#so the expectation cannot be for teachers to fill all the holes left by parents who are either unwilling or simply not equipped to do thejob

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 4 - Secrets

Title: “Messy”

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 3,503

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Original Characters

Tags: John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Angst, Breaking The Rules, Dean is Sam's Real Parent (But he shouldn't have to be), Dean Giving Sam a Childhood, Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Meets a Cute Boy, Unwanted Haircut, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dean is 13 and Sam is 9

Summary: John leaves Dean and Sam alone at a motel the day before Halloween. Despite John's hard-and-fast rules about leaving the motel room, Sam convinces Dean to take him trick-or-treating. While they're out, Dean meets a boy who makes him feel like breaking the rules was worth it.

On AO3 Here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dean, you know the drill,” John says brusquely as he hoists the duffel over his shoulder. “Tell me the rules.”

Dean stands up from where he’s folding laundry on the motel room floor. They stopped at the laundromat this morning, John tossing Dean just enough quarters for two small loads before taking Sam along with him to the local library for research. They’ve been tracking a creature for days and John’s still not sure exactly what it is.

Dean would have loved to help with the books. Instead he sat in front of the laundry machine, exactly the same as the hundreds of others he’s fed with quarters over the years, and watched their clothes spin around and around. He noticed new holes in Sam’s jeans and socks when he moved them to the dryer. If his dad will let him use some of their wound-stitching thread, he’ll repair them after this hunt.

He faces his dad, posture straight and hands behind his back. “The rules are stay in the room, keep the doors and windows locked, don’t answer the door for anyone except you and Bobby, only spend money if I absolutely have to, and always have a weapon in reach,” he rattles off.

John nods, face impassive. “And the most important rule?”

“Protect Sammy,” Dean says firmly. He glances over to the rickety table under the window, where his scrawny little brother is filling out a worksheet. It’s part of the last round of homework their teachers had given them at their previous school, right before John took them out again to hit the road.

Dean quietly tossed his own homework in the garbage and told Sammy to finish every worksheet, because he was going to mail it back to the school and his teacher would check it. Sam’s even writing a letter in the cursive he’s learning to go along with it.

Dean has no clue what the address of the school is.

John pulls the Impala key out of his pocket and opens the door. “I’ll be out of cell range during this next leg. Check in date is Thursday. Don’t call for help until Sunday.”

Dean nods. John steps halfway out the door before turning back. He eyes Dean for a long moment, as if he’s trying to come up with something to add. Eventually he just says “I’m cutting your hair when I get back. You look messy.”

The door closes. In the silence of the room, Dean reaches up and touches his bangs. Just this morning, in the reflection of the washing machine door, he admired how his hair was curling a bit over his ears. It framed his face and made him look softer. Less skinny. More like the other boys he’d seen at school.

Oh well.

The Impala roars to life outside in the parking lot, and Dean listens until the purr of the engine fades away down the road. He looks at the half-folded pile of laundry at his feet.

“Tomorrow’s Halloween.”

Dean jumps a little. Sam’s right next to him, eyebrows raised expectantly. Dean pushes him away and drops onto the couch, nudging a balled-up pair of socks with his foot. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

Sam sits down next to him. “Dean, I think Dad forgot about Halloween.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “He didn’t forget, Sammy. It just doesn’t matter.” He avoids looking at his brother, running his fingers over the ridge of threads barely holding together the hole in his own jeans.

“But I told James I’d be a doctor,” Sam needles. “He’s gonna be a pirate.”

Sam’s ability to instantly make friends always leaves Dean feeling half-proud, half-nervous. Sam was in third grade with James for less than two weeks, and he still talks about him constantly.

Dean thinks it’s better not to get attached. He just can’t bring himself to teach Sam that particular lesson yet.

He sighs and glances at Sam. “You know you can’t trick-or-treat with James anyway, right? He’s in Denver.”

Sam groans dramatically and flops against the hard backrest of the couch. His shaggy hair falls into his face. Dean looks at the longest strands, curving past Sam’s cheekbones.

“We can just do Halloween here,” he suggests, even though he knows “buying candy from the gas station” definitely doesn’t count as necessary spending.

Sam shakes his head where it’s still resting on the couch. “That’s not real Halloween.”

“We’ve never done a real Halloween, so how would you know?” Dean’s just buying time now, putting off the moment when he has to say “no.”

The stink-eye that’s sent his way is of epic proportions. “I watch TV, Dean.”

Dean rubs his face. “Sammy--”

“--Oh, please, Dean, please!” Sam shifts into begging mode, sitting up and whipping out the puppy eyes. His left eye is half-covered by hair. “I know we’re not allowed, but can’t we break the rules just one time? It can be a secret.”

They hold eye contact for a moment, but Sam’s more stubborn. Dean looks away first, his eyes falling to the laundry on the floor. Almost unconsciously, he reaches under the lumpy couch cushion next to him and lets his fingers graze the pistol stashed there. His stomach rumbles and he wonders how far he can stretch their last cans of soup.

Suddenly, a secret doesn’t sound so bad at all.

“Okay,” he says.

Sam must’ve not expected Dean to relent, because he’s silent for a couple seconds before whooping and launching himself at Dean. “Ahh! Thank you thank you thank you!”

Dean can’t help the smile tugging at his lips. He hugs Sam back, the kid’s bony shoulder digging into his ribcage. After a moment, he pulls away and puts on his most serious face. Hands on Sam’s upper arms, he looks him straight in the eyes. “Sam, if we do this, you cannot tell Dad. Do you understand?”

Sam nods enthusiastically, still grinning. Dean digs his fingers into his arms. “Listen to me, or we’re not going.” He waits for Sam’s face to fall a little before continuing. “You can’t just not tell Dad, you can’t drop hints. You have to clean up all your wrappers. We can never talk about it. Do you get it?”

Sam’s eyes are wide now. He nods again, very small, and Dean knows he’s gotten through. He loosens his grip on Sam’s arms. “All right, then. How are we gonna make you look like a doctor?”

Sam beams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, they lock the motel room door behind them and head out. The neighborhood that starts a few streets behind the motel is pretty normal, as far as Dean can tell. The houses aren’t super big, but the yards are, and there are toys scattered on some of the lawns. The biggest house on the corner even has a tree swing. The big tree reminds him of the one in their front yard in Lawrence. He tries not to think about that too much.

It’s dark, and chilly -- they’re still in Colorado -- and Dean holds his jacket closed in front of his chest. The zipper broke a couple weeks ago. Ahead of him, Sam doesn’t seem to feel the cold at all. His “doctor coat” flaps behind his legs as he skips down the sidewalk. It’s just a sheet from the bed that Dean stuck together with safety pins in a certain way (it doesn’t look like a coat at all, but the mirror in the motel bathroom was shattered so Sam couldn’t see it anyway). He hung their stethoscope from the big first-aid kit around Sam’s neck, with the express instruction not to lose it, and he emptied the rest of the first-aid kit onto the couch so Sam could carry the empty box with the big red cross and look professional.

Sam hasn’t smiled this much in weeks. Dean’s neck is crawling with the knowledge that he’s breaking rules, bigtime, but he shakes it off. They’re out now. It’s done.

Sam has already latched on to a group of kids making their way up the drive to a single-story brick house. Dean hears him introduce himself, sees him flash the big toothy smile that Dean told him makes him look friendly. The other kids compliment his stethoscope, and Dean relaxes a little.

Everyone in the group is wearing what looks like homemade costumes, too — there’s another bedsheet, draped over a short kid’s head like a ghost (if only ghosts actually looked like that, Dean thinks); and a long black coat, obviously from an adult, dwarfing a kid who Dean’s pretty sure is supposed to be a vampire. Sam, in his makeshift getup, fits right in.

Dean’s trailing behind the group, letting Sam do his making-friends thing, when he notices another older kid doing the same. He looks about Dean’s age, maybe a year older, fourteen or so, and he’s dressed like an angel with a blue halo made out of pipe cleaners. The rest of his outfit is normal, though — a t-shirt that’s printed to look like a suit and tie, under a regular puffy winter coat. Dean’s eyes linger on him as they follow the younger kids up to the house. When they come to a stop so Sam can ring the doorbell, the other boy looks over at Dean, too.

“Hi,” he says. In the yellow glow of the porchlight, his eyes look greenish blue. “I’m Al.” He reaches out a hand. Dean looks at it for a moment, then takes it. They shake. Al’s hand is warm and smooth, a stark contrast to Dean’s freezing, calloused palm. Dean wishes he could hold on a bit longer.

“Dean,” he replies, dropping Al’s hand. He’s not sure what to say next. That’s Sam’s area of expertise.

Luckily, Al doesn’t let him flounder long. “Do you live around here?” he asks, friendly and curious. Dean’s used to hearing that question asked with a thick layer of suspicion, usually out of the mouth of some nosy adult. He still gives his practiced answer, though.

“No, me and my brother are just visiting our grandparents for a couple days.”

Al nods, accepting the lie easily. “I thought I’d never seen you at school.” He points at the sheet-clad ghost. “That’s my sister Katie. She’s seven. It’s the first time our parents are letting me take her trick-or-treating on our own.”

Dean smiles and gestures at Sam, who’s holding the empty first-aid kit out to the homeowner for candy. “That’s Sam. He’s nine. Same deal for us.”

“I like his costume,” Al says. Dean bristles for a moment, until he realizes Al’s being sincere.

“Thanks,” he replies. “I like Katie’s too.” He sweeps his eyes over Al again. “Why are you wearing a fake suit with your halo?”

Al looks down at himself and laughs sheepishly, smoothing down the front of his t-shirt. “I wanted to do a toga with a sheet, but it’s way too cold. I just dressed up ‘cause Katie wanted me to. The halo was the quickest thing.”

“It works,” Dean assures him, suddenly wanting Al to feel good about himself. He shuffles his feet a little, kicking at the fallen leaves littering the walkway. Al smiles at him and something grows in Dean’s chest, a warm, glowing ball, making everything feel tight and tingly. He’s not sure what to do with it.

Sam appears at his elbow suddenly, much to Dean’s relief. He ruffles Sam’s hair. “What’d you get?”

Already chewing on something that looks very caramelly as it squishes between his teeth, Sam holds out the first-aid kit. “She gave me two big ones!” he announces around his mouthful. Two full-sized Milky Ways, one already half-unwrapped, slide around in the box.

“Cool,” Dean says. “Don’t get a stomachache.”

“They’re gonna get stomachaches,” Al says ruefully as Sam and Katie bounce down the driveway to hit the next house. “We should steal some of their candy, y’know, just to protect them.”

The word protect briefly jolts Dean out of his growing sense of relaxation and he sneakily pats his chest, feeling the sheathed knife tucked away in the inside pocket. He makes sure he can still see Sammy (now bounding up the walkway of the next house), and takes a breath. Everything’s under control.

“You okay?” Al’s looking at him with his eyebrows drawn together, a lock of dark hair falling into the crease. He has nice hair, Dean decides. Floppy and kind of messy, squished flat in the middle by the band of the pipe cleaner halo.

“Yep,” he says, forcing the cheer into his voice. If Al notices, he doesn’t say anything. They continue to follow their siblings through the neighborhood, leaving some distance so they can talk. Al tells Dean about school, that he likes science and hates history, that his favorite band is Journey, that he wants to play soccer but his dad wants him to play football, and that he wants to be a veterinarian.

“I like cars,” Dean says in response. “I’m not great at school. Not sure what I wanna do when I grow up.”

Not sure how to tell you that I’ll probably be hunting monsters for the rest of my life.

Al leans on the picket fence of the house that they’re currently waiting outside. “You could be a teacher,” he says.

Dean narrows his eyes at him in confusion. “I just told you I’m bad at school.”

Al shrugs. “My favorite teacher says he didn’t like school. That’s why he’s so good at helping us. He gets it.”

The heavy layer of clouds above them breaks, and a ray of moonlight lands across Al’s face. They’re standing between streetlights, so the silvery glow makes Al’s blueish eyes gleam. Dean finds he has to breathe a little harder than normal. He shakes his head.

“Nah, if anyone’s gonna be a teacher, it’s Sammy. He’s really smart.”

Al hums and pushes off the fence. Sam and Katie are moving on again. “I don’t know, man. You seem smart to me.” He pats Dean on the shoulder, the warmth of his hand seeping through Dean’s threadbare jacket.

In the relative darkness, Dean smiles so hard his eyes squeeze shut.

Eventually, they’ve stopped at every house in the neighborhood. Dean’s pockets are full of the candy that doesn’t fit into Sam’s overflowing first-aid kit. Al’s coat pockets are bulging, too. Sam and Katie run sugar-hyped circles under a streetlight while Dean and Al stand on the corner, looking at each other a bit awkwardly.

“Uh-- I’m glad we ran into you guys,” Al says finally. “You’re really cool.”

Dean’s glad that he’s the one facing away from the streetlight, because his cheeks heat up and probably look way pinker than they would from just the cold.

“You too,” he says. “Wish we lived around here.”

“Where do you live?” Al asks. “You know, just in case we ever take a road trip.”

Unless your destination’s my dad’s car, I don’t think you’re gonna run into me.

“Sioux Falls,” he says. “South Dakota. I live with my uncle.”

If Al finds that strange, he doesn’t pry. Dean could hug him. He wants to hug him.

