The Scholarship Student by ckbald

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This is a multi-chapter story. It is also an homage to, in honor of, an extension and an appreciation of stories written by two of the best, most talented storytellers on this site, Manny and CleanCut.

Chapter One

Junior Marshall Kruskinski was seated in a sun-filled window seat of the high school’s library, head bent over his chemistry notes, repeatedly pushing aside the lock of chestnut-colored hair that kept flopping into his eyes, when a shadow fell across the pages. Lifting his eyes from his notebook, Marshall immediately recognized the pair of immaculate sand colored suede Desert Boots planted only an inch away from his own well worn moc work boots as belonging to his chemistry teacher, Mr. Carson.
"Hi, Marshall," said Mr. Carson. "Reviewing notes for the exam?"
"Hey, Mr. Carson, how ya’ doing?" Marshall looked up and smiled, "I’m trying to wrap my brain around some of the equations from yesterday’s class."
"I shouldn’t say this, but, Marshall, you’re the brightest student I’ve had in a couple of years, and great news, as a junior that means I get to see you shine for another year," said Mr. Carson with a grin. "So, uh, is there anything in the notes I can clear up for you?," he asked, moving Marshall’s backpack to the floor so he could sit on the window seat and get a look at the notebook pages.
Marshall was pleased, as well as a little surprised his teacher would single him out like this. One of the things he liked best about Mr. Carson was his endless willingness to help all of his students understand, and even enjoy, chemistry, enough so that they wanted to do the often challenging work the science required.
"Oh…no, um, I think it’s clearer now that you mention it," Marshall chuckled a little awkwardly. "I’ve been here most of my study period, so, um, I’m good. Thanks for the offer though."
Once Mr. Carson had squeezed in next to him, Marshall had a difficult time focusing on chemistry equations. Mr. Carson sported the sharpest, best maintained flattop Marshall had ever seen, and it was the only thing he could see at the moment. His teacher’s hair was black, and he had a long, wide landing strip carved into the plush deep pile on top. He wore the sides and back clipped to the scalp, and since it was Thursday afternoon, the sides and back were tight and the deck was level AF because Mr. Carson always went to the East Side Plaza Barber Shop at lunch on Thursdays. Marshall knew a flattop was old-school, not cool, but on Mr. Carson, it was cool.
Jeff Carson looked to be in his late 20s, 30 at the oldest, a lot younger than the guys Marshall usually saw with flattops. His jaja Krusinski wore a flattop, and he was one of the coolest people Marshall had ever known, but he was his grandpa, and besides, he died when Marshall was 10.
He appreciated his teachers’s sense of style, too. The big black plastic frames of his glasses were retro, so 1950s and early 60s. His button down shirts were colorful and always pressed, and Marshall loved the plastic pen and pencil holder he tucked into the pocket, and usually full of both. He always wore a skinny knit tie with a tie clip, and a tweed sport coat, vintage-looking as well. His uncuffed chinos were also neatly pressed, and stopped at the top of those suede Desert Boots. When he would occasionally sit on the edge of his desk to lecture, the legs of his pants would raise up a little, revealing white cotton socks with a colorful strip around the cuff.
Man, but that flattop…so tight.
"Oh! Sorry, Marshall, let me move over a little…or just stand up," exclaimed Mr. Carson, standing up and facing Marshall.
Only then did Marshall realize he had said "so tight" out loud.
Embarrassed, he also jumped up from the window seat, sputtering, "No…I mean your, uh, your haircut…tight, not the, our, seating arrangement…it’s good, all good."
"All good," replied Mr. Carson, smiling and running his hand up the freshly clippered back of his head, and back and forth over the level, erect deck of his flattop.
"This haircut changed my life, Marshall, so, I appreciate your admiration. I had long, floppy, locks just like yours when I was a student here, right up until my senior year," Mr. Carson said, settling back down into the window seat, and indicating with a downward glance and a tilt of his head that Marshall should take a seat, too.
"Whoa, that’s awesome, Mr. Carson. Why did…?" Marshall started to ask, when Mr. Carson interrupted.
"We’ll talk about me…soon, I promise, but right now, well, I came in here when I saw you for a reason, one related to chemistry," explained Mr. Carson. " You see, my son, Mikey, needs a little, probably temporary, help with his chemistry, just to pull his grade back up," said Mr. Carson, resting his chin on two steepled fingers and turning to look Marshall in the eye.
