I walked into Winter Valley Junior High almost nine years since my eighth grade graduation ceremony. This time instead of the red gown and mortar board cap, I wore a gray suit complete with a red and green striped tie while carrying my black attache case. Butterflies flitted about in my stomach. This was going to be my first, albeit temporary, teaching position. I never thought I'd be an eighth grade science teacher in the same room I dissected a frog.
I remembered my previous years at the school fondly. The two years spent at that school outpaced either the previous six in elementary or subsequent four at the senior high. Teachers actually taught us, not just the school subjects, but life lessons as well. While everyone always considered me a nerd, during those two years, I also performed as an athlete. In fact, nearly everyone participated in some sort of sports or activities or after school clubs. Mine happened to be boys basketball.
As I made my way toward the principal's office, I recognized the familiar off white and light yellow hallway walls punctuated by rows of beige lockers. So uninspiringly boring. When I attended, bright green and red (our school colors) posters plastered the walls, promoting the teams or events or gatherings. If you weren't participating, you were attending or maybe just supporting. Everyone had a role. It made us feel like a big family.
Then I approached the infamous trophy case and its lone gold and black occupant.
Ten years before, when I was in seventh grade, the Winter Wolves captured for the first and only time the Tri-County Holiday Basketball tournament. Our secret weapon, a horrible flu epidemic that wiped out the stars on all the other teams.
Our school, or at least our players, had somehow missed the contagion and captured the tournament rather handily. We felt rather unfairly blessed by the gods to have a healthy team and debated whether to accept the trophy owing to our sense of good sportsmanship. Only when the other schools insisted did we create the case to put the trophy in. Little did we know just how lonely it would become.
A rumor surfaced that our cheerleaders seduced the key rivals, spreading the flu strain through the other schools. It gave new meaning to the phrase "win at all costs." I never knew if it was true, though the next year the school created a policy that allowed for breastfeeding during class, mostly utilized by our returning former pompom girls.
As I stood admiring our single feat of glory, several adults walked by, murmuring to each other while pointing at me. I was starting to get a complex.
Then I felt the presence of another person standing beside me. "That was quite the event," she said.
I turned to find Dottie Madison standing there. She had been the star of our otherwise male team. It caused a stir through the league, but our example started the campaign for co-ed teams. With budget considerations playing a huge role, the junior highs decided combining boys and girls basketball teams would be profitable. For once, Winter Valley proved to be a trendsetter.
Almost an afterthought, the girls rarely felt like equals on the teams. At first, most schools in the league might add one or at most two token girls to their squad and play almost only boys. Hence the rule introduced that at least one opposite sex person had to be on the court at all times.
"Hi, stranger," I said to her. "What are you doing here?"
"I got called in to speak to Principal Van Buren. How about you?"
"I'm starting a substitute position today. In fact, I have to see Van Buren too."
"Then let's go there together." Then she added, "So you don't get lost."
We walked side by side down the hallway. With every step, my heart beat faster. My nervousness wasn't helped by being next to the girl I, along with all of my teammates, had a crush on. And while Dottie might tease us, her knees remained firmly locked together. She might have still been a virgin when we graduated high school.
At the office, the school secretary, Miss Hamilton, remained vigilant, peering over her oval frames. "You two are late," she scolded us. "Go right in."
I gulped loudly. I was glad to have a friendly face with me to face the old man.
I held the door for Dottie, gesturing for her to enter the tiger's lair first. Before she could, a little red-haired fireball flew out of the room. I caught a glimpse of her freckled face and missing tooth as she scooted past us.
Dottie made a "What the fuck?" face at me before continuing inside. After taking a deep breath, I followed her in, closing the door behind me.
The man behind the desk looked up, that grizzled face a bit older than the many times I had been invited in before. I furtively glanced around to see if he still displayed the cricket bat he threatened us troublemakers with years ago.
"Have a seat," he said, his growl having mellowed a little over time. "I suppose you know why you are both here together."
