The Quiet Ones(Emerald Gowers) "You stink tramp!"

Thank you but I had showered earlier.

"Why don't you go to the Goodwill and get some new to you clothes instead of digging them out of the trash."

It's not my fault my parents are poor and I have to wear donated hand me downs from the church.

"Dog girl! Woof Woof! Want a treat?"

Sigh.

It was the beginning of another day of high school for me. Me, the outcast, the pariah, harassed by many and befriended by few. It wasn't as if I had done anything to these people to deserve the brunt of their hate and derogatory comments... I was just ...well, different.

I didn't really fit into any particular 'clique' whose membership qualifications required a spot on the cheer-leading team, black clothes, eyeliner and a blasé attitude, smoking in the bathrooms between classes, or an extensive knowledge of hardcore computer programming language (although I knew a little basic programming). Nope. I was a loner in the spring of 1997, preferring to roam the stacks in the library and write stories in study hall, rather than sit with the jet set discussing dog farts and keg stands. I would usually max out volume on my headphones, listen to Beck, and read the forty-five minute stretch before algebra.

My particular class consisted of the usual mix of high school riff raff. Jocks, geeks, druggies, sluts, closeted gays, and me. Because of the alphabetical seating arrangement, I was seated next to a jock named Rick who had the nickname of Meat, and his partner in crime for the class, Jake. They were both on the football team, wore designer clothes, and each had a shiny new car to call his own (even though their parents had bought it for them to keep up appearances).

One afternoon the teacher, Mr.Zappriotti, had called me to the front of the class to do a problem on the board after passing out the graphic calculators we would use later in the day. I got up from my seat, went to the board and was about halfway through the problem when I felt a poke on my back. I looked over my shoulder to see what it was. The class stared back at me blankly.

"Is there something wrong?" The teacher asked.

I looked around but didn't see anything amiss. "No, sorry." I turned back to the board. Ten seconds later there was another poke, and another one and another. The class started to laugh. I whirled around to face them. Something wet hit my glasses and stuck there. A spitball. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Meat and Jake hide something under their books, laughing with the class. "Mr. Zappriotti," I started, "Rick and Jake...."

"Rick and Jake, Rick and Jake." Came the mocking voice of Rick. "The name is Meat, which is what I give to all the ladies, except you, you ugly tramp."

The class exploded in laughter. I stood stock still in front of them, feeling naked and exposed as tears welled up in my eyes.

Mr. Zappriotti pointed a finger at the jocks. "Hey! There is no room for that kind of behavior in my class, and I will not tolerate it mister!" He turned to me and in a much less threatening voice said. "Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up, come back when you're ready."

I bolted to the door and hurried to the bathroom. 'Those stupid jerks!' I thought angrily while picking the spitballs out of my hair. 'Why can't they just mind their own business for once and leave me alone?' I wiped off my glasses. 'Jerk-offs. They have their car, their nice clothes, and their stupid popularity. What do they want from me?' I exited the bathroom and headed back to class, slinking as unnoticeably as I could into my seat and looked at the clock, twenty more minutes of this horrid class. The teacher was pointing out something on the board.

Meat looked over at me, a taunting expression on his face. "Tramp." He whispered, quickly turning his attention back to the blonde bimbo sitting near the front of the class.

I opened my graphic calculator and started to scroll through the menus to pass the time. Function, setting, line angle, x y-axis, games. I chose games. Run fun, hangman, eoirif, 23bj, create. I chose create and started to toy around with the buttons selecting different commands I knew, and using my limited knowledge of basic programming to pour my frustrations into an interactive game. I looked at the clock, two minutes to go and Mr. Zappriotti was collecting the calculators. I named the newly formed game 'MEAT', handed in the calculator and waited for the bell to ring.

The next few weeks in class were uneventful, Mr. Zappriotti covering all of the algebraic terms from absolute value to zero slope and everything in between, taking tests, doing homework, getting graded, all the while biding my time and watching closely every day when the calculators were passed out.

The class was just about to get into full swing, everyone having arrived, attendance taken, and calculators in hand. I had just about forgotten about the program I had written so long ago. What were the odds he was ever going to get that calculator and have the intelligence to operate it. "Now class," Mr. Zappriotti started, "Today we are going to go over the rational zero theorem, so if you would turn in your books to page 153..."

"Hey, this calculator's got my name in it." Meat interrupted. Today was the day! I smiled to myself and watched my plan unfold, unsure of the final outcome, hoping it would be an explosion.

"Rick, please don't interrupt the class," the teacher was impatient. "Now in the second paragraph we learn that the y variable equals...." I had tuned him out; I was watching Meat move his lips, silently reading the lines of the program. He looked toward Jake quizzically.

"What the hell man?" Meat said to Jake.

Jake looked up from his notes. "What the are you talking about?"

"This is majorly messed up." Meat said turning back to the calculator.

"Rick, please." The teacher said from the front of the room.

Meat stood up and took the calculator to the teacher. "Mr. Zappriotti, Jake's trying to mess with me."

Mr. Zappriotti stared at the calculator for a while, reading the lines. "Jake, did you write this?"

Jake went to the front of the class. "I don't know what you're talking about man!" He grabbed the machine from the teacher’s hand and proceeded to read it aloud to the class.

"Hi Meat.... this is Jake.... I really want...to suck on ... your face?!" The class exploded into laughter "What the hell is this!?" Meat was turning redder and redder as Jake read. He turned back to the screen. "Meet me in... our normal place...so we can... get it on again?! Love Jake?!" Jake looked up bewildered. "Mr. Z, I did not write this!"

Meat by this time was fuming. His face was a bright red and you could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears. "You're a dead man Jake!" He wound up for the punch.

Mr. Zappriotti stood between them. "Just chill out and go back to your seats, I'm su-" The flying left hook of Meat's fist cut him off in an instant. Mr. Zappriotti fell to the floor in a useless heap. The class gasped and someone screamed. I gasped along with them; I had wanted an explosion to happen, but not this.

Jake and Meat stared stupidly at the unconscious teacher on the floor. Jake looked up at Meat horrified. "Look what you did! Why'd you do that?"

Meat was at a loss for words, an awestruck expression on his face, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, waiting for some explanation to come. He slowly looked up at the class; fifty-one eyes were staring back at him silently, inquiring.

The moment seemed to last forever.

"I- I- ... he was in the way." Meat finally stammered. "He was in the way. I didn't mean to hit him." He looked down at the supine form of Mr. Zappriotti, and back to the class. "I..." He broke from his shock and bolted out of the room. The class came back to life. Someone went to get help, while others kneeled by the fallen teacher. A few minutes later the class saw Meat behind the wheel of his car hauling ass to the highway.


Mr. Zappriotti was out of school for two weeks, returning with a slightly skewed jaw.

Meat was not seen again for three months, having received a lengthy suspension for the incident.

Jake was given a week of after school detention for instigating a fight in the classroom.

And then there was me. There were several school officials who were looking into the incident, trying to find out where the program originated from. They weren't able to place a finger on exactly who had created it. Although I was still lauded and laughed at through the normal course of the day, I was never a suspect and got off scott free.

They never suspect the quiet ones.

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