Katie comes barrelling over, dragging her pillowcase of candy along the pavement. She’s huffing from running around, ghost sheet dangling half off her body. “Al, I’m soooo tired.” She flops against her brother. Sam comes trotting up behind her and grins at Dean. Dean tries to smile back, but there’s a lump in his throat, something that’s making it hard to breathe.

Al pats Katie on the head. “We should probably go home, anyway. It’s getting late.”

Still taking tight little breaths, Dean nods. “Uh-- yeah, us too. See if Sam can sleep off the sugar rush.”

“How long are you staying with your grandparents?” Al asks.

Dean looks at his feet. Weighs the pros and cons of sneaking out again. He’d have to take Sam; there aren’t actually any grandparents who could watch him.

He can’t risk it.

“We’re going home tomorrow morning,” he says, every word dropping like lead. Sam shoots him a confused look, but he ignores it.

Unless he’s imagining it, Al’s face seems to fall. “Aw, too bad. Wait! Hang on.” He rummages through his candy-heavy pockets until he pulls out a little spiral notebook and a nub of a pencil. He writes something on a page and rips it out. He hands it to Dean.

“Our phone number,” he says with a little smile. He steps forward and the streetlight catches his eyes again. Dean thinks that in the sunlight, they’d be bright blue. Al gestures at the paper. “You’ve got a phone at your uncle’s, right? Maybe you can call me sometime.”

There are way too many feelings jumbling around in Dean’s chest for him to say anything coherent, so he just nods. Al smiles wider. “Cool. I’m happy we met you.” He takes one more step forward and — Dean stops breathing altogether — wraps his arms briefly around Dean’s shoulders. He’s very warm. His hair smells good. Dean’s brain doesn’t catch up quite in time, and he misses his chance to hug back. The edge of Al’s halo brushes Dean’s forehead as he pulls away.

“Thanks for hanging out,” Al says, putting his arm around Katie’s shoulders and turning to go. “Have a good drive back home!”

Dean clears his throat. “Bye, guys,” he says lamely. Sam waves enthusiastically to make up for it. They stand under the streetlight for a long few minutes, watching Al and Katie go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam manages to eat every piece of candy by Thursday morning, which is the day they’re supposed to hear from John. Dean makes him eat canned vegetable soup in between meals of Mars bars and Skittles. They scrounge the motel room for wrappers, tossing them all into a big garbage bag that Dean’s going to throw into the dumpster outside. He finishes folding the laundry, counts the money to make sure it’s all there, re-packs the first aid kit, and puts the sheet back on the bed without the safety pins.

Anytime the unease creeps in about having broken the rules, he looks at his brother’s shining face and pushes it back down. He and Sam rehearse their story in case John asks them what they did and Sam even finishes all of his worksheets. Dean folds them up and hides them at the very bottom of his duffle. He tells Sam he put them into the mailbox in the motel office.

And every few hours, he pulls the folded little piece of notebook paper out of his pocket and looks at it. In careful handwriting, Al had written:

Alan Montgomery

(from Halloween. I hope you call.)

And his phone number.

Thursday afternoon, Dean takes the candy-wrapper garbage bag out to the parking lot. At the last second, he pulls Al’s note out of his jeans. After a long moment of reading and re-reading it, he gently folds it back up and tosses it into the bag. He throws the whole thing into the dumpster.

But not before memorizing the number.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John gets home late Thursday night. Before they check out of the motel on Friday, John sits Dean down on the toilet seat in the bathroom and pulls out his electric clippers.

While John has his back turned, plugging in the clippers by the sink, Dean pushes his hand through his hair, feeling the soft strands bunch up between his fingers and fall back down onto his ears. He remembers Al’s messy hair brushing his cheek when they hugged.

John flips the clippers on and the buzzing fills the bathroom. For the second time, Dean is glad that the mirror is shattered.

With every lock of hair that tumbles to the ground, Dean recites Al’s number in his head.

“There,” John says gruffly, after the floor and Dean’s lap are littered with honey brown strands. “You look like a man again.”

Dean stands up, brushing off his jeans. His head feels cold. “I’ll get a broom,” he says.

He’s halfway out the bathroom door when John says “Dean.”

Dean freezes, already wondering where he left a wrapper, how John found the garbage bag, if Sam let something slip. He slowly turns back. John’s wrapping the cord around the clippers.

“I need you to come on the next hunt. We’ll drop Sam off at Bobby’s.”

Bobby’s, where the telephone is. Dean’s heart beats hard for a different reason now. He tries to look casual. “Are we gonna stay for a bit?”

John’s already shaking his head before Dean’s done talking. He pushes past him and drops the clippers into his duffel bag on the bed. “No. We’ll be on the road for a while.” He stops and looks at Dean. “Weren’t you going to find a broom?”

Dean loads a dustpan with his hair and empties it on top of the garbage bag in the dumpster.

He whispers Al’s number again.

[justtrying-studyblog]

The Meaning of Life & Other Discoveries at 18

Hey, it's been a bit, hasn't it? I've thought about updating sooner, but frankly, my life was turned upside down and I never knew just how to phrase everything that has happened. Not to say that I feel ready now, but I need to tell you guys.

I'm not going to Keele University (school in England) anymore.

It's weird for me to say, part of me feels ashamed. As though it were my fault as if this just proves that I truly am a failure. As if the other shoe has finally dropped. However, in reality, it just wasn't the right choice.

I had a lot of worries from the beginning about that school. It took them a month after my IB results were posted to finally access them and tell me I wasn't accepted into their forensic science program. It broke my heart, to be honest. I had never truly failed at something like that before, never had someone tell me straight out no for something I've worked my butt off and have been praying for. However, they did accept me into their law program, where I would be studying law and criminology. Handy dandy, right? Forensic scientists still need some law background to really succeed, right? However, it was law in a country that I don't live in, and don't know if I want to spend the rest of my life in.

Nevertheless, I accepted and started getting ready for the school year. Emails were being sent almost daily filled with questions, pleas for reconsideration, and the occasional update request. Because, within a month of being accepted, I still had not received an IT account, student email, or any visa information. I hadn't even gotten any responses to my emails asking about them.

Flash to a week before, I had tickets booked, bags packed, bid my farewells to everyone, and was panicking because I still did not have a visa nor an IT account. A week before I left, I finally received the information to apply for a visa, and promptly submitted my application, however, it was Friday, and all centers to get my fingerprints for the visa were closed. This was the last step and the end was in sight, but there was a BRP shaped hole between me and it.

To say I was stressed is an understatement. I spent every night panicked, crying, and trying to convince myself that I did want to study law and that this was the right choice for me. Unfortunately, they also had a horrible call center and they always seemed to be closed (especially with the 7 hr time difference). So, I stayed up late three days before my trip (it was previously the weekend) to contact them.

I was binging Great British Bake Off while waiting for their call centers to open so that I could finally sort out everything. Come 4am, I'm not able to get a hold of anyone since the department I needed didn't appear to have working phones for some reason. My sleep-deprived, anxious self then receives an email that just broke me.

We cannot do anything, you will have to sort it out on your own.

I snapped, I was exhausted and more stressed than I have ever been in my life and I just broke down in my living room at 4 in the morning. My parents came downstairs and helped me calm down and they talked through a solution with me, and at 5am I went to bed, a single thought echoing in my mind.

"I don't want to go"

It's scary. You're expected to figure out your entire life's path at just 18. You get advice from everyone; parents, sisters, teachers, and friends who all think they know best, but in the end, it's on you. And after having your hand held your entire academic career and being told exactly what to do, this is a very daunting task.

Especailly when you feel as though you've chosen wrong. One thought that kept circulating in my head is that this was my first decision in my adult life, and I can't seem to get it right.

Although, despite this decision being yours to make, I do recommend talking things through with someone you value the opinion of. For me, that's my oldest sister. We sat down the next day and she asked me why I wanted to go. When I couldn't answer, she asked me why I would be paying all that money to go somewhere to study something I don't even care for. And then, it all made sense. I wouldn't.

All this fear of making the wrong choice. Of feeling like no matter what I did, I'd be disappointing someone. And in the end, I had to stay true to what I want, why I want to continue learning, and what I want to learn. The next day, I sent out an email to Keele withdrawing my application and started my search for a school that will answer my calls, let me study what I want, and not make me stress beyond belief.

It's tough, I'll admit. Part of me is ashamed to not be in school now and watching all my friends make a new life for themselves in their respective schools. I never imagined this path for me.

But I'm starting to think that's the secret of life. You can't anticipate what's going to happen next. Sure, you can make plans and have a general idea, but it never truly works out that way, does it? I mean, I never imagined my senior year would be taken over by a global pandemic, or that I wouldn't be studying straight out of high school.

Life doesn't go how you expect it to. No one controls it's path, we merely learn to walk it.

This isn't how I expected my life to go, but that doesn't mean it's wrong. It just means I'll have more to tell years from now. And that also doesn't mean my life is immediately better, I'm now back at step 1 of finding a university, but now I have the hindsight to not settle, and to go for what I want, not what I am expected to want. University is a journey, and man, if this is the beginning, I can't even imagine what's about to come. So, for now...

✨Stay safe and take a deep breath, you're where you're meant to be✨

[the-wintershade]

— just like oil on my hands 

pairing: sam wilson x f!reader x bucky barnes summary: you and sam having a myriad of bonding moments and the thought of falling for him becomes nearly unbearable, but, just when things get serious, there’s always something in the way. wc: 6.5k+  genre: flirting, good banter, heat, awkwardness and tension

Blue Shade: series — masterlist | 04

Sam makes sure to bring you to everything now. It’s as him disclosing his place of complete secrecy has opened up another side of him that you’ve never seen before. Dancing is more exciting, you laugh consistently when you’re together, and you meet up when class isn’t in session.

It’s as if the almost kiss was erased wholly from your memory. 

You find out about his obsession with Marvin Gaye and the Trouble Man soundtrack. He’s got the whole album and listens to it almost everyday, but it took you a little bit to pry that slightly embarrassing detail from him. 

“Oh, you must really like him.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty good.” He laughs into his coffee as you sit at the table you’ve officially decided to co-parent.

“To have over 300 listens to the same songs is pretty impressive considering that you only recently bought the whole album.” You wiggle your eyebrows and he tries his best to keep a straight face, sputtering into his drink. You grin at his momentary lapse in restraint.

“Well, like I said, Marvin Gaye is the best.” He watches you with a mirthful gaze and you squint your eyes at him, knowing there’s a part he’s not telling you.

“Well, Rachel knows that that’s only partially true.” You lean your head down and pretend that she’s agreeing with you, nodding your head enthusiastically. “That’s exactly right Rachel, he’s hiding something from us. He doesn’t love you like I do, Rachel.”

“Rachel, don’t listen to that. You know that I’ve been coming here consistently these past few weeks and we’ve been listening to the soundtrack together.” He folds his arms and leans back as if he’s won this battle. Ha.

“Everytime, huh?” You nonchalantly take a sip.

“Yep.” He purses his lips in triumph.

“Sounds like this is an everyday occurrence.”

“‘Cause it is.” He retorts and you point directly at him. He sputters through his drink, realizing he’s been caught, trying to scramble for a response.

“Ah—the truth finally comes out. He is legally insane.” You spread your arms in victory, sweet sweet victory. “He’s completely addicted to the soundtrack and cannot go a day without listening to it. Your honor, this case is officially closed; you have all of the evidence  you need to convict this man.”

“You can’t prove that.” He chuckles, snatching his phone back to put it safely back in his pocket.

“If you were in love with Marvin Gaye, Sam, all you had to do was say the word.” You take a sip while grinning and he fakes annoyance and rolls his eyes before breaking down in laughter. You follow closely behind him.

…

He also takes you rollerskating. He tries to talk you through it and reassures you that it’s pretty easy. He just wasn’t aware that you used to hit the rink every Friday as a kid and although it’s been a while since you’ve gotten back on the rink, you used to be a pro.

This was going to be easy, but it wouldn’t be that hard to play a little prank on him.

He’d helped you lace your skates up tight enough that your ankles wouldn’t roll and you let him, pretending to be all dainty and unaware of the roller skating experience. You did enjoy taking his hands again as he hoisted you to your feet and held most of your weight, making sure you kept your balance.

He was extremely careful, walking you through the steps as you wobbled and shook heavily on phoney weak and unpracticed legs. His hands were strong and steady, a calming pulse about as soothing as his warm voice guiding you how to weave one foot in and out to create some speed. 

“There you go, you got it.” His encouraging voice made you smile, a genuine display of teeth. Of course, it wasn’t because you were making small, fake steps of progress, but because he was willing to be patient with you as you moved through the steps. It made your heart soften and a warmth of pure adoration erupt in your core.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this.” Your legs shook violently and you pretended to stumble. He caught you, his hands gripping your forearms determinedly, not allowing you to even think of falling, drawing you into his strong chest. 

He breathed a little slower, looking down at you with concern and laughter. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” You breathed shakily, laying your performance thick. “Let me try again.”

You stood up straight again and gently tugged against his hands. “I want to see if I can do it without you.”

“Okay, just be careful.” He didn’t look convinced that you could do it, but he slowly let go of you, keeping his hands out just in case you needed the security of them again. He made sure to stay close and you allowed yourself a small smirk at his protectiveness and concern.