I shook my head and glanced to the young teacher who looked equally clueless.
"Last night, our two basketball coaches and two of our star players were returning from a league meeting when their car was hit by a drunk driver. No one died, but they are now in the hospital."
"That's horrible," said Dottie. "But why are we…"
"With both Coach Bush and Coach Jackson injured seriously, we have to make some adjustments regarding our basketball team. According to our league regulations, we must have two faculty members as the responsible parties at each game, or we forfeit. That's where you two come in. Because we are co-ed, that means two different genders. Congratulations, for the next two weeks, you are the school's co-head coaches."
My jaw dropped as I'm sure Dottie's did also. Neither of us said anything for the longest time. Finally, she asked, "Why didn't you just get one of the football coaches to step in or something?"
"They are all busy with other winter sport teams. Besides, none have any basketball experience. Trust me, I looked. You, Miss Madison, are the only female faculty member in the entire school left with any roundball playing time. And you, Mr. Wilson, are the only male teacher to be on a winning team."
"I'm flattered," I croaked out. "But I don't know anything about coaching."
"It's quite simple," said Van Buren. "Coach Jackson said he came up with a foolproof strategy. You just have to follow it."
"Do you know what it is?" asked Dottie.
"No, but I'm sure he has notes about it in his locker room office. I have confidence you'll figure it out."
Principal Van Buren gave us that look, the one just before the cricket bat came off the wall. "Now, I don't expect miracles, but I would like to put something else in that damn trophy case. I don't care what it takes."
I thought for a moment about his choice of words. "Do you really mean that?" I asked.
"Short of breaking league rules and murder, you can do whatever is necessary. Now, head off to your classrooms. The morning bell is about to ring."
Outside the door, I asked, "Do you think Coach Jackson really has a foolproof plan?"
"Hardly," laughed Dottie. "That's why we lost the last five without taking a single game."
"Do you have any ideas?"
"No," said Dottie. "I just played the game. I never paid any notice to Miss Bush." She giggled for a second. "Do you know, after we graduated, Miss Bush tried to seduce me?"
"When you left high school?"
"No, when I left here."
My mouth dropped again. "Was she successful?"
Dottie just smiled. "A girl never tells. Anyway, I'll defer to one of your brilliant ideas. I think I remember how you always have one."
I thought for a moment. "Yes. Practice starts at 4:00, right. Meet me at 3:30 in the gym. That should give me enough time." To pull something out of my ass, I should have added.
She looked into my eyes. "I always knew you were the devious type. Was I right?"
"A gentleman never tells either."
I found my way down to the science classrooms in the lower level of the school. When I attended junior high, I always thought it was designed to be as far away from the athletic wing as possible. Now I knew it was as far away from the office as possible also.
Entering the room, I discovered a long laboratory bench across the front, a dozen smaller benches across the back, and a couple dozen chairs with attached writing surfaces between them. I assumed I taught from behind the large one, using it for demonstrations as necessary.
I put my attache case on the desktop and picked up a stack of paper. Ms. Shaffer had prepared two weeks of lesson plans for me to use. When I met her, I owed her a big kiss.
After skimming the first lesson, I unlocked the supply closet and explored the stores. I saw a myriad of chemicals and located a couple of compounds that hearkened back to my college days. A huge smile crossed my face. My ass came through again.
I started grabbing glass tubing and clamps to create a makeshift still to combine the ingredients. As I turned, I almost dropped everything. Standing quietly in the doorway was a student.
"May I help you?"
"Where's Ms. Shaffer?" she asked in return.
"Ah," I said. My eyes focused on the freckle-faced girl with her brown page-boy topped with a blue-butterfly hairband. I had done my student teaching at a school that required all students in uniforms. This girl wore a thin peach-colored tee shirt with a cute jeans skirt. The embroidered brown rabbit in the valley between her two maturing mounds was a real surprise, but nothing compared to the pencil erasers trying to cut through the shirt.
"Who are you?" I asked, having forgot her original question.
