When I was in junior high, I was rushing from a class on one side of campus to the other. This one teacher was leaning back on her door with her arms folded, and I passed by. Someone near me pushed on the door and jetted past. She didn’t see them. She only saw me.

I didn’t hear her yelling for me because it was a loud and crowded hall and my mind was only on my next class, my last one of the day with my favorite history teacher. I settled down in my usual place and exchanged smiling greetings. Then, someone was sent from the other class to talk to my teacher. He sent me over to her class for a reason I didn’t understand.

When I got there, for one of the very few times in my entire academic career up to that point, I was angrily spoken to and chewed out by a teacher. She told me she knew I pushed the door out from behind her. She was insistent she knew exactly what happened. She wanted me to apologize for something I didn’t do. That was all.

I did, eventually. But, for what felt like an eternity, I struggled to defend myself as her class looked me over like I was some sort of criminal. To that point in my life, I had high regard for teachers. I enjoyed them. I connected with them. I basically formed friendships, as much as one could expect with the age difference.

But I stood there, despite every apology in my head screaming out questions that maybe I was wrong, maybe I’d actually done the deed (by accident), as resolutely as possible.

It didn’t get me sent to the office, but she didn’t let me go until she had my apology as implication of guilt.

I felt an air of distance from my history teacher which didn’t clear for several days. And, that afternoon, when I visited my dad’s class, I bawled my eyes out into his knees. I could barely find words. It was like the very foundation of what I valued had been pulled out from under me. I felt deeply hurt and angry and bitter.

In that time of tears, I happened to meet the daughter of a fellow teacher my dad knew. She was my age and actually went to the same school as me. Furthermore, she had that teacher and vouched that she was a real jerk sometimes. My tears faded as we spent the rest of the late afternoon hanging out and releasing stress. She had a lot on her mind, and I offered my shoulder in turn.

By any rule of plot contrivance, we should’ve become fast and lasting friends. But I never really talked to her again. I saw her in classes a little bit and we chatted here and there, but it was mainly that particular afternoon. And it was over. Sometimes life doesn’t follow or lead how you’d think or want.

Furthermore, the next year, I actually had that teacher for my homeroom and I made friends with her like I did so many other teachers. I never forgot that one day, but I never brought it up with her.

Naturally, this little story doesn’t really have anything to do with anything, but I did think of it right then as I saw a flash of curiosity and sympathy on Ben’s face.

Beyond his eventually-dated haircut, he wore loose pale-green scrubs, the sign of someone in the medical magnet classes. Rebecca had worn them for a year before she transferred out, the same as others I knew.

All I can really remember about Rebecca that ‘stuck out’, beyond her crinkly black hair, was her immense bust. It was something that everyone glanced at first. For her petite size and figure, it was crazy. She always wore plenty of support and would bend over to rest all that on her desk. I felt flashes of jealousy. I would’ve gladly traded an extreme figure for a weird, scary unknown thing which turned boys into girls.

Waiting perhaps a few seconds too late for the right moment, I waved at both of them and offered a quiet, “Hi…”

Narrowing the door to the rest of the classroom but not closing it so he could keep an eye on the class, Mr. Bledsoe explained to his two teacher assistants, “Kenzie Waller here will be studying independently from the rest of the class for the time being. Since we have a lot of group work planned, you are going to be a group for her to complete those assignments. Questions?”

Ben nodded first and asked, “So, what’s actually going on?”

Rebecca rubbed one of her elongated, claw-like pink nails over her wrist as she reacted, “Same here. I missed Tuesday and everything was crazy yesterday and everyone said all sorts of stuff.”

Adjusting his black polo, Mister Bledsoe sighed and said, “We don’t know. But we’re trying to work something out that respects Miss Waller’s rights as a student but doesn’t cause any trouble. I can only go by what I’ve been told and what I’ve seen…”

With a deep breath and begrudging words, he told them his account. He focused on the physical effects for Ramirez and Salvador and even touched on Sophia. At this point, I thankfully learned, “However, after class, all three returned to speak to me after I spoke to Miss Waller and they showed no signs that anything bad had happened.”

The only lasting case was Wes. The three of them were back to normal. He did emphasize that they were shaken up though and reportedly went home early like I did.

I wanted to talk to them. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to make it clear I meant nothing wrong. But I worried it would be as meaningless as my words to Wes.

They listened, spoke a little with one another, and Ben asked, “So, it’s happening right now?”

From the chair, I offered my theory about being within arm's reach and how my doctor hadn’t encountered anything wrong with me, emphasizing, “I hung out with several people these last few days…in normal ways…and nothing happened to them.”

That ignored a few things but was technically true. I noticed that Ben kept a slightly bigger distance between us than Rebecca did. Rebecca stepped towards me curiously with her front shifting with her steps. She paused there, looked around, and took a few steps closer until she was almost touching me with the advance guard of her boobs. She pulled herself into the chair next to me.

I leaned away but stayed in my seat. Ben watched and the teacher leaned back into the main room with a “time to finish” reminder for the class.

I tried to pick out details of change in Rebecca. An unfortunate addition to her bust. A puff of her lips. She kept her arms and legs hairless, so there was no sign there to go from. Perhaps she was already too girly for whatever this was to work on her? A faint hope, but I had to wonder if there was an upper limit from which the changes were negligible after that point.

It took some coaxing, but Ben eventually got close as well, inside the tested range. He shifted sides a little and leaned on the desk beside me. He looked to Mister Bledsoe as the seconds ticked away. He turned his hands around a few times and adjusted his shirt.

Neither of them seemed any different than when they’d first entered the room. I kept an eye on Ben’s light arm hair though. Maybe it was just some people who were affected? Another frail, flailing hope of mine.

Rubbing at his facial hair, Bledsoe gave another terse reminder to the adjoining room before concluding, “That’s the situation. I won’t hold it against either of you if you decline but this would be a big help.”

Still no visible effects on either side of me but this was consistent with the time scale I’d seen.

With a sigh and a quick frown, Ben looked over at Rebecca and asked her, “What do you think?”

She straightened and shrugged her weighted shoulders as she offered, “It’s really weird but…I want to help.” She gave me a sympathetic smile.

Ben gave a little scratch of his dense hair and offered, “Yeah. Same here, I guess. If I can just move away and it stops then I guess we can take breaks…if there’s a problem.”

I had no idea what to say. After the girls in Gym, I fully expected everyone would feel the same way. But here were two people sitting next to me, within that supposed sphere of influence, like everything was normal.

Even as I look back, it meant as much to me as that daughter of my dad’s co-worker who was my friend and source of rebuilding happiness for just a day.

I could darken this moment in retrospect and say it was just a lull in the storm, the eye passing over. But, even after all these years, what matters to me more is that, in that once lonely moment, it was still possible to know kindness.

Art by Alexis Rillera/Anirhapsodist