You winked at him and spun around, taking off around the circle of the rink, sure that your legs and previous experience would be more than capable of supporting your own weight. You even ignored the stopper on the front and slowed your speed by dragging the side of your wheel. 

His mouth hung open as you drifted right next to him, turning around to skate backwards. Then he let out a huff in disbelief. “You lied to me.”

“I thought it’d be a great opportunity to find out how good of a teacher you were.” You shrugged in false innocence and made sure to stay slightly out of his reach, even when he started to drift closer.

“And after I laced up your shoes, after I took all this time to walk you through all of the steps.”

“It was a nice added benefit.” You laughed.

“Oh, okay. I see how you wanna play this.” His eyes turned to something darker, losing the bright light they held and morphing into a deeper expression of humor and resolve.

You wasted no time in turning around and taking off, squealing as he rode fast on your heels. Giggles escaped you as his fingertips brushed against your clothing now and again. He eventually gained enough speed to pull you right next to him, forcing you to slow down and face him. 

The vestiges of your laughter died down while you looked at him. He wasn’t mad at all. His chest heaved up and down, his teeth spread into a huge grin. “You’re not getting off that easily.”

The ensuing roller skating dance battle was epic.

…

“Keep up, Coffee girl. I saw the way you moved on those skates!” He called over his shoulder as he lapped you, the tall tower near the Lincoln Memorial loomed in the distance as you tried to catch up to him near the reflecting pool. 

You huffed, your lungs squeezing with flame, and you struggled to take in air, your mouth crumbly and dry. You’d sweated through your exercise shirt and were about three seconds from passing out. 

You should have expected this. Sam was in the military after all and it made sense that the regimen never really goes away that easily, but you hadn’t expected to get ran into the next century. Sure, you could move your way around roller skates, but the wheels did a lot more for you than you actually did for the skates. The running shoes you wore right now weren’t going to assist in keeping your pace. This was all manual labor.

And you hadn’t tried to run in years. Middle school P.E. was likely the last time you ever tried to pace yourself through a measly mile.

You saw him make his way around the halfway point and came to a stop, placing your hands tightly on your knees and taking in as much air as you possibly could in the moment. You closed your eyes, feeling the sweat creating small rivets down your neck and back, clinging to your hair and your clothes. You felt dirty, in deep need of a hot shower and three healthy gallons of water.

“On your left.” Sam huffed past you, but you kept your eyes closed and took in more air until you could feel like you would be able to form a response.

When you opened them, Sam was watching you with that mixture of mirth and worry. “You alright there?”

“Yeah,” You could barely speak the words, the syllables filled with air instead of the ringing of your vocal chords. “I’m okay. Just need a minute.” You closed your eyes again and took deep breaths until you could get your breathing under control. 

You heard Sam tread over to you and crouch down in front of you. “Hey.” Your eyes peeled open slowly, and he was right there with a soft smile on his face. “Let’s take it slow.”

You nodded and stood up straight, ignoring the stabs of pain shooting through your side. Sam took his place beside you and started on what was undoubtedly a slow jog for him, but was a manageable pace for you. You ignored the pain, fighting to stay moving. 

Sam didn’t treat you with pity or that you would crumble. He stayed right next to you, bringing up topics that you could bicker over or discuss to a deep enough degree to keep your mind off your jog. He was kind and supportive. He took breaks with you when you needed to stop and would slow your pace if you were beginning to struggle again.

He showed you time and time again that he was everything Bucky was not. He was giving you so many reasons why he was better. Why you should choose him. 

And everytime, you thought you didn’t deserve him. He doesn’t deserve someone caught up in a relationship with someone else. The longer you dwelled on these thoughts, the sadder you became. A hole opened up, eating through your thoughts of him.

Because you wanted to be that supporting shoulder that he was for you, but you weren’t sure that would ever happen. By the time you got out, it might be too late for Sam. Besides, you had to prove that you weren’t boring, that you could be exciting too. That you could keep a man interested. 

Sam picked up on your change in mood and slowed your pace even more. “What’s going on? Thinking about him, again?”

“No.” You shook your head and gave a sad smile. “Something else that’s more important.”

He nodded and smiled. “Well get your head out of the clouds, Coffee Girl. We got three more laps to do.”

You huffed in frustration and gave a sad attempt at a laugh. “People must really call you Falcon for good reason. You just fly around those corners don’t you?”

“You have no idea.” 

...

Another day, another dance class. Sam spins you around as usual and dips you down, supporting you as you grab onto his arms. He whips you up and around with a flourish before pulling you back in, the both of you back to swaying to the beat. You let off a giggle as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. 

You’ve all been learning choreography for the main dance that will take place pretty soon after the first dances. It’s been fun so far and everyone is picking everything up fast. It’s nice to feel like you’re part of something important. 

It will all suck when he finally gets a replacement and he’ll get to dance with some other, more impressive girl. You just try to enjoy it all while you’re still here with him and he’s still willing to entertain your mess of a social life.

You and Natasha spin around each other, changing partners. Clint keeps you at a respectable distance while making sure you get your timing and steps right. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” He grins as he spins you.

“Not at all.” You huff, twirling back to him as you glide around the dance floor. “I trust you and Natasha are having a good time?”

“As always.” He smirks and you dance in a good silence before it’s time to change partners again. “Have fun.” He wishes you with a subcurrent of intentional enthusiasm. You just laugh as he passes you back, Natasha’s red hair becoming a blur. You catch her eyes mid-turn and she winks at you. You grin back.

Sam catches you easily and pulls you back in, making sure you're comfortable before moving. You didn’t notice how close you normally stand while dancing, but the apparent gap between you and Clint made it that more clear. You’re nearly touching his chest and your toes are just a breath apart. 

But it wasn’t unusual to you before. It’s comfortable, easy. You don’t bother to change it now, because you like it this way.

You shouldn’t. 

But you do.

The instructor moves closer to you. “Great form. You make excellent partners.” She claps in excitement and you both grin abashedly at the direct attention. “I’ll bet you’ll be the next ones to get married.”

Your blood runs cold and your eyes widen involuntarily. The statement carries more weight than she probably intended, but the fact that you’re technically still bound to Bucky brings the world back into focus. Until you can get the current boyfriend situation figured out, there couldn’t be a you and Sam. Not permanently.

No matter what your heart wanted.

No matter how much that statement, as much as it took you off guard, excited you.

Sam sobered as much as you did and stopped moving entirely. He looked to you to gauge your reaction and when he saw your face open in shock, his own frowned, his light dying slightly. Then he steeled himself. “Depends on who catches the bouquet.”

She laughed and gestured for you to continue. You took a deep breath and looked up to him. You both didn’t say anything to each other, but you shared a look of deep understanding of how serious a statement like that was.

…

You step out at a beautiful building with glass doors and racks on racks of differing pants and shirts, ties and cuffs. It’s even more impressive inside. Sam waits for you in a chair outside of the dressing room. 

“Hey.” You breathe watching him get to his feet and walk over to you. 

“Thanks for coming.” He nods and glances over your outfit. It’s a casual glance, but it sparks a hum of electricity down your spine.

“Yeah, well, the bridesmaid’s were having a fitting and I’m not technically invited so it’s probably a good thing I’m here.” You shrugged, flipping your hair over your shoulder and he laughed richly, rolling his eyes at your show.

Sam shows you to your seat just inside the dressing room, leading you to a place with a good deal of mirrors and a pedestal for the model to stand on. You take a seat on the plush chair and scroll through some ambient notifications, catching up on social media, and sending a few text messages. 

Sam asked you a few days ago if you’d come be “quality control” over his choice for a suit. The only stipulation that Steve put on his groomsmen is that the suit needs to be white. It seemed oddly out of character for a man that appeared traditional and old fashioned, but you welcomed the change. You’d heard the bridesmaid dresses were going to be red instead of the pale pink that was usually encouraged. But then again, Peggy did rock a red lip better than anyone else you knew; you had no doubt that her lip color of choice influenced her decision.

Why Sam really needed your help, eluded you. He was a perfectly capable man that was more than equipped to make his own choices and could definitely shop for himself, but you weren’t complaining. He was getting you out of a ridiculous dinner date with Bucky and whatever other work friend he was so hellbent on impressing. Not being there gave you all the energy you needed to focus.

When Sam steps out, your breath catches in your throat. He waves his arms out, letting you see the white suit in action as he spins around. He adjusts his red tie in the mirror before looking back at you. “What do you think?”

You can’t form words. Your brain is having a hard time catching up to what’s going through your mind. How handsome he looks, how the suit is fitted perfectly, how he looks outstanding and beautiful. It’s like you’re back at the boardwalk again. 

The white stands out starkly against his chocolate skin and makes it even more heavenly. It’s like white was his color. The only one he should wear for the rest of his life.

“It looks fantastic on you…” Your mouth still hangs open as you speak and it takes effort to control your eyes, keeping them at a normal wideness. You know your tone is dreamy and slightly slurred, but you can’t help it. “You-You look amazing.”

Sam just stares. 

“You like?” The tailor flutters around him, adjusting his suit jacket and his pants. It wouldn’t matter if the suit was ill-fitted. He’d still look fantastic and your breath would still have suddenly disappeared from your body.

You nodded absentmindedly, drifting closer to get a good inspection of him. Your fingers reached for his tie, fiddling with it in your grasp and feeling the soft, silken texture. He froze completely now, just watching you adjust his slightly crooked tie. You straightened it.

“Well, good thing quality control was here to fix it for you.” You breathed out, softly chuckling at the end. It helped cover up some of your nerves. Your fingers shook as you kept your hands closed.

His smile was delayed by a good few seconds, but it was followed by a timid laugh, shallow and not a deep as you were used to. He must have felt the same jittery anxiety that you were. 

You knew the reasons that you felt this way, but his were even more muddy and less clear.

“You know how these things work, Coffee Girl?” His voice was low, but took on a light and joking tone as he gestured to the tie.

You shook your head with a smirk. “Yes, bell bottoms, I know how to tie a tie properly.”

His following laugh was covered in nerves. He then lowered his eyes so that they were almost leveled with yours, all dark and warming. A fire ignited someone near your core at his gaze. “You don’t have to worry about my tie so much.”

You cleared your throat and turned him around, letting him get a good observation of himself in the mirror. You let your hands linger on his shoulders for a second longer than necessary, feeling the strength of his arms underneath his suit.

The tailor hums in approval. “Yes. Very good. Doesn’t he look good to you?”

The question was a bit more direct than you were prepared for and you sputtered for a second, Sam’s eyes catching yours in the mirror and sending another wave of fresh nervousness pulsing through your system. “Uh, yeah. I guess.” You want to slam your head into the nearest wall. What was that response?

You scratch the back of your head and step out of the way of his continuing adjustments. “No need for bashfulness. I can see the way you look at him.” He flashes a dazzling smile your way as you pointedly duck Sam’s inquiring eyes.

There’s not a response in the world that would be able to fix the conversation or steer it onto a path that would allow you to be honest while ignoring the feelings inside of your chest. You’re really in it now. 

You just settle for an, “oh”, as you turn and resume your place on the chair, far out of the reach of touching Sam and away from the tailor’s focused stare. 

It’s not the answer that the tailor was expecting and he must have picked up on the growing tension and awkwardness in the room. He weaves around the lapse in conversation like it’s nothing, quickly asking another slightly personal question that’s only that much harder to answer with certainty.

“You two are going to the wedding together, right?” Sam catches your eyes in the mirror and the pressure of a response once again falls on you. You have no idea how to answer this question correctly. It doesn’t seem like Sam has anyone else in mind, but your spot hasn’t been solidified for sure.

Plus, Sam’s looking like he wants you to say yes. Like he knows that there’s no one else, but he wants you to agree, to confirm that you’d be willing to go with him.

You try somewhere in the middle, hoping to not to give anything away.

“We’re dance partners right now, at least until his date can step in.” Sam’s face falls half an inch and he looks away. The tailor doesn’t notice, nor does he catch how instantly you deflate.

He just hums and pauses, watching Sam for a reaction. 

Sam shrugs, turning his focus all on the business of tailoring his suit. “More or less.” He concedes. 

“The woman that comes to see the tuxedo is always the one that goes to the wedding.” The tailor winks and returns to adding pins where the suit needs material eliminated. Your face still feels heavy and you feel guilty, like you gave a wrong answer on a test.

You stand then, determined to find something else to do to take your mind off of overanalyzing the situation at hand. “I’ll be over here.” You point at the racks near the back of the store full of dress shirts. 

You meet Sam’s eyes in the mirror and see all traces of hurt or disappointment are gone. He just smirks at you and nods. You return it the best you can, going over to see what shirts would look good on Bucky, but your heart isn’t in it. It probably wasn’t in it for some time now.

But if you could just prove to Buckty that you could be interesting, then maybe you’d finally be interesting enough for someone else. Maybe you would be good enough for Sam.

You shook your head sadly to yourself. 

You could live millions of lifetimes and still never deserve him. He needed someone that wasn’t caught up with someone else or preoccupied with improving herself. He needed someone that knew who she was. You weren’t there yet.

…

“Thank you.” He brushes against your shoulder as he says it. It could be written off as accidental, you do have to be close together on the sidewalk to avoid getting pushed over, but it’s a bit too firm for that to really be the case. His tone is low and courteous. “I’m sorry the tailor was so curious. He likes to keep the conversation going so that it doesn’t become awkward. He has a habit of asking personal questions.”