"I'm Bonnie," she said. "I asked about Ms. Shaffer."
"Oh, she won't be in for a couple of weeks. I'm Mr. Wilson. I'll be filling in for her."
The girl nodded. "Do you need any help?" she asked. "I sometimes help her."
"Good to know." I handed the teacher's pet a couple of clamps.
"Are you going to show us an experiment?" she asked as she carried it back into the classroom.
"Not today, but I want to be prepared." I smiled at the girl. "I could see why Ms. Shaffer liked you."
A few other students trickled in, so I thanked Bonnie and headed back to the lesson plan stack. As I looked up, I noticed she sat in the first row right in front of me. I also noticed she had nice legs and didn't cross her ankles. I had a nice peek at the lower part of her inner thighs. If she was any indication, this was going to be a long day until basketball practice.
At 3:20, after seven periods of teens trying to embarrass the new substitute, I arrived at the Winter Junior High gym with my supplies being pulled in a wagon and carrying my big surprise. I pulled the crash door open and stepped inside to the huge enclosure lit only by the emergency lights. Eerie, I thought. Just like when we played.
I felt for the concealed light switches by the door. Finding the master, I clicked it on. Instantly, the mercury vapor lamps overcame the darkness as they dimly glowed to life. The hum signaled they were coming up to full brightness.
Leaving the surprise by the door, I wheeled the rest of my stuff to center court. The custodial staff had placed a folding table there per my instructions. Then I headed for the boys locker room to retrieve the pair of rolling racks of basketballs. I didn't even look for Coach Jackson's plan. It wasn't going to be anything like what I envisioned.
When I returned, Dottie was standing next to the table and studying the contents of the wagon. "Go ahead and set up cups for all of our players," I yelled.
"What am I, your hostess?" she yelled back.
"Precisely," I responded. "Unless you came up with a brilliant idea."
"I yield to your logic," she said as she reached into a paper bag to retrieve a sleeve of green plastic cups.
While she did that, I wheeled a rack under each of the two baskets. With that task accomplished, I rejoined Dottie. "Help me lift the drink cooler onto the table."
Together we set up the heavy barrel, and Dottie proceeded to fill the cups. "Take one for yourself and do a taste test for me."
She took a tiny sip from her cup.
"No, no," I said. "Fill it up and then chug it like you would a beer."
Following my instructions, she drank my concoction down in one gulp. "How was it?" I asked.
"It tasted better than beer. Slightly. And kind of made me all tingly."
Good, I thought. Exactly the reaction I had mixed it for.
And then we waited.
As 4:00 approached, a few players straggled into the gym. I had forgotten how small seventh and eighth graders looked on the empty gym floor. They quickly turned and headed into the locker rooms. When they emerged a few minutes later, they wore their clothes from gym class, those awful heavy long sleeve red sweats. A few headed for the closer rack of balls to claim one. They either warmed up a bit by bouncing the ball (hardly to be confused with true dribbling) or taking half-hearted shots. All of it looked in slow motion. I suppose I did the same when I was their age.
A few of the girls took seats on the bleachers to talk to each other. A pair of boys pulled out their phones to snap pictures of the obliging girls in their unflattering outfits.
As the clock clicked its minute hand to the top, I pulled the crash door closed with a bang. Everyone jumped. "Practice has started," I shouted. "Everyone meet at center court. Form two half circles, girls inside, boys on the ends."
To a person, they looked shocked at my introductory commands. Still, they followed them and stood quietly as they waited for me to continue. I made my way to the center of the circle and took a deep breath.
"As you may have heard, your coaches were in a bad car accident last night. Because life goes on, I have been made temporary coach responsible for the boys while Miss Madison will be the same for the girls on the team. We have been tasked to get you ready for the upcoming tournament. A tall order, since we don't know you, you don't know us, and we don't have the fucking time to hold a traditional basketball camp to get you ready." I saw the girls all blush at my choice of words.
