Senior Skip Day

(Disclaimer: All characters in this story are 18 years old or older.)

Tomorrow is senior skip day! The best day of senior year!

Actually, to be honest, prom was my favorite day. It was three days after I turned 18 and yes, it wasn’t really prom so much that was the high point of the day, it was going three rounds with my date, the captain of the tennis team, afterwards. He, as well as ninety-percent of my class, were “legal” before me, and while I had last count of how many times a male classmate “accidentally” brushed a hand against my ass or breasts, no one would touch me. Our city, Littletown, is home to one of the most aggressive state attorneys in the country who seems to be able to smell statutory as it is happening so the boys in town are more cautious than most.

I digress. Currently I’m sitting on an uncomfortable stool in the biology lab where my biology teacher is droning on about boring science crap that I really could care less about. I’m looking forward to not being in a classroom tomorrow. Combine that with it being my last class period of the day and twenty minutes till the bell, who could possibly pay attention to school?

I look around. At the lab station to my right are my neighbors and best friends Lewis and Eric. Lewis lives two houses down and Eric lives next door. We first met back in kindergarten and have been fast friends. I’m a little unusual in my class in that I don’t circulate in the usual girl cliques. Lewis is asleep. This is also Lewis’ second senior year as he totally flunked out last year. His parents don’t want him at home during the day so they made him come back. He is pretty much destined to have a third senior year as he is usually asleep when he is in class.

Eric is in between us age-wise and is drawing stick figures in compromising positions with other stick figures in his notebook. Both of them will chase the tail of any girl that will acknowledge their existence. Me on the other hand they really haven’t chased. We never even played “show me yours” and somehow in nearly thirteen years of school and hanging out we have never walked in on each other in any state of undress.

To my left is Horace, the "eighteen year old virgin" who is completely obsessed with me. He won’t talk to me and if I look at him and he happens to be looking at him, he looks away. He spends a lot of time in biology class staring at me, taking in my perky B-cup breasts and whatever skin I am exposing with my outfit. How I know this is because in addition to staring at me he is usually rubbing himself. On the days when I opt for the “just barely long enough” denim miniskirt and tank top, much like what I am wearing today, he typically creams himself by the end of class. Based on how fast he is rubbing right now, he may set a new personal best and go for a double.

Horace is kind of cute, but interactions with him have become more awkward through the course of the year. It would be unusual circumstances indeed for us to ever sleep together, though I am curious. If the size of his bulge is any indication he might be a fulfilling experience. I wink at him and return my attention to Mr. Perkins.

I no sooner tune back into Professor Monotone than a crumpled up paper ball lands on the counter of my lab station. I uncrumple it and look. It’s one of Eric’s stick figure drawings. One of them is clearly a girl, surrounded by what looks like at eight stick figure men with stick cocks the length their stick arms, spraying the girl stick figure in the middle. I look over at Eric and roll my eyes. He barely stifles a snicker and returns to his stick figure orgies.

Perkins has now started talking about the material that will be on our next test. Four chapters, covering all the body systems that form the basis for school jokes all the way back to first grade. I look at the clock and it has been two minutes since I last checked in on Horace. I look over, dreading what I will see.

Sure enough he pulled the trigger. It must have been particularly vigorous this time because he looks like he seriously wet himself. I feel bad for him because most of the class thinks that is what is happening. This is the drawback of sitting on the back row with the troublemakers. If we were in the front, everyone would know what was going on. On the other hand, I’d rather them not know what is really going on because then it would draw more attention to me than I really want.

He’s seriously going for round two! I cringe inside and look forward again, just in case Perkins is saying something important. It is sort of important, the test is worth a third of our fourth quarter grade. That means I’ll have to study and make at least a C if I want to pass this class. Biology is the class that could hamper my summer plans. If I fail this class, that means taking it again in summer school. I have way too much fun to do, plus I need to get a job to pay for that fun. Summer school will totally screw that up.

Another crumpled paper ball lands at my station. Dreading what lovely artistic inspiration he came up with this time, I straighten the paper back out. Ah Eric, if you only took some art classes and didn’t use your cock to think, you would be quite the artist.

The first thing I see is a female stick figure bent over a square, which I am assuming is Perkins’ desk, with another stick figure with a much shorter stick phallus. Based on the angle I assume the remainder of the stick phallus is supposed to be inside the female stick figure. Based on the glasses the male stick figure is wearing, I assume that it is supposed to be Horace, which leads me to deduce the female stick figure is supposed to be me.

I turn and glare at him and then he points back at the paper. I look down and the bottom half of the page in Eric’s classy fifth-grade scrawl he has written “Going to historic Littletown tomorrow, you in?”

I attempt to draw a stick figure giving the finger on the top half and scribble “Yes” under his question. I crumple the paper up and throw it at him.

I look back to the front where Perkins is still droning on (oh my god, eight minutes left). I don’t even look to my left, I turn my head just enough to pick up the motion out of the corner of my eye. Yes, he’s still going. I give up and put my head down on the desk.

The closing bell sounds and everyone runs out of the classroom. I don’t know how I did it but I managed to fall asleep so I’m a little woozy. You know how it is, you get woken up abruptly after a short nap and it takes a minute for you to take in your surroundings.

Mr. Perkins is calling my name. I jerk my head up and he says “Miss Galliard, are you okay?”

No, but I don’t have to think about school for two days! I reply, “I’m fine, I just had a headache. Probably my period coming up.”

He nods his head as if to sympathize (or empathize, I can never remember which is which) like he knows what it feels like to have your insides twist and churn and bleed between your thighs for a week every month. He says, “I hope you feel better and can study tonight. Tomorrow’s test weighs heavily on your grade and I know you’re on the edge for the year.” He smiles, snaps his briefcase shut and leaves the classroom.

I do a double take. Did he say tomorrow’s test? Did that asshole put a major test on senior skip day?

I stand up and say the word “fuck” out loud. Several times. Then I hear a moan. To my left.

Oh my god, I wasn’t alone, and if I heard what I think I heard, I really didn’t want to be in the room for that. I turn my head and sure enough, it’s Horace, and that wet spot is twice as big as it was before my impromptu nap. He doesn’t say anything, but he points at my ass. A quick inspection reveals the back hem of my skirt had risen above my ass cheeks when I slid off the chair, leaving a bright turquoise thong and my bare ass cheeks in plain view for Horace to elevate his fantasy. I glare at him, tug the hem back down, grab my bag and leave the classroom.

I am pissed. Perkins has ruined skip day. If I skip, I fail the class and then my summer is screwed up. If I show up to class, I’ll be the only one in class probably. Well, I suspect Horace will be there too. And yes, even during tests he somehow manages to multi-task.

I am even more pissed when I get outside the building for my ride. Lewis is already sitting shotgun which means I have to sit in the back. Where Lewis will adjust the rearview mirror at the precise angle to stare at my cleavage the whole way home.

I get in, swear multiple times and explain my dilemma. For once Lewis doesn’t play with the stupid mirror. They try to be sympathetic but Lewis could care less about his success in school, and Eric, who would probably bang science if science were a woman, has maintained an A average all year and is not in my predicament.