You smile to yourself and try to ignore how easy it would be to reach out and take his hand. These thoughts are fickle and dangerous. It’s becoming harder and harder not to do the thing you shouldn’t be doing. “It’s not a big deal, Sam, really.”

He cocks his head to the side at your use of Sam. He doesn’t comment on it though and you walk side by side through the streets. At times, he gets a little ahead of you to warn off some of the people that are beginning to get too close for his liking. It’s like he’s creating a path for you.

Then his walk changes; it carries an agitation that it didn’t before. Something’s weighing on his mind. “What’s wrong?” You ask nonchalantly, but know that he’ll recognize you picked up on his subtle changes in body language.

He looks down as you come to a pause at a red light. He searches around the street before he looks at you, taking a deep breath. Your anxiety raises at his hesitation. “I have a preposition for you, Coffee Girl.”

He looks straight at you now and that responding jolt spreads through you again, like it always does now. You try to ignore it as you look right back at him. “Shoot.” You step near him and narrow your eyes, like he’s a criminal spilling his master plan.

He laughs and you breathe a bit better. It’s not too bad if he’s willing to crack a smile at your approach. “What if...I never got a date to replace you? What if you went with me?”

His eyes look so pure and pleading now, it’s hard to look away. But you take a few steps back because you shouldn’t be so excited at the notion of going with him at all. This electricity is wrong, but it’s still happening, regardless of what’s going on in your life right now.

Sam sees the war happening all on your face and tries to backpedal. “Sorry if that was abrupt. If you’re uncomfortable, I can find someone else...”

“No, I want to go.” You fire back the response fast and his shoulders stop climbing, like a weight has been lifted off of them. “I just think I should talk to Bucky first.” And you should, he doesn’t know that he didn’t get another partner and Bucky is your significant other. If you’re going to a wedding with another man, it would be right to let him know about it.

“Okay, so,” He leans in a bit further than necessary, but you let him. You like being in his space. You like being close to him. “If that conversation goes well, you’ll come with me?” His eyes twinkle with hope and you blush at how open it all is. He’s letting you see that, whether he wanted you to or not.

You pretend to think about it, raising your hand dramatically to your chin and stroking it with finesse and refinement. You tilt your nose to sky to emphasize the deepness and complexity of thought that should be going through your mind right now. The pro and cons, the good parts and bad parts of the conversation that you’re going to have to have with Bucky, but it’s all absent. You already know your answer. You knew when he asked.

“Yes, bell bottoms, I’ll go with you.”

…

A day later, you’re knocking on Sam’s door, standing outside pacing to yourself after getting a cryptic text message about getting some extra practice before the rehearsal dinner tomorrow. You don’t really know what’s going through his head, your moves are fine and you’ve both got the steps down to a science, extra practice shouldn’t really be a problem.

But you knew what jitters felt like and you could understand wanting to do it one more time to calm your nerves. Your heart rate flew and a tingling sensation lingered in your fingers and your stomach. 

Sam swings the door open, a pleasant smile on his face and a glimmer wafting behind his chocolate eyes.“Come on in.” 

His living room is illuminated by soft candle light and the golden glow from a floor lamp. Another Marvin Gaye song echoes gently around the space, its place of origin a boombox on his countertop. You wonder if this is a passtime or if this was something more special. You hope it’s more special.

“Woah, you didn’t tell me you were an interior decorator, bell bottoms.” You’re so in awe of your surroundings, you missed that he’s standing right next to you.

“Are you ever going to let the teasing over the Trouble Man album go?” You smirk at him as you turn, eyes squinted and goading.

“Where do you think the bell bottoms nick-name came from?” You bump his shoulder with yours, but he doesn’t move away or create space when you do; he makes sure to stay just close enough to keep your arms in contact. 

“Uh huh.” He hums deep from the core. It sends a buzz through you and you fight down a blush. Then he moves, spreading his arms and taking a few steps back. “Shall we or is this too old-fashioned for your liking?”

You roll your eyes and place your hand firmly in his, putting your trust in him once again, knowing that he won’t let you down. He draws you in, your breath thinning out at the proximity. It’s becoming more tolerable now and doesn’t throw you off as much as it used to, losing your breathing rhythm around him. It calms you down, helps you focus.

He’s eyes are dark and alluring as he watches you, adjusting his positioning until he’s satisfied that you’re comfortable. “Are we going to be letting Mr. Gaye sing us through this one?” You inquire in faux innocence and watch as his face twists into a humorous disdain. 

“You, Ms. (last name), need exposure to real music.” He takes a step which you take with him, already knowing where he’s going from here as you begin the spins at a slightly faster pace than you’re used to in order to keep up with the beat. 

“Real music, huh?” He spins you outward before drawing you back close in again, another jolt shooting through your blood.

“Yes.” He says it with a seriousness that silences you, but then he’s all smiles and smirks again and you wonder what you were expecting from a man with the nickname of Falcon. “Now just listen.”

“I’ll try.” You sway together, waiting for your cue before the next performance of turns and spins occur. You like this. You like his warm hands and eyes and glowing personality. How you can relax around him and not feel like you have to watch everything you say. How you fit together, like two halves of a charm that only fit around each other.

You close your eyes and listen, catching a few lines before you’re twirling away from him in a mix of gold and brown. 

Yeah, darling you're not wasting my time What I see baby is so hard to find

…

A lightheadedness from all the dancing put a pause on your swaying session and giggle marathon. There were numerous times that you had to completely redo moves from laughing so hard. You almost fell over each other at times.

A funny spasm moved through your chest as you leaned your neck against the back of his sofa, trying to cool off while Sam brought water over. He placed the glass in your hand, a stark contrast from the warmth that he always pulsed into your skin.

You thanked him before drinking a bit, nodding along to another soft Marvin Gaye song in the background. You felt him watching you as he sat next to you, downing half of his glass. “Never met someone who likes Marvin Gaye so much for a person who claims they don’t like old music.” He smirked knowing over at you.

You shooed him with your hand. “I never said I didn’t like old music; I just mention and frequently tease you about your addiction to the music from the 70s. That���s got nothing to do with the quality of the music.”

Sam grins widely as he goes to get another sip of water before setting the glass down and smiling. You cup your drink in your hand, letting the coolness of the glass keep your body temperature lowered. 

He leans back, sighing with happiness and you can’t help the small smile of happiness that spreads across your cheeks at his contentment. He’s infectious. “You know, I haven’t had this much fun in a while, thank you for coming.”

You let your head roll back as you look over to him. “Me neither. Thanks for being such a gracious host.” 

His grins at your goofy head angle and weirdly moving eyebrows. Then he looks down and sobers up, his face losing some of the glow it already had. You sit up. Something’s coming, you can feel it.

You set your glass down and lean forward. “Did you ask him yet?” He doesn’t look at you, even when you stare at him for a minute before responding. You wish he would. You just need him to look so you can know what he’s feeling.

You hate putting him here. You hate that Bucky’s such a problem between you two.

You sigh and run your fingers through your hair, angling your body away from him. You don’t want him to feel like you’re pressuring him to accept the response you’re going to give him. “No. He’s out of town right now. He has been for a day or two.”

Sam narrows his eyes and fixes you with a hard stare, his tone ice compared to his smooth and gentle character. “He’s gone a lot for someone who loves to watch your every move.”

“Oh, he’s cheating. But then again it was never really official to begin with.” Sam’s eyes bug out of his head, but you know better than to take that at face value. He already knew. He’s just trying to act shocked for your sake. 

“He what?” His voice sounds dumbstruck, but it’s still not enough to fool you.

“You don’t have to pretend to be surprised. I know you know.” You reached down to take another sip of your drink and let the liquid cool you down, slow down your brain so you could give clear answers that weren’t riddled with anger.

Sam sits for a moment watching you. He sighs, looks away, and then turns towards you. His jaw works and no words come out so you fill the silence.

“I’m just waiting. I think this will go away at some point. I’m just trying to be more interesting and exciting. I think that’s why I lost him the last time.” You fiddle with your pants to keep from facing Sam’s pointed stare.

“So dancing with me is just to be more interesting?” He sounds hurt and starts to turn away, but you catch him. 

“No.” You make sure that’s firm and look directly at him as you say the word. He freezes in place and has to look away. “I’m dancing with you because that was genuinely something I was interested in doing. That had nothing with trying to make him jealous or trying to get him back, that was completely my own choosing.”

He had to understand, this whole thing had nothing to do with Bucky. It had everything to do with your choice and what you wanted to do. It wasn’t something you felt like you had to do to win Bucky back. You wanted this. 

Sam doesn’t seem completely convinced. You scoot closer and place a delicate hand on his shoulder, squeezing it to get him to look at you. His eyes cut, but you’re determined to make him understand. To make him believe you. “Do you think I would still be here if I didn’t choose this. If this was my strategy, obviously it’s doing nothing to get him back and it would be in my best interest to leave, right? Why am I still going to classes and hanging with you if I didn’t want to be here?”

He nods and you breathe out a breath you weren’t aware you were holding. You start to let your hand fall from his shoulder, but he catches it, pulling it closer to his chest and drawing your eyes to his sad and pleading gaze. “You deserve better.” He utters it softly and an emotional wall breaks at his words.

You feel tears start to form near your eyes. It’s been so long since you’ve heard someone tell you that you’re worth more than what you’re in. You have to look away, too caught in his eyes and the way that walls are starting to come down.

You take a breath and when you’re sure that there are no traces of sadness or pain, you gently draw your hand and it hurts. You don’t want to pull back, but you have to do the right thing. You have to do what’s right, even when it’s the most painful thing you could do.

“I think I should go,” You stand and Sam jumps up inhumanly fast before you, slightly blocking a straight shot to the door. You don’t feel trapped, more like he doesn’t want you to leave. “I don’t want you to feel any worse about the situation.”

“Wait.” He says in a soft whisper. He takes your hand again, slowly, curling your fingers together delicately. “Just one more dance.”

Sam doesn’t let your hand go as he clicks to another song, a sweet and simple guitar and vocal combination filling the room. He rests his hand on your hip, his warmth bleeding through the fabric of your shirt, tucks you close to him, and sets you to a sway. 

You don’t perform any of the moves you’ve learned in class, no waltzes or spins, just you and him and a beat.

Eventually, from enough courage and fatigue catching up with you, you lean your head against his chest, wrapping your free arm around his torso and listening to his fast but steady heartbeat. You feel his head dip down to lean where your head lays, a hand splaying on your back to curl you into him. The tears almost well up again, but you just close your eyes and feel him, concentrating on his closeness and the caring way he responds to you.

Just like a song in my heart

A hand on your cheek pulls you back and your gaze flashes up to his, a deep fire simmering in your chest reflected in his eyes. You can feel the kiss coming this time and you know you’re not strong enough to resist it. You close your eyes and tense, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

But they never do. 

Instead, a soft kiss presses against your temple and lingers.

When you open your eyes, your heart almost breaks from his open eyes and the adoration and sorrow in them. You hope he can see how sorry you are. Maybe in another place in a different time. It’s the only thing you can trust to do, silent communication. Anything else, and you’ll completely crumble.

Sam presses an invitation into your hand. Come, his eyes say and you smile and tuck it into your pocket for safekeeping.

The song ends bittersweetly and Sam walks you to the door, still holding your hand tightly in his. You stand on your tippy toes, the kiss still warm and pulsing from your forehead. He begins to lean down, knowing what’s coming and eager to make it easier for you. Just when you’re about to give him another kiss on the cheek, you get a text.

Bucky: It’s done. I broke up with her. You’re the one for me

Just like oil on my hands.

[blackvelvetstories]

Matilda all Grown Up

Six Years after Miss Edwards has revolutionized the school, she has managed to completely turn it around from its previous reign from the tyrant that was Miss Trunchbull. The once swamp like jailhouse, now changed to the liberated school. Following that glorious day Miss Trunchbull fled the school, the children could not get enough of the wonderful improvements. The truly liberated school was now so highly rated that a petition was signed, and approved in hours, developing the school into a college, with students never wanting to leave. The student body allowed Miss Edwards’ to develop and hand select every teacher, with the aim to continue her belief in doing right by the students and helping every way possible to reach their full potential, no matter the case.

It was not just Miss Trunchbull that has fled the scene, Matilda’s family were next to go, chased out by Mr. Wormwood’s angry customers from his dodgy dealing days. It was only a matter of time before it came crashing down on him and Matilda was ready with the get out of jail card that was moving in with Miss Edwards. To Miss Edwards’ delight, they helped one another grow, a partnership better than sweet and salted popcorn. They discussed the variety of books they read together, caught up on the soaps and cooked the finest lunches and dinners. With the help of Miss Edwards and her ever growing intelligence, Matilda leapfrogged the educational system. As expected she was excelling at anything she puts her mind to, and was now in her first year of college.

