After School Special/Part One

by Marlissa

There she was. "Come in Brenda!" Glen Simmons absently
shouted.

Brenda Porter, the freshman girl who had freaked out at her bus
stop shyly entered the room. Glen wondered why he didn't
remember her from the junior high school, then remembered this
was the transfer student who had just started at Bentson High.
He pointed to the seat which she took, careful to keep the hem
of her red spandex miniskirt under her thighs.

She was a pretty ponytailed brunette, about 5' 4", with coltish
slim hips and a small bust, which she accentuated with a
midriff-baring sleeveless navy knit top. She wore saucy little
three inch red heels and precious white socks with elaborate
lace trimmings, and her legs were smooth and shiny. Brenda
was just starting to blossom into full-fledged femininity, with a
bright pouty red lipsticked mouth, mascara'ed hazel eyes with
thin plucked brows and lightly highlighted cheeks. Cute face
too-- delicate bone structure with a longish look and a short
pointy chin and a pair of dimples to die for. A typical fourteen
year old girl even down to the braces which she revealed as she
gave him a respectful smile.

Well, maybe not so typical. She reminded him of someone but
he couldn't think who at the moment. And she did dress a little
provocatively for fourteen-- a veritable Lolita in that form-fitting
top and tight spandex mini. But Glen had to be honest-- he
hadn't the slightest idea of what teen fashion held sway at
present. Maybe this was considered "in."

"Mr. Skinner mentioned that something happened this morning.
Something that upset you. Want to talk about it?"

The smile ran away from her face in an instant. "Uh, I don't
know what you mean, sir." She twirled a long lock of her
ponytail nervously, eyelashes batting rapidly.

"Well, I understand Tommy Jacobs was teasing you. Why don't
you tell me the rest." He nodded, inviting her to do so at once.

The teen kept her big hazel eyes locked on her shoes. "Uh, we
were in the bus line and Tommy was behind me and he snapped
my bra strap."

Glen nodded, noting this with gravity on his legal pad. Inside
he wanted to laugh. The kid had gone hysterical because a boy
had snapped her bra! "And that was it?"

She shuffled her pumps. "No. He said I had nice little boobies
and he wanted to touch them." She was angry and her lips were
pursed tight over her braces. When her lips parted again, Glen
could see the pink lipstick traces on the steel fittings.

Glen considered quickly. He had to be gentle but he also knew
Old Man Skinner would go ballistic if Brenda kept having
screaming fits whenever some boy snapped her bra. He couldn't
help but notice she did have a nice, if petite figure for a fourteen
year old. If he were fourteen, he might have snapped her bra--
if he hadn't noticed something OFF about her. He couldn't put
his finger on it, but there was something strange about the girl.

"You know Brenda, boys at this age often do these kinds of
things to show a girl he likes her."

Glen noticed the girl blush. As if this comment reminded her of
something she ought to do, Brenda daintily crossed her smooth
legs, her small hands with their red polished nails smoothing
down the miniskirt hem as she did. He continued quickly.

"Tommy was just flirting with you. He probably likes you.
Pretty girls get teased that way a lot and unfortunately they just
have to get used to all kinds of attention from boys."

The little brunette looked dully out the window. "That's what
Daddy says. Just what Daddy says." Glen thought he detected
a hint of bitterness in the soft voice.

"Well, he's right. I'm sure your mother tells you the same thing
too--doesn't she?"

The student nodded reluctantly. "Do you think I'm a pretty girl,
Mr. Simmons?" she asked plaintively.

"Yes I do, Brenda." Has she got a crush on me?... but no-- the
compliment caused her to frown worriedly. Glen pressed on.
"And isn't it nice to think a boy your own age thinks so too and
that he likes you? Maybe you and Tommy could be boyfriend
and girlfriend before too long. You're at the age when I bet you
think about those things."

Brenda's jaw dropped, eyes wide.

Good, I must be right since she looks surprised, he thought. He
plowed on in a similar vein, eager to finish this little interview
up. He had paperwork to get to. "Sure, I bet you think about
boys a lot-- maybe even daydream about the cute ones. It's
natural for you to be a little boy-crazy, Brenda. You shouldn't
be ashamed of your new feelings. Hey, I know who you look
like now. I've been trying to think of it an it just came to me--
you look like that girl on Beverly Hills 90210, uh, Brenda.
Anyone ever tell you that?"

And then Glen knew he wouldn't be getting to his paperwork,
because Brenda Porter broke in a deep sobbing fit. Instantly he
was on his feet handing her some kleenex. Trying to comfort
her he put his hands on her thin shoulders. "It's o.k.--"

"Don't touch me, please!" she shrieked.

His hands flew off her shoulders in a second. "Brenda, relax!
I'm just trying to help! Obviously I'll have to call your parents
at once. You're in no state to return to class."

