Husbands But Not

28: Bastardus 2

Kent

"The demonic presence was overwhelming. What they thought was a normal human dinner turned out to be the biggest change Boons was going to face. Being what they were, they smelled fear. They saw fear. And most importantly, they fed on fear. But that night, Boons faced something new. Boons felt fear."

The rest of the class couldn't agree on a common reaction. Most of the students were mortified as Curly finished reading the passage.

"Thank you, Raiken, for the, uhm, beautiful piece," I had never seen Mr. Whitman stutter before. "Though I have to ask, what does this have to do with Word Etymology?"

Curly shrugged. I still called him Curly because I got used to it way more than Raiken. Who names their kid Raiken?

"Was their dinner basturma?" André asked. Mr. Whitman glared at him so hard I thought he lost a piece of his soul.

As Curly went back to his desk, Mr. Whitman resumed the session. "A lot of our common words date way back into history. Yesterday's Bastum is one of my favourite examples because it not only shows how a word shifts and changes, but its meaning also has changed over the course of language history. From a disgraceful term into a common cuss word. From bastum to bastardus to bastard." Had he said that word one more time I was going to leave class.

I hated that word so much, and of all the words in the English language, Mr. Whitman went with that specific one.

I looked back and found Noah clutching his desk tightly. He looked nothing like the dishevelled boy from yesterday.

The bell struck. "Your assignment is to research a common word's origin and evolution. Dismissed."

I put away my notebooks in the backpack and stood up to leave. "Mr. Sinclair, remain seated," The teacher said. "I'd like to have a word with you."

"I'll be outside." Noah said as he passed by me, giving me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. His hand lounged there a little longer than it should have, and for a split of a moment I wanted it to remain there for a little longer.

The class was empty, save for me, Mr. Whitman, and the empty seats.

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked him. He never liked me ever since he became my teacher, so I probably did do something wrong.

"It didn't cross me," He spoke as he cleaned the shiny whiteboard. "The way you were bothered by my use of that word."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I said confidently. I hoped I sounded half as confident as I wanted to be.

"Oh, you know it," He dragged his chair against the tiles. "You're a smart kid."

I readjusted my bag on my shoulder. "Why do you care? I thought you were the villain in my story."

He gave out what I assumed was a laugh. I don't think I've ever heard Mr. Whitman laugh. "You still remember."

"Yes, I do."

"Well, Sinclair, I do care. You just never see the villain's point of view. It's always the main character's." He said, calm as ever.

I was itching to leave. I so wasn't in the mood for his riddles.

"I'm going to tell you something personal." he craned his neck, eyeing me as I pretended to be interested in my bag's fraying latch.

I wondered what sort of weird personal thing he was going to tell me. Why was he even telling me of all people? I genuinely thought he hated me.