                                                            ***

“Good morning class. If you can all get to your seats, we are about to get started with some Spanish. So, if any of you have a holiday planned for the summer, you can be your parents own little translator” Miss Edwards says cheerfully to the class. Jamie’s hand shoots up like a rocket. “Miss, Miss, I mean Seňora. Can we learn about getting around, as last time me and my family got lost for ages trying to get back to our hotel?” Jamie asks. “Jamie, you must’ve read my lesson plan, we will get right into today’s topic of travel. If we can all turn to page 12 of your textbooks” Miss Edwards says smiling to the class. “We shall start off, with a nice and easy question. How do you say, ‘the Taxi’ en Espanol?” Miss Edwards continues. “El Taxi” the class say as they giggle together. “Very good class, what do you say to upping the level a bit with travel. Does anyone know how to say, the taxi is here, en Espanol?” Miss Edwards asks the class. Some of the pupils look around at each other not knowing the answer, but a couple of them raise their hands, trying to outstretch the other. ‘Yes, Susie. Dónde está el taxi?” Miss Edwards asks, as the remaining kids sigh as they drop their hands disappointed at not being picked. “El taxi está aqui! I went to Spain with my family and my older brother, taught me all he knew.” Susie says proudly as she looks smugly at the ones who didn’t raise their hands. “Well done Susie, that is better than I could do for my first time in Spain. Now can anyone else, describe the Taxi. Maybe with a colour or if it is big or small?” Miss Edwards says. This time, the majority of the pupils raise their hands itching to answer the question. “Ok, give it a go Dennis” Miss Edwards says as she gives Dennis the go ahead. “El Taxi es muy enorme, como un... monster truck” Dennis says as the class begin to laugh in a domino effect from front to back. “You have seen some interesting taxi’s Dennis” Miss Edwards replies as she calms the class down. The class continue to go through the textbook with Miss Edwards, learning all the different travel words. As the class is in its final minutes of the lesson, the whole class is beaming with confidence with the new words they have learnt. “I am really proud of you all, do we all think we are ready to give our Spanish song a try?” Miss Edwards asks. “Yes Miss Edwards” the class reply, excited to give the song a try. “uno, dos, tres  taxi. Todos los taxis son Amarillo-o-o-o, amarill-o-o-o. Puedo tener un taxi por dos personas, por favor. Por fav-o-o-o-r-r-r” the class sing out in a playful tune, as Miss Edwards is standing at the front of class mouthing the words to everyone at the same time. “Oh wonderful, you all sound so good. I think you are all ready now for a trip away to Spain! A couple more lessons and you will able to get around Spain with no hassle” Miss Edwards says smiling from ear to ear, pleased with how far they have come. As the bell rings, a groan is heard from the entire class not wanting to move onto a different teacher. As the kids walk out of the classroom, Miss Edwards high fives each pupil as they leave. “Miss, I forgot to give this apple to you at the beginning of class” Frances says reaching to the bottom of her bag, pulling out a dented and bruised apple with pieces of hair attached. Miss Edwards manages to hide her disgust of the un-edible apple, as her nose begins to twitch as it gets closer to her face. “You are far too kind Frances, thank you” Miss Edwards says as she accepts the apple and cautiously puts it on her desk. Frances stops and stares at the apple and then back at Miss Edwards “Are you not going to eat it now, Miss Edwards?” Frances asks all bright eyed. Miss Edwards looks back at the dented apple, which now looks as if it started to grow mouldy. “I’ve just had an apple before this class, I will save this special one for later. Oh, is that the time, you better be off to your next lesson Frances” Miss Edwards says whilst rubbing her belly. Happy with the response, Frances smiles and skips out of the classroom. “Phew, that was close” Miss Edwards laughs as she wipes the sweat off her brow. “Hey, you, have you got a free lesson next?” Matilda says, as she pokes her head through the door. “I do indeed. I am just going to be marking some papers, feel free to join if you are free?” Miss Edwards replies. “Oh no, I was just passing through before my English Lit class. We have just started reading ‘I know why the caged bird sings’ but I thought I’ll just pop in to say hi and more importantly see what you wanted for dinner tonight? I think I have mastered the way you make mac and cheese” Matilda says proudly. “Ooo, that does sound great. I cannot wait to try that, oo and some ribs on the side maybe. What do you think?” Miss Edwards says back to Matilda, rubbing her stomach as she dreams of the ribs. They continue to chat for a little while, before the bell rings for the next class.

The school has been Miss Trunchbull free for six years, four months and thirty-three days. The memory of Miss Trunchbull flying out of the classroom window is still edged into their minds. However, not a second has gone passed, where the students have missed the delightful change. The school never thought this day would come. The dark clouds followed her banged up car en route to the school, the car sounded like chitty chitty bang bang as it repeatedly stopped to Miss Trunchbull’s anger before she was able to get it started again. “I should’ve got rid of you a long time ago, you piece of junk!” Miss Trunchbull angrily says as she pounds the steering wheel. As she pulls up to the school gates, a dragon of dark clouds appears above her, heavily breathing in and out simultaneously with Miss Trunchbull. So much so, that her car windows have now steamed up preventing anyone from seeing inside. Pupils are walking passed on their break, unaware of what awaits inside the car. Unfortunately for the school, only Miss Edwards and Matilda are aware of Miss Trunchbull's oncoming arrival. Miss Trunchbull slowly marches through the hallway, taking in all the changes since she left, grinning at every pupil she passes that is rushing to their last class. Gasping at the sight of her, six years on and her presence still sends shivers down the spines of whoever she passes. Some freeze like they are doing the mannequin challenge just at the sight of her. Other are unable to stay put, even pushing friends over to ensure their safety. “Why is she here?” a pupil whispers. “No, no, no, this can’t be real” another pupil whispers as they rub their eyes, trying to wake up from this horrible dream. Miss Trunchbull quickly turns her head, without breaking her stride to the stunned pupils and grins before knocking onto Miss Edward’s door. “Excuse me, please may I come in?” Miss Trunchbull says using her most posh voice. “Of course, please come in” Miss Edwards replies. Miss Trunchbull gingerly opens the door as she walks through smiling at Miss Edwards, sitting at her desk. She gazes at the changes Miss Edwards has made to her old hunting ground. No dart board, with numerous holes on the wall from missed shots. No Olympic pictures of her past triumphs as a champion thrower. Now the pristine sanctuary, filled with birds of paradise, empowering black artwork on the walls and an array of books. The sunshine beams through the windows, something that was never allowed in during Miss Trunchbull’s reign. “What marvelous changes you have made to my room?” Miss Trunchbull says as she continues to look around. “Yes, after you left. I thought it would be best to make certain adjustments to MY room and make it a bit more...welcoming” Miss Edwards says as she instructs her to sit on the chair opposite hers. “Well…yes, it all looks lovely…Anyway, I would like to start off by saying how am so grateful for this second chance within the school. These past six years have allowed me to really dwell on how I conducted myself as a headteacher and how I treated the students. After going through a vigorous anger management course, I feel as if I am reborn. I am here to show you and the rest of the school how I’ve changed!” Miss Trunchbull says as she proudly passes over certificate from the anger management course. “If it was down to me you would not be here. However, as the educational board have ordered you to have another chance. I will go as far a trial within the school, as a teacher. Any bad reports from you, will have you out the doors like Jazz in The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Well, hopefully not exiting the same way you did last time you were here” Miss Edwards says sternly. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything less. I hope you can see how I have changed and before you know it, I will be back as headteacher...I mean back as a great teacher. I wouldn’t want to take over from what a wonderful job I have heard and know you have been doing here” Miss Trunchbull says with an awkward smile. “Yes... I hope so... I look forward to you seeing how well you do, when you start” Miss Edwards says as she leans forward with her outstretched hand, awaiting to shake Miss Trunchbull’s hand, before leading her out.

On Miss Trunchbull’s journey back to her car, she passes a group of college girls laughing together. Matilda is walking slightly behind, with her head swallowed by a book, as she holds a couple of books to her side. Not spotting a stone on the ground, Matilda trips causing one of the books to drop to the floor. Miss Trunchbull’s cat like reflexes, allows her to quickly swoops down and picks up the book. “Oh, ‘I know why the caged bird sings’, this is a fantastic book. O to be stuck in a cage, aye Matilda” Miss Trunchbull says with an evil laugh. The pre-warning Miss Edwards gave, was not enough for seeing her again with her own eyes. She stands speechless. Her mind vividly replaying all the terrible things she did as her headteacher.  Miss Trunchbull stood with the book held out towards Matilda, after waiting a while, she gently places it onto top of her other books. “I look forward to seeing you around the school. Matilda.” Miss Trunchbull says patting her on the head. Matilda has not made a sound or moved since she passed the book over, hoping that this bad dream would go away.

Matilda grips the books as tight as she can as she rushes back into the school, still shaken up by her encounter with Miss Trunchbull. “Miss Edwards, Miss Edwards. We can’t have it go back to the way it was last time! Why does she have to come back, is there not anything you can do?” Matilda pleads, as she uses her powers to throw her bag in the corner of the room. “Please calm down Matilda. I know this is not what any of us want, but the educational board went over my head on this. We must look at the brighter side of things, Miss Trunchbull is only a trial. If she has really been reformed into a pleasant teacher, great. If not, we will see her true colours soon enough and she will be gone for good” Miss Edwards says as she tries to ease Matilda’s mind, as well as hers. Matilda stands there gazing out the window wondering what Miss Trunchbull’s is scheming, knowing the way she treated the children before. Baffled at why she is back, let alone able to return. Matilda’s mind continues to wonder, as she ponders ways that she can get her to reveal her true self. “No powers this time!” Miss Edwards cheekily snaps at Matilda, as she places a calming hand on her shoulder. Matilda collects her bags from the room and smiles back at Miss Edwards, “Ok. We can do this” Matilda says.

Before the school day starts, the children are laughing and playing together in the playground. The sight of Miss Trunchbull forcing herself out of her small car, causes the children to abruptly stop. Crows call out as she steps through the school gates. Even the pupils who have only heard stories of Miss Trunchbull, instantly know who she is just from the aura she gives. The students who have colorful plaited hair quickly tuck them into their tops, hiding them away. Miss Trunchbull trudges through the playground, doing her best to smile at every child that she passes. “Good Morning. Hello. Hi. Good to see you. Looking good” Miss Trunchbull says as she makes her way through. No one is brave enough to reply, not knowing what is going to happen with her reappearance. “Dotty said that she saw Miss Trunchbull walk into Miss Edwards’s room before, I thought she was just trying to trick me like she always does” Kameron whispers. Miss Trunchbull quickly turns towards Kameron, making him jump out of his skin. She stops and stares at him for a second before smiling, showing all her shark like teeth. Kameron faints backwards from the view of imminent danger. Miss Trunchbull jumps to action like the flash, catching him before he drops to the ground “Clear some room children. Has anyone got some water?” Miss Trunchbull eagerly says in a sympathetic tone. As a child rushes over with some water, Miss Trunchbull whips out a handkerchief from her pocket and wets it with the water. She softly places it on his head as she fans him gently with her other hand. Kameron slowly wakes up puzzled on what happened and with Miss Trunchbull now cradling him, with a creepy smile. “I am glad you are okay. Please be careful next time.” Miss Trunchbull says as she helps him back to his feet. The entire playground stands stunned by the whole scenario, something that would have never happened before. Miss Trunchbull wipes of the dust from her suit trousers and continues to stroll to the school doors. “Are you okay, Kameron?” Harry asks. “Mentally, no. But I was just saved by Miss Trunchbull. I thought she was going to eat me alive just then, but she saved me and was nice to me” Kameron says still baffled by what has happened. The bell rings for the start of the school day, waking the kids out of their shocked state, as they pick up their belongings and head in to class all still chatting about what went on. The college students enter the class to see Miss Trunchbull welcoming then in with a heartfelt smile “Welcome, everybody. When you can, please take a seat. For those of you who don’t know, my name is Miss Trunchbull” Miss Trunchbull says as she writes her name on the board with flowers around it. With all the kids now seated, they are still wary of the changed Miss Trunchbull. “Good Morning, Miss Trunchbull. I hope you don’t mind, I will be sitting in on your first lesson” Miss Edwards says as she smiles at the class. “Phew” Poppy says from the back of the class, “feel much safer now that Miss Edwards is in the class. I know she just helped Kameron earlier, but I am not believing this act just yet” Poppy continues to whisper under her breath. “Right, as you may know I will be taking over for Mrs. Wick, who is currently off on long-term sick leave. I really do hope she has a speedy recovery.” Miss Trunchbull sympathetically says. “Let us open our history books to page thirty-two, I have been told you are all very accomplished historians. I have provided some questions papers for you all to have a go at, if you struggle at any questions, raise your hand and we will go through it as a class how to solve it” Miss Trunchbull says smiling to all, as they get stuck into the worksheet. “Miss, I never knew that you were in the roman times?” Riley says pointing at a large gladiator wielding a javelin on their sheet. The class burst into laughter as they cannot contain themselves, with Miss Edwards putting her hand over her mouth. “Please behave, Riley. That is not a nice thing to say” Miss Edwards interrupts silencing the class. Miss Trunchbull clenches her fist, which strikes fear into the all the children's faces. But as her eyes widen in anger, she quickly calms herself down by tapping her leg. “Now, now, that was a good joke Riley. Let’s back on with these questions” Miss Trunchbull says clenching her teeth as she forces a smile. Everyone is surprised by her reaction, expecting the worse from her previous antics as judge and executioner. The class continue to complete the questions with the help of Miss Trunchbull as they warm to her changed persona. “Thank you for today, Miss Trunchbull... Sorry about my earlier comment also” Riley says smiling as they all pack up. “Thanks Miss” A group of students say as they leave the class. Miss Edwards sits back for a while. “Do you mind if I have a quick word before I go?” Miss Edwards asks. “Of course, I hope I was okay for my first lesson back. Under your guidance, I can better myself here as a teacher” Miss Trunchbull replies. “I have got to say, I am rather impressed with the way you handled yourself and the class today. Now, this does not mean that I have my full trust in you, the memories of your past still weigh heavily on my mind. I will continue to keep my eye on you” Miss Edwards says.

