Tuck Sinn

7

Becky was sitting with some of the other girls, who were talking with her with soft looks in their eyes. Amy was sitting separately with Joe and them. Tom had no one to sit by.

A falling feeling was in him, set, and he couldn't choose where to sit until Mr. Dobbins said "Find a seat or get a beating, boy." So Tom walked quickly-- hardly on his feet, hardly feeling the movements-- to the back of the room. The only empty seats were the desks with scratches and dips and curves in them, back there where no one else was. He sat and the chair was uneven, wobbling, old.

He couldn't focus.

He needed to fix everything, but Becky wouldn't want to be anywhere near him. He sat stewing in class, hardly paying attention.

"Tom Sawyer." Mr. Dobbins' voice was harsh, and Tom looked up from staring at the old desk. His stomach suddenly turned; his heart suddenly heaved.

"Mr. Dobbins?" He asked, his voice hardly enough to say more than that.
"Your answer to the question on the board?"
"Sorry, sir. I..." He closed his eyes. A dark hot feeling continued through him, making everything worse. It was all hardly staying together; He was hardly staying together.

"Read the board, Sawyer." Mr. Dobbins was irritated, Tom could tell. But he always was, and Tom could hardly focus on his own thoughts, and the board was hardly in his view back here, past the distance and everyone's heads... They were all turned around, looking at him. A redness was in his face, in the feeling of his stomach. A burning red, the feeling of a scorch, of a firecracker on his skin.

"I can't..." Tom squinted. With Mr. Dobbins' handwriting being swirly and crushed thin cursive, Tom could never really read it well. And back here, it was even worse. It was too far away. But Tom did his best, trying not to focus on everyone's stares or on the feelings blooming in his stomach.

"Stand up, boy." Mr. Dobbins said, and Tom did. His legs were vibrating and weak, and he wanted nothing more than to run.

On the board was something about the Bible. Something about disciples and symbolism-- Tom sighed, panicked, overwhelmed-- A crying sigh was hidden away in him; he tried to only look at the board, avoiding everyone else. His hands came to his hair, bunching it and combing through it.

"The first two disciples, Tom Sawyer. In the Bible, who symbolized what?"

"Um," Tom couldn't think. "They were, uh..." Tom looked around, saw more people turn to face him, to see the panicked, defeated look in him. He searched for an answer, for something.

He found Becky. She was looking at him, but when they met eyes, she turned back around towards the front. He felt himself tear apart at that. At meeting her eyes and seeing her look away, wanting nothing to do with him.

He closed his eyes. Even with his feet on the ground, he felt like he was spinning, like he was floating in the dark cold river. He didn't want this feeling anymore. It didn't matter what he said to Mr. Dobbins or to Becky. Whatever he said would be wrong, he knew.

"Adam and Eve," He said softly. He heard some people exhale or hold their laughs or let them out in snickers. He saw Becky shaking her head. He sighed, his eyes flicking away to the side. He couldn't stop now; He continued, talking louder. He stood up straighter. He had a talent for doing things wrong, and he had to accept that. "They symbolized a lack of faith in authority and..." Tom swallowed. His face was hot. His stomach was turning, burning. "...And tradition, and, uh... They were punished for it." He said. Mr. Dobbins nodded, looking around the room.

"Good try, Sawyer. But that's incorrect." Mr. Dobbins said.
"I know." Tom said to himself, starting to sit down.
"What was that, boy?" Mr. Dobbins asked. Tom closed his eyes tightly, feeling the mistake resonate in him. He should've known not to do that.

"I-- I know it's wrong, Mr. Dobbins." Tom said. His voice was light, nervous, dry again.

"Then why did you say it?" Mr. Dobbins asked. Tom knew Mr. Dobbins didn't really care. He just wanted a fight, like always, and wanted someone to beat. Just wanted to punish him.

"...I had to say something or you would get mad." Tom said. Mr. Dobbins looked taken aback. Tom was making it worse. He was making it so much worse.

"I would get mad? How would you know, boy?"

"You like giving me beatings, sir." Tom shrugged. He felt the lack of air around him. He felt the darkness in the room. Mr. Dobbins' face started getting red. Tom knew he was messing up again, but it had already started, and he couldn't do anything else but keep going. The class was silent.

"And you sure like talking back to me. Get down here, Sawyer." Mr. Dobbins said, pointing harshly to the floor beside him at the front of the room. Tom stayed where he was for a moment. He didn't want this. "Come, Sawyer, or I'll strike you more."

Tom sighed. "Yes, sir."

"What was that?" Mr. Dobbins asked quickly. Tom rolled his eyes. There always had to be a fight with him. There always had to be a show. It wasn't enough that Tom said something wrong. It wasn't enough that he was going to get stricken. Tom could feel the tenseness in the room, everyone waiting for him to move, for this to be over.

"Nothing. Sorry, sir." Tom started towards the front. He could see Mr. Dobbins take the thickest stick from the wall. Tom couldn't do anything right.

Tom came to the front of the room. He looked back to everyone for a moment, seeing Becky looking down, seeing Amy staring at him with sympathy, with sadness, before she met his eyes and they both looked to the ground bitterly.

He took Mr. Dobbins' beatings for talking back. For disrespect and not knowing the lesson and not paying attention, like he had been doing for years. With every hit his skin stung and burned, fiery and stiff and red under his clothes.

Tom realized that he didn't want to go to school anymore.
His only reason for going was Becky, and that was over. And now that he was avoiding Amy... A sadness spread through him. They were all in the same friend group, and now that neither of them liked him... He wouldn't be friends with anyone here. He was alienated.

When it was all over, Tom went to the back of the room. Mr. Dobbins had his fill for the day; he didn't call on him again.

Tom sat for the rest of class, aching and stinging and waiting. His face was hot as he stared down at his desk, tracing the lines and curves in the wood, thinking about how to fix all of this. Thinking about how he never wanted to come here again. When it was all over, he walked home.