"We will practice together for the next two weeks, becoming a family. Consider that we are all brothers and sisters, working together for each goal we set. Does everyone understand?"
I looked around, finding mostly shock on their faces. I also detected that I was the tallest person in the gym. But the most promising sign, no one raised their hand.
"I'd like everyone to, one at a time, step up to the table, grab a cup, shout out your name, and then drink everything in your cup. To show that you finished, hold it above your head and turn it upside down. Let's see how quickly we can get through this. Girls first."
The closest girl, a cute little redhead missing a tooth in the front who looked eerily familiar, started the parade of females. "Vicky," she said.
"I'm Sandy," said the next one. She had silvery blonde hair held in place with a green headband and the face of an angel.
"Emma," said the tiny girl with a flowing honey blonde ponytail. Even in her sweats, I knew this was the smallest person on the team.
"I like to be called Kimmy," said the solid looking girl with her straw blonde hair in two braids. I could see her tossing bales of hay on a farm.
"Cassie," said one girl with a shaggy brown mane.
"Rocky," said another who could have passed as a twin of the previous one.
"Did you say Rocky?" I asked the second girl.
"It's really Rochelle, but nobody calls me that."
"Are you sisters?" I asked.
"Actually we're cousins," said one of them. I had already lost track of who was who.
"All right. Let's keep going."
The next girl I already knew, having sat across from me for almost an hour earlier in the morning. "Bonnie. Hi, again, Mr. Wilson."
That left one last girl. "Melissa," she said shyly. I almost figured the black haired girl with matching plastic frames was trying to hide from introductions.
A thin gangly black boy, a novelty in our small rural school back in my day, headed for the table. "Curtis," he said.
"Robby," said the other, a more stocky fellow built like the farmer he would grow up to be.
I rolled my eyes. A Rocky and a Robby. At least it wasn't four Emmas like my fourth period class. Of course, all four of them had to sit bunched together too.
I sent the group to the far end of the gym where they spread out. "Listen to my commands and obey them as quick as you can. Hop on your left foot. Hop on your right…."
I kept that up for about ten minutes. Any who had trouble listening to or following my commands were sent for another drink. No one had to have a fourth portion.
At the end of the time, I sent them off to shoot. While I watched, I called Dottie over to me.
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
"I'm embarrassed to admit, but I almost feel… horny."
"Good," I said.
"Good?"
"If you feel that effect, think about what they are experiencing."
"That's your plan?"
"Easier than infecting other schools with the flu. I'm going to inspire them to victory with the basest of human emotions. Sex."
As my fellow coach took that concept in, I blew my whistle to bring the players back to the circle. While they gathered, I sent Dottie to retrieve my big surprise.
"Good first practice," I said. "We have four days this week for practice, same for next. I'm open for an optional day on Saturday. We'll discuss that later. Your routine is to be early to practice, grab a cup of my special drink when you arrive, change into your uniform, and be ready to practice at 4:00 sharp."
"Which uniform?" asked Robby.
"The green away colors on Tuesday and Thursday. The white home ones for the other days. Have both clean for the first game. Don't forget, the tournament starts Friday of next week."
Dottie arrived with my package and set it up on the table. "This is what you are playing for," I said. "The tournament trophy. Everyone squeeze together and touch it."
Crowding ten kids together was not my greatest idea, but at least the trophy came away unscathed. With that accomplished, I dismissed the team.
As Dottie walked me back to my classroom she asked, "So what's in your private mixture? Or shouldn't I know?"
"Mostly standard sports energy fluids with a strong aphrodisiac and a mind control drug. A friend of mine had me research it during college. He used it to pick up girls."
"How… how long will it last?"
"Somewhere between 48 and 72 hours. Give or take a few hours. So, yes, you will be even hornier through the day tomorrow. Your students will be in for a very pleasant surprise." I chuckled as a thought crossed my mind. "I sure hope you're not covering love poetry in your English class tomorrow."
The horrified look on her face confirmed my wild guess. Oh, to be a fly on the wall in her classroom tomorrow.