“What’s for dinner tonight?” Matilda asks Miss Edwards as she walks through the front door of their house. “Vegetable lasagna, nice and cheesy. I am just about to finish up. Can you lay the table for us please?” Miss Edwards says. Matilda begins to set the table with her powers, moving all the cutlery and table mats into position whilst dancing around. “Oh, did you hear all about what happened with Kameron today? I cannot believe it, not what I was expecting to hear about Miss Trunchbull on her first day back” Matilda says. “I know, I know it amazed me too, I was fearing the worst when I first heard. I will still be keeping an eye on her though. However, I was impressed in the way she conducted herself in class today. It was completely out of character for her” Miss Edwards says as she brings out the dish. “You must’ve rubbed off on her” Matilda laughs. Sitting at the table they both munch down on the hot meal as the cheese oozes out of the lasagna. “Anyway, that is enough talk about Miss Trunchbull at the dinner table. How’s ‘I know why the caged bird sings’ going in class?” Miss Edwards asks as she puts her half-eaten plate to side and rubs her belly. “I am really enjoying it, Maya Angelou is incredible. ‘Hoping for the best, prepared for the worst, and unsurprised by anything in between’. I think it is rather fitting, with the whole Miss Trunchbull situation” Matilda says. “Matilda, please no more about Miss Trunchbull tonight. Although, I am glad to hear you are enjoying the book. I am not sure if I ever did finish that. It was so many years ago that I read the book” Miss Edwards says still rubbing her outstretched belly poking out of her top. As she stares the plate down, it is only a matter of moments before she is pulling the plate back to demolish.

The following day, Miss Trunchbull’s enters through the school completely different from the previous day. No student stunned in fear. Everyone continuing as normal. The previous was testament to how she has transformed. Kids now brave enough to run around her as they play a game of ‘it’, an unimaginable thought previously. Miss Trunchbull takes it all in her stride, chuckling as she watches them play and makes her way through the playground. “Heads up” a kid shouts, as a football comes flying overhead and hits Miss Trunchbull in the head. The children pause, like they are stuck in the mud. All the positivity they had, sapped out of them. Now back to expecting the worst, starting with the destruction of the ball within her hands and a punishment pending. Miss Trunchbull slowly reaches down to pick the ball up “Who kicked this ball?” Miss Trunchbull asks looking in the kid’s direction. The group of kids playing instantly push Nicky forward. “Sorry Miss, I-I-I-t was me” Nicky says stuttering as she tries to contain her fright. “Good kick but remember there are smaller children playing, so please be careful next time” Miss Trunchbull pleasantly says as she places the ball into her hands. “...Thank you, Miss Trunchbull.” Nicky says. Shocked by the response she quickly runs back to her friends. The kids around Miss Trunchbull have not taken their eyes off Miss Trunchbull this whole time, but as Nicky runs away with the ball their eyes light up, delighted on the outcome. One child starts a slow clap, with Miss Trunchbull setting off through the school doors. The other kids continue the clap as some even cheer from the bottom of their lungs. “I don’t know what happened to her in those six years away, I think my mum should go there” a child says to the group he is in. “Good morning class are you all ready to learn about the past?” Miss Trunchbull says. Miss Edwards enters the classroom to see everyone smiling and joking with Miss Trunchbull. “Have you seen Riley today, Miss Edwards. I have heard your classes are normally very punctual?” Miss Trunchbull asks as she stacks the sheets of paper on her desk. “Riley’s father called in earlier actually. Even Riley’s father did not sound well at all. From what I heard on the phone, looks like the family have caught something bad, so he won’t be in for a while” Miss Edwards says making her way to the corner of the room to observe the class. “I see, that is a shame. Well Friends, Romans, countrymen lend me your ears. Today we will be continuing our Roman adventure, hopefully we can find something that can cure Riley with these ancient methods and medicine” Miss Trunchbull says, as the students laugh in response. “I wouldn’t want to be ill in those times. I’ve read into the horror treatment that they tried, even the common cold would have been deadly” Amie calls out. “That is right Amie, so I bet Riley is happy that we have developed our medicine over the years. I’m sure he will have a speedy recovery” Miss Trunchbull says. The class continue to discuss the Romans, detailing how life was in those times. Miss Trunchbull pulls out a large shield from her bag, almost imitating Mary Poppins magic bag trick. The shield is passed around the room for all the kids to see and marvel at the design. “Romans such as Julius Caesar made great use of shields in battle, it was not always the use of the swords/spears or any weapon that won the battles for these Emperors” Miss Trunchbull says as they continue through the remainder of the lesson. “Is the lesson finished already? Felt like we were only here for ten minutes!” Yolande exclaims as the bell goes. Miss Edwards waits for everyone to leave before approaching Miss Trunchbull. Miss Edwards just stares at Miss Trunchbull for a moment as she taps her book with her pen. “I will have to go on what I can see and what I have seen is a great improvement, so I don’t think I need to be in anymore of your classes...for now. Your lessons have been very impressive, but you have really excelled in this one. Well done.” Miss Edwards says as she smiles at Miss Trunchbull and proceeds to leave the class. Miss Trunchbull watches her leave, waving until she cannot hear her footsteps. “It is really happening. My shield is in full force now.” Miss Trunchbull laughs as she bounces around like a lunatic. Matilda hears the witches laugh, walking to her next class. Interested to see who would be making such noises in school, she sneakily pokes her head through the glass of the door. Spotting Miss Trunchbull mumbling and laughing to herself, she quickly draws back so she is not seen. Memories rush back into her mind, from the pain she caused the school. “This is not right” Matilda whispers to herself. Bzzt Bzzt, Miss Trunchbull’s vibrates in her pocket. “What is it, you little worm? That child better still be in that chokey when I get back! I have another brat to keep them company that I will be bringing back later so be prepared” Miss Trunchbull shouts down the phone. Even though Matilda stood shocked by what she just heard, it was only a matter of time before Miss Trunchbull showed her true self again. Her mind automatically goes to pick up a book from the shelf. The book steadily floats out, aimed right at Miss Trunchbull. “Matilda!” Miss Edwards shouts. The book instantly drops to the ground, startling Miss Trunchbull. “I thought I told you no powers?” Miss Edwards continues as Matilda jumps out of her ninja pose and straightens up. “you wouldn’t be saying this if you knew what I just heard. Ask her who she has been talking to on the phone. I reckon she is doing some shady business. She mentioned something about a child already taken and another that she is planning on taking!” Matilda says. Miss Trunchbull slowly walks closer to them. “What do you mean? Matilda, I did not expect you to eavesdrop on my conversation...it was with the adoption agency. I am in the final stages right now, it has been rather stressful. After seeing how well it has turned out with you and Matilda, you inspired me to do better. Be better” Miss Trunchbull says as she puts on a childlike voice. “Huh. What games are you trying to play here? You will not get away with this one, we are not the same naive people you knew six years ago” Matilda confidently says. “I am a changed person Matilda, why do not believe me. Here call the last number that called, and you will see” Miss Trunchbull says as she passes the phone over. Miss Edwards pauses for a moment, before pressing the most recent contact. Matilda eagerly leans forward expecting her accomplice to reveal her evil plan. “Hello, ‘The right choice’ adoption agency, Gavin speaking. How can I help?” the man politely says answering the phone. “Oh, sorry I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just wanted to clarify that this was an adoption agency?” Miss Edwards awkwardly replies. “It is indeed, how may I assist you today?” the man continues. “Ask him if he is dealing with Miss Trunchbull, this could all be a ruse” Matilda jumps in. “We are trying to get to the bottom of a serious school issue, that involves one of our members of staff. Have you been in contact with a Miss Trunchbull, going through the adoption process?” Miss Edwards asks. “The details of our members are strictly confidential. However, I appreciate that this is a serious matter within your school, so, I can confirm that Miss Trunchbull is currently on file within adoption agency. Unfortunately, due to the nature of this I am not able to provide you with further information. All I can say though, is whenever Miss Trunchbull is in she brightens up our office and would be a great fit for any child.” The man says. Matilda looks up at Miss Trunchbull bewildered by what has been said. “I think we should all leave it there. I do apologise for this game of cluedo, Miss Trunchbull and I wish you the best of luck in your process.” Miss Edwards says as she passes the phone back to Miss Trunchbull. “Come on you, we need to have a chat” Miss Edwards says to Matilda as she guides her out of the room. “I know she is not our biggest fan in this school, but you can’t go accusing her of these things, without any hard evidence.” Miss Edwards sternly states to Matilda as they enter her room. “She is planning something terrible, I just know it. I will get to the bottom of this” Matilda cries out. “Look, I do believe you. However, like I said we need the hard evidence. The voice on the phone did sound somewhat off and rather familiar and to get that information that easily. I have a feeling she is up to no good as usual. We have to find out what is really going on here...but in the right way” Miss Edwards says.

