The Guidance Counselor - Chapter 15 (Patreon)

Tack, tack, tack, tack…

Ms. Johnson passed by my history class during a test one afternoon.

Something felt different.

Hardly anyone had looked up to steal a glance at her. She was always the showstopper of the student body. It didn’t matter what we were doing – everyone always typically stole a glance during a test, a quiz, a presentation, or a lecture.

Tom Rizzo tapped my shoulder. I let out a small aggravated grunt to let him know that I wasn’t going to give him any answers to the test, even if Mr. Higgins, our theology teacher, looked like he was about to doze off waiting for us to finish.

Tom then whispered, “Hey…hasn’t Ms. Johnson put on weight?”

That took me by surprise.

After the test, once we stepped out into the hallway for our next class, Tom asked me, “It’s not my imagination, right? She definitely put on weight.”

Kevin Lu heard us and in a brief unexpected tone said aloud, “She’s fucking fat now.” He snickered and added, “Leo said he notices her eating donuts all the time in the cafeteria now.”

Tom grimaced. “Ugh. That sucks. She’s a whale now, dude.”

“Yeah. Fucking fatass.”

An unmistakable awkward silence spread as the two of them realized I hadn’t said anything for or against this. I shrugged and said, “I think she looks fine. I didn’t notice anything.”

Tom was taken aback. “Dude, her thighs are the size of Texas.”

I gripped the straps of my backpack. Something welled up into a ball within my chest, and then before I thought about it, it found its way out of my mouth without my consent: “Well maybe thick thighs are fucking hot. You ever thought about that?”

It was Kevin’s turn to look surprised. He tilted his head and said, “What’s up with you? You never say anything.”

Again, an unexpected retort that I couldn’t control: “Speak for yourself. You need alcohol to party.”

“Whoa, whoa, man,” Kevin said aloud. He glanced up and down the hallway, then hissed, “The hell you saying that out loud for? You trying to get me into trouble?”

Mr. Santis, the most dickish man in the world, was eyeing everyone at the other end of the hallway. I instantly deflated – this was nothing to stir a scene over. Instead, I channeled my offended feelings into humor.

I shrugged. “Ms. Johnson is still hot as fuck.”

I walked away.

The idea that Ms. Johnson’s little experiments with me after school was becoming noticeable to the whole school turned me on in ways I never thought imaginable. Nobody knew our secret. That made me feel all “warm and fuzzy inside”, as they say. I wanted to cradle her in my hands and feel that warmth. Our secret that nobody knows and nobody can destroy. They can notice things and give their theories but I’d chuckle on the inside knowing the truth.

It was true – Ms. Johnson did gain some weight. Chinese food, a gallon of milk, Taco Bell. But even aside that I became aware of her munching more and more whenever I saw her. We passed by each other in the hallway once and she smiled at me with her mouth closed because she was chewing on a piece of croissant. Another time I walked past her office with the door open and saw her drinking a large Coke from McDonald’s while doing her work.

Those hips widened. Those cheeks popped out more.

Students started throwing wild accusations that she was pregnant out-of-wedlock. Or that she was sick and was developing diabetes.

Only I knew the truth of it.

Funny enough, my feelings forever changed not from any of our after-school sessions, but from our regular sessions talking about preparing for college.

By this time, I had already sent out numerous letters. But Ms. Johnson saw the list and looked up at me and said, “You haven’t applied to any art schools.’

I shrugged awkwardly. “You know how it is…you know everything about my dad.”

Ms. Johnson sighed. She tapped her fingernails and sat there thinking.

“I’m not supposed to do this…” she said.

I gulped.

Supposed to do what? Oh man…are we mixing sessions?

“I really shouldn’t tell you what I think you should do,” she said. “But I’m about to tell you what I think you should do. You should apply to art school. Right now.”

I grimaced. I looked around to avoid eye-contact. All the excuses were filing up ready to fire away in my head.

My dad would get mad.

Things would just be awkward with my family.

I actually do need to make sure I land a good job that will give me money. Then I can just draw on the side. There’s nothing wrong with that.

“Jason…” she said sternly. “I can see you thinking of excuses. Rationalizations. You know the story of the fox and the grapes? The fox tried so hard to climb a tree for some grapes. It stopped trying and then thought, ‘They are probably sour anyway’. All of us rationalize to make us feel better about what we can’t think we achieve.”

I let out a heavy, heavy sigh. The inner conflict wanted to tear me apart. I know in my heart what I wanted. I knew it so badly. I envisioned Mimi the Witch on the shelves of the graphic novel section in Barnes and Noble. I envisioned breaking boundaries by having a mainstream story out there allude to fart fetishes. Maybe I’d make a persona, maybe not. Either way, my world would be out there.

“Alright!” I said aloud. “I’ll apply to the Dorothy College of the Arts.”

Ms. Johnson said, “Perfect. Because I already sent them a portfolio of your work.”

I nearly fell from my seat. “WHAT?”

She whispered, “Oh, don’t worry. Not that artwork. What, you think I’m crazy?”

“O-okay. I didn’t think you did but still.”

“I’m sorry. I should have asked you before, but if you really had rejected the idea of applying to art school then I would have retracted the submission. I just took the first step is all. Besides, your ideas have SO much potential. It’s so wonderful that you are able to take your inner desires and channel it through something creative. You can’t let anyone take that away.”

“What did you send them?”

She handed over a physical copy of my artwork – Mimi the Witch, a few panels of the first comic, a scrapped idea of a runaway princess with a mask on, and some background artwork of a hut in the woods where Mimi lived.

“I like the cat,” she said, pointing at it. “It’s a cat-sith, right?”

I looked up at her. “How did you know that?”

She shrugged. “I know my myths.”

I left that meeting in a haze. My heart was swelling and the world around me went quiet as my senses numbed. I became completely absorbed in my thoughts, but then something deeper that had been hiding for a long time was finally surfacing. I felt small and vulnerable. But I liked it? It was the closest I had felt to her. That feeling of being intimate without actually touching, but basking in her presence. She reached out to me and understood my work. I wanted to hear that sweet, kind voice again telling me I was able to do things, to laugh with me and chat with me.

Oh fuck.

I am in love with Ms. Johnson!