She looked up terrified. "No Mr. Simmons! Please don't call
my parents! I'm o.k.! See? I'm all set!" The theatrical grin on
her tear stained face was offered as proof.

He picked up the phone as she rattled off assurances she was
indeed o.k. "I just got silly because of what Tommy did, Mr.
Simmons. Really! I'm o.k. I guess you're right about those
things you said about girls at my age going boy-crazy. I, uh, do
like Tommy and I got all weird inside. But please don't call my
parents! I'm enough trouble for them already! I'll be punished
if you call them!" Her eyes pleaded with him not to make the
call.

He put the phone down and Brenda relaxed. "O.k. Brenda--
you can go back to class. If you have anything else you want to
talk about, come see me anytime-- I'll arrange a hall pass for
you, o.k."

She smiled sweetly, brushing the last of the tears way. "Thank
you Mr. Simmons. I won't be bothering you any more." She
picked up her books and minced shyly from the office.

Glen immediately reached for Brenda's file. Something was
wrong-- he could sense it. At twenty he wasn't so far away in
age from these kids so as not to be able to understand them.
Old Man Skinner, the principal, had hired him out of
community college only after he had received a copy of his
degree in education-- he hadn't believed Glen was old enough to
have been to college. And his looks didn't help either-- his
bright blonde hair, too-pale beardless complexion, his short
height. Maybe that's why he had always wanted to work as a
guidance counselor-- at heart he felt more comfortable with the
kids than the adult world. Only with kids did he feel like he
commanded respect. And he knew teens well enough to know
Brenda's behavior was just wrong.

He flipped through the courses chosen. Home Economics (an
A), Gym Class (an A-), then all Cs and Ds in her required
academic courses, all of which were general. That indicated
Brenda wasn't taking college prep course. Not a future Rocket
Scientist of America, he chuckled. Then he glanced in surprise
at the IQ score-- 135! Not a genius but she ought to be taking
college prep for now. He took another look at the coursework.
It was annotated "General classes at request of parents." He
found the parents' names. Maybe if he could talk to them,
convince them Brenda needed to take harder courses and really
apply herself. They're probably not too bright themselves.

Wrong again. "Mr. Rick Mason, attorney at law and Dr. Lesley
Mason, plastic surgeon." These were Brenda the Ditz'es
parents? They had requested non-college courses for their
daughter? It didn't make sense. He needed more information.
He dialed up the number listed as the last school attended and
was connected to a Deanna Hill, his counterpart at the Jasper
Ohio Junior High School guidance office.

"Yes I remember Brenda. Cute girl, real quiet. Is there a
problem?" the older lady inquired helpfully.

Glen didn't know what to say. Even inferring there might be
would be against the rules. And if it got back to the parents, he
might be held liable for slander. "Not really. I just want to help
her adjust to our school and I thought you might have some
insights," he explained.

"Well, she was only here for a year. A good kid basically. She
never was very social-- no friends I can recall. She wasn't an
academic star-- never did her homework and never studied for
tests. She seemed embarrassed about it but never did anything
to improve. Just had a 'I'm just an airhead and I can't help it'
attitude-- not that she ever brought a book home. Not that her
parents cared. They attended one teacher-parent conference and
said if Brenda could learn to cook, clean and sew plus keep
herself in shape, then they were happy. God damn," the woman
exclaimed, "it was as if all they wanted for Brenda was to be
some bimbo housewife! And her mother is a doctor for God's
sakes!"

Glen hesitated then plunged in. "How did Brenda get along with
boys?"

A pause. "You know, it was funny. She seemed completely
preoccupied with her appearance, like being pretty was
everything. I thought she dressed, well-- a bit old for her age.
You know-- one of those girls who really gets into makeup and
clothing. And yet she hated it when boys touched her even
innocently. Never had a boyfriend either. At one point, I
suspected sexual abuse-- you know that's not natural for a girl to
be so skittish."

"What happened?" Glen pressed.

A disgusted laugh. "They moved before I had a chance to do
anything. That's why I'm glad you called. Tell me what high
school you're at so we can pursue legal--"

Glen hung the phone up. Skinner was such a conservative that
he'd flip if Glen brought in some out-of-town know-it-all.
Bentson was a small town with a small town mentality. If Glen
thought Brenda was being sexually abused, he'd have to dig up
more than he had. He searched through the files but the only
other information was the listing for the school Brenda attended
preceding Jasper Junior High. He dialed the number for the
Central Massachusetts State School and got the records office.

"I need the records for a student, please."

"Social security number?" a gruff male voice demanded rudely.

"034-99-6669."

"That D. Porter?" The voice didn't sound like a guidance
counselor in a school system to Glen.

"Yes. Can you tell me something about--"

"Look Mac, hundreds come in and go out as fast as I can book
'em here in Records. I don't no particulars, o.k.?"

"Fine, just fax it over o.k.?" He gave him the number, got a
brusque 'yeah' and the promise it would be there by end of day.