“Miss Edwards, Miss Edwards!” Thomas says barging through the door. “Woah, slow down Thomas. What is wrong?” Miss Edwards says startled by his entrance. “Sorry Miss, but we can’t find Nicky anywhere. All teachers are searching everywhere, so Mrs. Judy asked me to find you immediately, everybody is worried. Nobody has seen her after the break and we have heard rumours that someone snatched her from inside the school!” Thomas says panting from running in. Matilda and Miss Edwards both look at each other, sacred for Nicky. “Miss Trunchbull!” they say in unison. “Huh. Yes, Miss Trunchbull is out helping us look too” Thomas says confused. “Ok, let’s get moving, we need to find Nicky” Miss Edwards says. The three of them rush out the door, to join the search team. Outside Miss Edwards room, the majority of the pupils are also out on search. Looking in to every room in detail, with teachers pulling out ladders to check  the out of reach places. Others checking in every cupboard, closed door and hidden compartments. “This is a bit excessive don’t you think. Police normally only wait 24-48 hours for a missing person and we have the whole school looking for Nicky in under 2 hours. Especially, when we all know who the culprit is” Matilda says staring across to Miss Trunchbull, who is exploring the playground like the famous five with the other pupils. “I heard, Miss Trunchbull was the one who reported this” Thomas says. “I think we better go speak to Miss Trunchbull” Miss Edwards says. “Why me, Miss” Thomas says baffled. “Not you Thomas, thank you for your help” Miss Edwards chuckles. They march over to Miss Trunchbull side by side like they are connected by string. “Such terrible news, we have been out here looking for a while now but have seen no signs of the poor girl” Miss Trunchbull says empathetically. “Stop playing around and just tell us where Nicky is! You are not fooling me” Matilda says, crossing her arms in anger. “My dear child, what do you mean? Why would I ever do such a horrible thing? In fact, I was with you earlier, when could I have done all of this?” Miss Trunchbull innocently replies. Matilda pauses for a moment, trying to calculate it all in her head. “What about when we left, that must have been your time to strike. I heard earlier that Nicky accidentally kicked a ball that hit you in the playground. I would guess that this is your revenge, just like with Riley. I cannot prove it now, but I know what you’re capable of” Matilda says, stepping closer to Miss Trunchbull. “I am trying to be a better person, I have done nothing but positive things since I have come back, and you persist to bring me down. Something has changed over these years, I thought you were a lovely little child. Can someone not change?” Miss Trunchbull says as she falls into the oncoming teachers’ shoulders. “Miss Edwards, please. I think you need to control Matilda. I know Miss Trunchbull the ghastly things Miss Trunchbull has done in the past. However, this was the past, we must move forward and especially in times like these. The main goal now is to find Nicky, not to start a witch hunt” Mr. Awana says. Miss Edwards has been inquisitively staring across the gate like a zombie during this whole conversation. “oh...Thank you, Mr. Awana...I will take Matilda away and think of a punishment for all of this. Again, apologies for the accusations Miss Trunchbull. Everyone keep your eye out for Nicky, that is our main priority!” Miss Edwards says, as she leads Matilda over in the direction of the gates. “But…” Matilda tries to continue talking but the speed at which she is being pulled prevents her from getting a sentence out. Arriving at the gate, Miss Edwards scans around to make sure that nobody is watching. “Remember Matilda, you can’t accuse like that without hard evidence… but I think I have just found our evidence” Miss Edwards whispers as she points over at Miss Trunchbull’s car. A short and stocky man appears to walk towards the boot of the car, struggling to pick up a large suitcase, as he uses the keys to open the boot. “Work your magic Matilda” Miss Edwards says, giving her the go ahead with a little wink. Matilda fixes in on to the man, staring at him with great concentration. A stone begins to float in the air, hitting him on the shoulder. He quickly turns around searching around scared he has been spotted. “Who is there? I am a black belt in karate you know, my small height will only help me catch, I’m like a squirrel. So, come out now if you know what’s good for you!” the man calls out whilst he does a few karate chops in the air showing off his skills. Matilda and Miss Edwards barely contain their laughter. Matilda continues to play, as she flings the keys out of his hands and into the boot. “How much grease was on that burger?” the man asks himself, as he wipes his hands and reaches into the boot to retrieve the keys. Leaning further in, Matilda brings the boot crashing down “Ouch! This stupid car, I don’t know why she still has this hunk of junk” the man says angrily. The man tries to hold the boot up, but his short arms are preventing him from reaching. Matilda uses her powers to swoop him right in, shutting the boot right after. “Make sure you lock it, until we check out what is in the suitcase” Miss Edwards says. They both race over to the car, looking left to right to make sure they have not been spotted. “Is that you, moving the suitcase Matilda?” Miss Edwards asks. Surprised, Matilda slowly turns towards Miss Edwards worryingly. Panicking, they both open the suitcase like a child opening mouse trap at Christmas. “Nicky!” Matilda says, as Nicky looks up at her delighted to see a friendly face. “I knew it. Well, looks like we have our hard evidence now!” Matilda says with a beaming smile as Miss Edwards removes the duct tape from Nicky’s mouth. “Ok, ok no need to gloat. Let’s help Nicky out first before we go ruin Miss Trunchbull’s fun” Miss Edwards says as she carefully lifts her out of the suitcase. “Thank – you – I - thought - I - would never be free. Miss Trunchbull, blindsided me in the hallway, lulled me into a false sense of security by laughing and joking. Then she offered me a sweet and then all I can remember is a man trapping me in here. My mum always says don’t accept sweets from strangers, but I think I need to extend that to evil teachers as well!” Nicky says. “What should we do about the man in the boot?” Matilda asks. “I think it would be best to confront Miss Trunchbull and get the police involved here. You wait here with Nicky and I will go get Miss Trunchbull and the rest of the teachers, to show what she has been up to” Miss Edwards says. Matilda pulls out a packet of skittles from her pocket and passes it to the relieved but deflated Nicky sat on the curb. “Everything is going to be alright now, me and Miss Edwards are the dream team that once rivalled Scooby doo and the gang for their investigative skills. Now, let’s wait and enjoy these sweets as you can’t go wrong with a packet of skittles from someone you trust.” Matilda says smiling back at Nicky. “Excuse me” Miss Edwards calls out to all on the playground searching, but no one has heard or seen her to pay any attention. “Everyone...people ‘dem. Ahem.” Miss Edwards continues as she finally gets the attention of the pupils and teachers roaming about. As Miss Edwards begins to flap her arms about, instructing them in her direction. Everyone starts to run towards her, excited to know what the fuss is about. Miss Trunchbull pauses for a moment, knowing that it is in the direction of her car. She knows this can go two ways and as she does not have much faith in her minion, worry starts to set in. Miss Edwards leads the school to where Nicky and Matilda have been waiting. “It’s me. Miss Edwards and Matilda saved me! “Nicky says cheerfully as she runs over to her friends and does a little boogie in excitement. Miss Edwards leads Miss Trunchbull through the crowd of people to the front. “How could you? I thought you changed. After all that you are still the same, I cannot believe I trusted you!” Nicky says to Miss Trunchbull as she holds onto her friends. “Oh, stop your sniveling, you little brat. I would’ve gotten away with it if it wasn’t for you meddling, Matilda! I was going to take over this school again. Removing all who thought you could mess with or tease me. I run this place. This is my castle. You cannot kick me out of this place again!” Miss Trunchbull shouts, keeping her eyes locked on Matilda as she struggles within Miss Edwards grasp. “Now I don’t want to blow my own trumpet here but…toot, toot. I had the pleasure of calling the police you for you. Squirm all you want, but the only castle you will have is in a prison cell” Miss Edwards says confidently. The sound of police sirens come from around the corner, as Miss Trunchbull continues to wiggle. Upon their arrival, Miss Edwards breaks down all that has occurred as the police handcuff both Miss Trunchbull and her minion all to the school’s delight. Everyone breaks out in dance like a flash mob, as they celebrate Miss Trunchbull’s exit for the second and hopefully final time. “She had me under a mind control spell…can you not see how much bigger she is too me, I couldn’t say no to her. She would eat me alive…C’mon, it was only two kids, one is safe now. I will tell you where the second one is, if you not let me free?” The man says panicking. “Oh my. Riley! Where have you left Riley?” Miss Edwards says as she storms to the front. “Oh, quit your whining, that little twerp shouldn’t have called me a gladiator. If you ever find Riley, tell that brat it’s their own fault and I hope I hope they have learnt their lesson” Miss Trunchbull says as she is jammed into the back off the police car. From around the corner, three students are carrying Riley between them calling for help. Miss Trunchbull’s face immediately drops, not knowing how they managed to find Riley so quickly. Riley stands in front of the crowd exhausted after the ordeal of standing in fear of falling into one of sharp nails in the inside the chokey. “I am glad you didn’t forget about me. Thought I would be stuck in there forever!” Riley says faintly. “You could’ve been anything that you wanted to be and it looks like it is too late to change. I’d be delighted, to give it some thought maybe you’ll agree that we ought two...three.. Four…” Sam sings. “Send you to jail” the entire school sings as they wave Miss Trunchbull and her minion away.

[sportsgameqia-blog-blog]

Youth Sports Part 1: Getting Bad Sports Parents to Behave Better

New Post has been published on https://sportsguideto.com/trending/youth-sports-part-1-getting-bad-sports-parents-to-behave-better/

Youth Sports Part 1: Getting Bad Sports Parents to Behave Better

If you caught even a snippet of Chris Bell’s HBO show Trophy Kids, you likely winced at the scenes of tennis moms and golf dads behaving very badly.

One of the reasons for your discomfort is probably that you feel bad for the kids on the receiving end of such over-the-top “hyper-parenting.” But if you’re a youth sports coach, you might watch Bell’s documentary series nodding your head because, unfortunately, you’ve been subjected to the rants of irate parents who think their kid should be the star player.

There are cultural factors at work here that are far outside the scope of this article. We’re witnessing an “activities arms race” in which all too many parents feel obliged to keep up with the Joneses by filling every second of children’s lives with activity.

This is largely an extension of how we as adults approach our work and personal lives, overstuffing our calendars, over-extending our commitments, and overdosing on our social media feeds in whatever few minutes are left over each day. The perma-stress created by such hectic lifestyles starts to bubble up through the cracks, which we see manifested in the worst possible way in the outbursts on soccer sidelines and Little League bleachers.

Cultural commentary aside, what are we actually going to do about this issue? We might not be able to solve the parenting-related problems of all the 45 million kids who play organized sports in the U.S., but perhaps we can at least help you create a positive, tantrum-free environment for the few you’re committed to coaching. Here goes…

Setting Expectations

It’s arguable that people with frustrated athletic ambitions (think Uncle Rico in Napoleon Dynamite: “If coach would’ve put me in, we would’ve won state.”) make the worst sports parents, as they’re unfairly trying to atone for their own shortcomings by putting pressure on their children to perform. It’s not your role to play counselor and try to sort out the psychological issues of every parent who decides to behave badly on the sideline. On the other hand, you cannot allow them to disrupt your practices and make game day miserable for everyone.

One way to strike a balance is to establish some ground rules from day one said Whitey Nelson who works with everyone from former international players to under-7 youth teams through his club Misfits Rugby.

“We invite everybody to get together at a pre-season meet-and-greet where parents and their kids can get to know me and my assistant coach,” Nelson said. “This gives me the opportunity to find out what they expect from us and our program, and then for us to set expectations for them on and off the field. For example, there’s a reason we always call the referee ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ – because it conveys respect. This meeting also allows us to explain our culture and values, what the kids will get out of rugby, and why they should play in the first place. This helps to set the tone for the season and encourages candid dialogue from day one.”

Building on Nelson’s approach, you should make it clear that while parents are welcome at practice, they cannot interrupt drills or yell at their child, other kids, or you. And they need to stay out of the actual training area.

You might also need to outline the consequences if a parent starts acting up: they’ll be asked to leave.

Having set such a boundary, you must ruthlessly enforce it. If a mom or dad violates a rule, remind them of it, and be clear that if it happens again, there will be consequences. It’s all too tempting for youth coaches to mollify parents because they’re scared of a mutiny or the team falling apart if too many parents turn against them. But just as teachers in the classroom have to differentiate between what’s acceptable (a polite email exchange about a perceived issue) and unacceptable (interfering with grading), so too must the coach.

And when problems do arise, you need to be proactive and tackle them head on.

“We recently had a Dad who was yelling a lot during a game in a way that was inappropriate,” Nelson said. “Afterwards I asked him why he was so frustrated. He explained that his son wasn’t playing enough. I thought about it for a minute and recognized that he was right. So I apologized and resolved to give his child more of an opportunity in the next game. Then I reminded him that I am an unpaid volunteer who’s trying to manage 60 kids across various teams, as well as having a full-time job, coaching adults, and trying to be a good father and husband. Once he realized that I wasn’t being paid and that our lives were pretty similar, it reset his expectations and helped him value my time more. And because I gave him a voice, he felt that he was being listened to.”

Modeling the Behavior You Expect

If you want parents to act politely and courteously toward you, your fellow coaches, and game officials, but you treat them like dirt, you’re going to create a dissonance between what you preach and what you practice. Make sure you’re consistent in leading by example and displaying the kind of behavior you’re asking from parents.

The same extends to the children in your charge. If you scream, criticize, and embarrass, then you’re creating a culture that says it’s OK for their parents to do the same both at your practices/games and away from the court, field, or pitch. Instead, try to instruct firmly but without raising your voice, be a constant encourager, and, if a child has a certain issue, talk to them about it away from the group so you don’t shame them in front of their peers.

Such a modus operandi mimics some of the best coaches in the adult sporting world, according to author Fergus Connolly.

“When I consulted at Liverpool FC, Brendan Rodgers never had a bad word to say to the team but was always positive,” Connolly said. “At Welsh Rugby, Warren Gatland had a similar approach. He didn’t have much to say to the players during training, but when he did speak, it was to encourage and to break tension with humor. He also smiled a lot, which set the tone for the players. Such things are just as effective at the youth level. If you want well behaved and friendly kids and parents, you have to act that way.”

Establishing and Maintaining Lines of Communication

One of the issues with bad sports parents is that they’re constantly trying to tell you how to do your job (or, quite likely, your volunteer-basis vocation). We see this in armchair quarterbacking at practices and even more so at games where parents suddenly become self-appointed experts on everything from formation to tactics to substitution patterns.

And if a mom or dad has played the sport themselves, the issue can be exacerbated because they think this lends them credibility to shoot holes in your coaching, lambast the referees, and yell at the kids.

Try to get ahead of such problems by creating an opportunity for parents to speak their mind outside of practice and away from games. Be clear that you don’t think your coaching is perfect and that you welcome suggestions, but that the time for these is before or after practice, not in the middle of it. If you engage in conversation during these times and proactively seek feedback, you’ll foster positive two-way communication.

You can also provide your email address and, if you’re comfortable with giving it out, your phone number and let parents know you’d welcome the chance to discuss issues.

Preventing a Coaches/Parents Civil War

Once a forceful parent or two turn against their children’s coach, it’s possible for them to poison the well and create an us-and-them divide between their fellow parents and you. To prevent this from happening, you don’t need to become everybody’s best friend, but there are some things you can do to create a sense of comradery and teamwork.

One is to ask volunteers to perform certain tasks, which allows you to delegate responsibility without abdicating.

“The best teams in the world entrust people with responsibility, as it gives everyone a sense of ownership,” Connolly said. “It might be something small, but to the person performing the task, it’s bigger than just picking up cones after practice or helping clean up the locker room. Giving people responsibility makes them feel like they’re a real part of the team and encourages leadership.”

With this in mind, send an email to all parents at the beginning of the season asking people to sign up for certain tasks. Maybe it’s a regular thing like bringing a cooler full of bottled water to each practice or washing game jerseys.

You can also ask for help on the spot as needed. For example, if a one-car family calls to say they can’t make it to practice tonight because their vehicle is in the shop, maybe you fire off a group text asking if somebody can pick the child up and drop them off. Such things foster a sense of community that goes far beyond simply hosting an end-of-year pizza party.

Keeping the Team Together

Despite your best efforts and giving a parent several chances to improve their behavior, there may be a couple of repeat offenders who continue to undermine your team’s values and standards. Rather than kicking them out, Nelson takes a more constructive approach to solving this thorny problem:

“If a parent has behaved disruptively or disrespectfully over and over despite me talking with them, I put the focus back on their son or daughter,” he said.

“I remind them that we’re giving their child the chance not only to learn a wonderful sport, but also to improve as a human being. Is it worth denying their son or daughter this opportunity because they feel the need to yell and scream? Then I explain that my daughters are becoming confident young women who speak up for those who don’t have a voice simply because they’re playing rugby. I ask them to imagine how much their child would grow if they stay with the team. Then I make it clear that for this to happen, the adult needs to start acting like one. If they can’t, we’ll gladly refund their fees. But we’d prefer to remedy the situation and keep them and their kid around. More often than not, we see this mom or dad radically change, and their child thrives.”

Check back soon for part 2 in our youth sports series.

