifestyle but the quiet days she had spent in Crete before coming to the states. She closed her eyes and tried to bring herself back there in her mind. The clarity of who she was seemed to come out in the crystal Mediterranean waters. She longed for the sounds of village women calling out to her from their carts in the market. The smell of wild fennel and fresh basil that filled the air. The olive trees and vineyards, the beach at Balos. All of these things had become home to her and now she was stuck in the intolerably benign landscape of Connecticut. Where no one called your name, gave you fresh flowers, or even talked to one another. The kids she had met were just that kids. They were rich, snotty, brats with too much time and not enough intelligence. She had been in Connecticut since the end of July and all she had seen was a bunch of keg parties in giant homes. She had spent much of her time alone. She had gone to New York once, to the museums. She also spent quite a bit of time painting. She had hoped school would occupy some of her time but the classes she was taking were a joke, with the exception of literature. There was hope there at least.
Mila opened her eyes, which brought her crashing back to the reality of Connecticut. She took one last drag on her cigarette and leaned to put it out. At that moment Mr. Crawford came out of the doors beside her. She quickly snuffed out her cigarette and began to walk away.