"Mikey! You’re son!?" Marshall said, surprise in his voice. "He must be in his elementary school’s gifted program I bet. Cool! But, you’re a chemistry teacher, Mr. Carson, so why can’t you…", all this tumbled rapidly out of his mouth until Mr. Carson rested a hand on Marshall’s arm and said, "Hold on Marshall, let me explain. My son Michael, Mikey is what his bros over at Figgleton call him, and he wants us all to call him that now, is a junior, so he’s your age. Oh, and, um, I’m not his birth father. My husband, Steve, is his birth father, but after I finished up grad school and started teaching here, we all agreed, especially Mikey, that I would legally adopt him as my son, too. Michael Maxwell-Carson."
Marshall imagined Mr. Carson was gay, and he smiled broadly at the confirmation, as his teacher continued. "I watch the way you help your classmates who are struggling, Marshall. You’re patient, you listen, and you ask the right questions. You get them to see that they really do understand chemistry, and, that one tricky equation is a small problem, but there is a solution"
Science, especially chemistry, was practically Marshall’s whole life, that and soccer. When he moved to town with his mother, and enrolled in the high school at the end of his sophomore year, he went out for junior varsity soccer, made the team, and quickly established himself as a star player. At the same time, he was earning mad props from the other science nerds on the school’s Science Olympiad team. He helped lead the team to a state championship last year, and the team was well on their way to a victory this year, and possibly a national championship. Marshall wasn’t in the closet, and everyone who knew he was gay was cool with it, and it was just one aspect of his life, he didn’t lead with it, so to speak. Both the recognition of his willingness to help others, and his invitation to tutor his son were sweet, but even more so now that Marshall knew his favorite teacher was gay.
"Mr. Carson, you’re the best chemistry teacher…man, the best any kind of teacher I've ever had. I’m pretty sure you could help Mikey bring his chemistry grade up. So, why do you want me to do it?" Marshall asked.
Mr. Carson explained that he didn’t think it would be cool in the eyes of the chemistry teachers over at Figgleton if he were to step in, as their professional colleague, and tutor his own son. He wasn’t close friends with any of them, but they were social, and tended to hang out at district sponsored events. He also mentioned a scholarship, which he said he’d describe in detail another time, and which had a service requirement attached to receiving it.
"And, Marshall, you and Mikey have some things in common. Sports…he’s captain of the jv wrestling team, and he’s as passionate about history as you are about science. He’s vice president of the History Club. Although I’m not exactly sure what the club is for, other than letting a bunch of history nerds have a room in the school where they can be history nerds," Mr. Carson said with a chuckle. Then looking directly in Marshall’s eyes, he smiled just slightly and said, "I think you might have other things in common, too…," and as he once again brushed his hand up and down the freshly clipped back of his head, and then across the top of the precisely level deck of his flattop, added, "talk about a tight cut…wait till you see Mikey."
Instead of stuttering with embarrassment, this time Marshall said confidently, "It’s all good, Mr. Carson. I’ll do it!"
Mr. Carson then explained that he had already talked with Mikey, and his son was eager to meet Marshall and begin their tutoring sessions. To keep his position as captain of the jv wrestling team, he had to keep his grades up. He could afford only one B, and he currently had two. He couldn’t let the B in chemistry stand, not with a chemistry teacher as a dad, so he was going to see about bringing his French grade up on his own, but he’d appreciate Marshall’s help with chemistry. And since Marshall had straight A’s, he had the time to tutor in between soccer and SO.
"When does Mikey want to start, and where does he want to meet?" Marshall asked.
"He said he’s reserved a study carrel at the Figgleton library. Can you get there on your own? And do Monday afternoons at 3:00 work for you, Marshall?" asked Mr. Carson.
Marshall had his own truck. Monday afternoon at 3:00 was perfect, and since Mikey’s car was in the shop, yes, Marshall could drop Mikey off at home after the session. Teacher and student shook hands, and as they exited the library, Mr. Eliason, the new assistant principal for the sophomore class, walked by in the hallway.
" Majewski, my man, good to see you," Mr. Eliason exclaimed with a big smile and wink, as he kept on down the hall, on his way, no doubt to intervene in some sophomore drama.
"Majewski? Was he…," Marshall started to ask.
"Another thing I will explain later," said Mr. Carson, laughing.

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