Source

https://blog.trainheroic.com/youth-sports-part-1-getting-bad-sports-parents-to-behave-better

[nthatengk]

Spiritual Journey

Learning from life has been and still is a whirlwind that is thus exhilarating, liberating, frustrating and sometimes downright liberating. Life is a school that everyone has signed up for whether young or old. It doesn’t matter what your skin colour or background that you come from but one things that is certain is that were all attend a class called life every single day of our lives. Some lessons are worth learning, other we wish we would forget, others we do not wish to try and others we wish we could be living their live. So in short, life is a circle that we all go through whether consciously or unconsciously, willing or unwilling, we most definitely participate in it.

 Marianne Wilson, an American spiritual teacher, author and lecturer, said “In every moment we make a decision—whether conscious or unconscious. Will I choose to open my heart, send love, withhold judgment and thus free myself from fear? Or will I close my heart, project fear instead of extending love, judge others, and thus bind myself to fear? The choice is mine and mine alone.” This is how we go to life’s classes everyday trying to figure it out and make sense of why, what, how and when. These classes are attended through our relationship with ourselves, parents, siblings, friends, relatives, colleagues, strangers, politicians and even the God that we pray too.

 One of the lesson I have learned and discovered is that being humble can make you understand so much about yourself, next person and different types of situations that you find themselves in. Are you born humble or do you acquire it, that is an interesting question that could be debated and will continue to be debated. My experiences have taught me to be humble even when I thought I was humble. See what you think you are and what life determines you are can be two separate things. Questions is, are you able to tell the difference the two. I thought I did but life said no and I discovered this through hardships that I wasn’t as humble and the experiences that followed taught what being humble is.

 I’ve learned to be patient, to listen, to empathise, to understand, be more tolerant and loving. I discovered I was ambitious and that the harder I tried to hide myself from life the more it threw me out there in the open to experience things, meet people and just basically enjoy being me everywhere and anywhere. These lessons as they unfolded, they unfolded in a series of some great experiences, some painful and some were just sheer luck or a matter of being at the right place at the right time.

 Being a mother must have been the most challenging and still the challenging aspect of life’s lessons that I try to master and every day I discover you do not master life, life is there to offer you lessons like the air that we breathe. It is not there to be owned or understood but it’s there as a necessity that we’ve learned to live with and appreciate. It’s like you have an un-negotiated agreement with it because without you can’t exist so you do not try to dominate it. It’s the same as time, it cannot be owned.

 Coming from an extended family of being raised by a single semi-educated woman. I’ve had expectation been set on me. I’ve had burden where I’m expected to know everything. With all these expectations that are being set on you, no one has stopped to think that there is a self that exist within you that has its own desires. Everyone sees you as an extension of themselves. So with such challenges, you’re left with the choice of learning how to deal with them by yourself and there is no high school subject or university degree that will give you answers to that. Only life through its experiences will it hand you down a list of options and semi answers on how to deal with situations. Thus you end up with mistakes that you learn from and rectify or attempt to rectify in order to get the self en-route to where you think it should be.

Such has been my life. I have started things and did not finish them because they made no sense and now I’m back to finishing what I started in my youth because there exist a whole that needs a filling so I’m going around filling these personal holes in attempt to understand this path and this self that I’m existing with. Some holes have been fulfilled and I discover that they make me feel more relaxed and allow the child in me to come and play. In other words, I relinquish this fear that has bonded me of whether am I good enough, can I do that or not. Life has taught me to be more conscious of my present space and to celebrate even the smallest of achievement like they were the biggest thing to ever happen to me. That way I learn to put a smile on myself without being dependent on others to do that.

I’m learning that I’m an extrovert whose highly opinionated and enjoys listening to other people when they communicate. In Summary my objective, aim and intent is that you are the best thing that has ever happened to yourself first and foremost. Love and appreciate that and allow yourself the space to go through life’s challenges and knowing that you have the choice to either fall apart and become a victim of your circumstances, or you can rise up high and above others.

[cncdude5x]

I am just completing my 4th year of full-time instruction in Precision and CNC Machining here at Suncoast Technical College – formerly know as Sarasota County Technical Institute.  It has been more work that I thought but I do enjoy a lot of the outcomes and effect I may have on our community.  I do spend too much time at work but maybe its the nature of me or as a machinist.

I did come from a family of machinists. My dad was the fruit and vegetable guy at local supermarket.   I attended college level classes in high school but never took my SAT’s. I did ok in high school but I had no plan in 1972.  I then worked menial jobs , like forklift operator, auto parts sales and delivery, dishwasher at the mall.  Then one day I ran into someone at the auto parts store – a friend.  He said that he was not driving truck anymore and he got training to be a machinist and told me me “you should check it out “.  Well I did. It was called Boston Tooling and Machining Institute – a NTMA school in an industrial park.  I took a small test and passed. Plus it was a free school sponsored by Boston Tooling Association. So I left my auto parts job in 1983.

  We learned some math, blueprint reading and manual machining on donated equipment, Mill and lathe. Taught the basics for 4 months and then put in the field. I ended up at a machine tool dealer – Methods Machine Tools in the special projects dept. for 2 years and after that I worked at a job shop called Dyko Tool and Die in Waltham, Mass. I was thrust into the new world of machining – Computerized machining or CNC.

Since then I have always been a machinist – it fit me like a glove.  I never knew I had the talent for it. The CNC machining was perfect for me. I learned to write code for the CNC machine and use my manual machining skills to make parts.  I even moved to NH and worked at a 5 axis CNC shop in 1990. It was cutting edge technology. 27 years ago. I have worked at many places making brain surgery equipment, Hip implants, Race car parts, custom motorcycle equipment, Defense department equipment and some things I had no idea. Secret stuff I guess.

I always worked , always had a job good times and bad. Last place I worked was at Lockheed- Martin in Orlando, Florida right next to SeaWorld. 3000 people at a secure defense facility on CNC equipment that costs $950,000. I look back to 1972 and can’t believe I did all that and people trusted me.  Best compliment I had was a former boss, Bill Lobdell from Sanders Associates, Manchester, NH.   I would report to him on what I was doing and asking permission for changes or updates. He told me just tell me at the end of the night as I trust you. You do a good job.  Bill is gone now but I still remember.

I worked with many great people and machinists. Learned a lot. In 2013 I had a chance to teach near my new home in Sarasota, Florida.  Teach a brand new program to help workforce development for needs in machining.  I met with the head of the manufacturing association at SAMA – Jennifer Behrens Schmidt.  I had written a paper about teaching in the modern world of machining, how we needed more CNC and less high level manual traditional training.   She totally agreed so I knew it would be a good fit.  I became a teacher for Sarasota county in industrial arts.

Now I am ending my 4th year and will have trained about 85 apprentices in a one year 1200 hour program called Precision and CNC Automation – under the frameworks of Florida Dept of Education. I had to develop the program myself with help with advisory guidance from Sarasota and Manatee Manufacturing Association – so that what I taught aligned with what companies needed.  I also had the great pleasure of meeting Bob Skodinsky from HTEC – Haas Technical Education Centers. He actually works for this national organization to promote machining education that is based in California but lived right down the street in Sarasota.  He had saw that school was staring up a new program after the previous one had been dumped 10 years previous. He helped guide them with purchase of 2 Haas CNC machines and a software program called Immerse 2 Learn – I2L.

So I showed up 3 weeks later to a class of 18. Only problem was we had no equipment. Just 3 books and I2L software. Machines are on order. waiting and waiting . We waited from August until Jan. I had to purchase more equipment also. With direction from SAMA I purchased traditional machining equipment – 2 mills – 2 lathes and 2 surface grinders and a drill press, plus saws.  I added a 2 axis Hybrid CNC Trak Mill and a Haas VF2 with 4th axis.  We also setup up an inspection department with necessary gauges needed.  By Jan 2014 we had power and a load of metal donated from Sun Hydraulics.

In the mean time we did constant CNC software training,  We also had 12 Haas CNC simulators and used them to hand write G code programs – the common language used by the CNC machine. We also did field trips to visit manufacturing facilities. I tried to keep the focus away from the empty shop or as educators call it ” Lab”. No one left. Well we finished the year and got 100% employment.

So now here it sit. Wondering whats next. I added 2 seats of MasterCam for CNC programming,  Then added a 300 hr Fast Track CNC night class. Companies would send us people who needed more training. This year we added MasterCam night school for associate level certification. Finally one of our original sponsors – Career Edge Funders started an internship funding program for apprentices we needed to put in the field. Career Edge also sponsored Soft Skill Training for the last 2 years as well.

I now have even more companies calling me and I cannot fill all the jobs. Word has got out about our success and manufacturing is just very busy. We also produced the most NIMS certifications in the State of Florida.  (National Institute of Metalworking Skills).

Now what? – Well 4 years ago I had a thought on how we should teach and align it with the needs of my area.  We only had one year to do this with a class. I would follow my model of how I learned, not like what other schools used to teach. Some guys I worked with had only traditional training and showed me projects they made like a tool makers vice and hardened 1-2-3 Blocks and more.  I didn’t think we needed to teach that because it was old technology but I did think it was important to learn using Manual equipment along with learning about CNC.  The same processes applied only the CNC was faster and had much better control.  In my experience the traditional machinist as a high level job was being phased out.  But many companies still expected you to know how to run that equipment as needed but they would make the high level stuff on CNC.  Manual machines are considered to be secondary equipment.  I still thought it was a good idea to learn with hands on. To get the feel of cutting metal,  learn good setups and techniques and then apply them when in CNC land.  I would only have them to simple projects like Bore a hole on Vertical mill and Lathe.  Single point thread using a tool they hand ground. Make a spacer using another tool they hand ground on the lathe. They learned quickly about tooling and relief angles etc.  When you talk about an inserted tool to a student they don’t get why it cuts, it just does. When they made a tool they got it. So manual machining became a way to teach machining in its pure form.  We also had tool and die and Plastic injection mold-makers so they wanted students to know surface grinding as well.

  On to the CNC machine.  Now We start here setting up jobs that are proven programs. Setup tools, offsets and get it running safely and efficiently. Then measure the final result plus read them prints.   Then we progress to hand writing a couple of simple programs plus setup and run like before. We also use the latest technology using wireless probing  for setting up tool coordinates but we also teach old school methods as 50% of the companies still do it that way. I want them to be employable in many situations. Some shops have a mixture of old and new CNC.  Also if the probe dies you can still get it running with old school methods (edge finder and gage blocks – not a fan of the paper method for tool touch off).

We are earning NIMS certifications along the way. They must make a part that passes a third party inspection.  Using various methods.  Some tests are on CNC operation and maintenance.  The final tests are hand written CNC programs for lathe and mill per NIMS requirements.  I believe the people on the shop floor should understand G code so they can make adjustments on the fly to keep quality and production going. No need to go reprogram all the time with Cad/Cam. What if the boss wants to move a job to another machine?  Our guys can edit quickly what is needed because they can think in code.  They know how to calculate proper feeds and speeds. They get used to trouble shooting problems and helping the new people.

When they get in the programming room and become programmers they know what good code is by a quick scan. We all know they have $$$simulation software that helps keep them crashes down but some smaller shops run on a tight budget so you work with what you have.  Its a constant learning experience. Even for me at age 62.  We also teach an evening course in MasterCam  Cad/Cam programming plus our district is teaching middle schoolers MasterCam to machine wooden Co2 Dragsters after they design in Solidworks. They machine them in Techno CNC routers.  Its not just a 3d printing world.

So here I am….. I ask our local shops and advisory is there any direction I need to change in what we teach?  No way. They are very happy and now I get too many calls for a good machinist.  I hope we can turn the tide with parents and counselors to show them that working in the trades is very rewarding.

  In my home town of Burlington Mass I went to school with Roger Cook. You may see him on a TV show called “This Old House”.  In my old town everyone knows that the trades make a good living so the vocational schools have a waiting list.  I just wish everywhere in the US it was the same.

We host an annual event called National MFG Day in October. We use a great program from a story teller Jeremy Bout from EDU Factor during the event. He tells and shows great stories of just people like us – people who make things. This is one way of getting the right people.  Titan Gilroy – He has a great TV show on MAV TV called Titans of CNC. he is always out there telling his story of success and helping others through inspiration and lessons on CNC.

I also belong to a great group – HTEC. Haas Technical Education Centers. The only group totally dedicated to machining education. I have been to 3 national conferences and our school hosted the first State of Florida HTEC conference. We get to meet other instructors and discuss different methods of teaching and help each other. Bob Skodinsky nominated me for the HTEC Council to represent one year schools.

  I have learned many things some schools are high school, some are 2 yr community college, some are built into 4 yr universities and be connected to engineering degrees.  And we have schools like us who teach in one year. To retrain workers or take high schoolers who have wandered and need direction. Workforce development is my goal. I have to line up jobs , build relationships, internships and more.  I hope at some point we get a high school graduate who comes here right after graduation on a mission.

So in July you will see me in Dallas, TX at my 4th HTEC conference. Meet new people and see some friends. My life has been a journey I didn’t plan life like this but not too bad. In 1972 I could have never imagined. Yeah that’s me on the dragbike.

          Teaching Machining in Today’s world I am just completing my 4th year of full-time instruction in Precision and CNC Machining here at Suncoast Technical College - formerly know as Sarasota County Technical Institute.