The Homeschoolers: The Ballad of Squirtina

By Henry Circle

"Life is too big to squeeze into a weekend." That's what "half-heathen" public school misfit, Christina Begoni, learns after a bout of Spanish class diarrhea has her escaping into the arms of a holy-rolling homeschool group. With her mustachioed, evil genius brother and cute redneck bully in tow, Christina joins innocent homeschoolers, Sunny and David on a hilarious and often gripping adventure on the Mississippi River. Experience the unpredictable thrills and the romance of the never-ending weekend with The Homeschoolers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Henry Circle
• Release date: Nov 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301722877

Henry Circle

Henry Circle is a Mississippi native,a freelance writer,and a sometime hermit. She currently lives in the state of New York with her husband, daughter and big, smelly dog.

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The Homeschoolers

The Ballad of Squirtina

By

Henry Circle

Henry Circle CopyRight 2012

Smashwords Edition

Prologue

Fred Simmons not only had the misfortune of being named Fred in this day and age and of smelling like a tainted California roll, he had the burden of being the target of choice for North Yokel High’s own little Charlie Manson, Ricky Kelly. Ricky and his devotees, commonly known as The Detention Boys, tormented poor Fred. They didn’t yank his Fruit of the Looms up his crack or swirl his head around the toilet bowl like bullies do on TV. Even worse, he was the star of many completely fictional and grotesque rumors. These functionally illiterate tenth graders would follow Fred around, sit behind him in class, or at a neighboring table during lunch, and barrage him with embarrassing questions that would accuse him of engaging in questionable activities with meat products from Grubbman’s Deli or of dating the homeless lady that hung around the Gas and Stuff convenience store asking for change and shooing away invisible bats. If a person interceded on Fred’s behalf, as I did several times, then he or she would be called a Freddy Fish Lover, and be entwined in the bullies’ ridiculous tales for weeks. Right before Christmas holidays, Fred Simmons began interrupting the relative quiet of the classroom with ill-timed fits of laughter as he mumbled into his doodle-filled notebook. Eventually, he stopped blinking altogether. He was breaking. It was apparent that he was days from seeing the inside of a juvenile mental ward. Or, the most feared and dreaded place of all: county high school. All hope seemed lost.

But, don’t feel too bad for old Fred, yet. This isn’t his story. There would be no loony bins or second tier school for him. Call it a pre-Christmas miracle; Freddy Fish found salvation in the unlikeliest of places - a fellow student's gastro-intestinal misery. During the exams before holiday break, Christina Begoni foolishly came to class sick with the stomach flu. Five minutes into her Spanish exam, she had flooded the classroom with putrid fumes of vomit and diarrhea, and, as a result of all the foul discharges, with screaming students. After the shocking scene, the Detention Boys had little need to invent vile scenarios for Fred. Christina was dubbed Squirtina, and Fred went on to live his life in peace and anonymity.

I would call that a fairly happy ending… If I wasn’t Christina Begoni. And right now, I really wish I wasn’t.

See ya next year, Squirtina, a distant voice chirps as I heave myself into my mama’s rust-speckled blue van. I see Fred Simmons and his new girlfriend waving enthusiastically. Man, that kid really owes me.

I’ve been (not so affectionately) known as Squirtina for about six months now. I even absentmindedly introduced myself as Squirtina a time or two to some of the freshmen. Though, introducing myself as Christina has little benefit. My reputation as the chick with the leaky rear end proceeds me.

Initially, my mother advised, Don’t acknowledge their teasing, and they’ll leave you alone. Typical motherly advice. Mama forgets how ruthless high school can be, but I still try to ignore the whole Squirtina thing. A mean-spirited nickname isn’t enough to break me, but then, I started receiving the Fred Simmons treatment from Ricky Kelly and his oily-faced lackeys. Does anyone smell dookie? they shout. Oh, it’s just Squirtina, they say, fanning the air and covering their noses with their t shirts. They’ve taped laxatives to my locker, and created rumors that I was getting frisky with Principal Suthers (and pooped on him). I went through two classes before someone was nice enough to point out that I had a sign on my back that said, Loose Bowels. Every time I go to the girls’ bathroom, one of The Detention Boys will be outside to ask me, Potty trained, yet? To say it’s been a long six months would be an understatement.

Mama scans through the radio over and over. We only get two channels in this town, a static-heavy country station and Christian talk radio. Finally, she cusses and snaps the radio off. She knows there won’t be anything on that two-station radio to please her. We've been repeating this ritual for three years. She just likes an excuse to be mad. They’re still giving you a hard time? Well, don’t you worry about it. It will be all forgotten over the summer. They’ll be back to calling you Christina by fall, Mama says.

No, they won’t. I don’t mean to argue, not even mild protest, because my mother has spent months trying to solve this problem of mine. She’s racked her brain for proper suggestions or words of wisdom. She takes my apparent misery as a sign of failure on her part.

Everyone gets picked on in school, Christina, Mama had said a few months back, Someone will get a pimple or get caught with weed in their locker, and then it will be their turn. You’ll be off the hook. I half expected that prediction to come true, and over six month period, Casey Linley gratified three football players on the same night, Jason Short came out, Tanya Hornberg got fat, Hayden Willard got herpes, and Hailey Yu lost her bikini top at a pool party. Still, not one of those can trump public diarrhea. Unless another student gets uncontrollable runs on school property, I will graduate as Squirtina Begoni.

My mother turns into the junior high to pick up my brother, Kip. I had promised myself I would bring this up at a good time, but the words are burning on my lips: I’m not going back to that school.

You most certainly are, my mother says without a pause.

I look pleadingly into her eyes and make a subtle pout, the way I had when I was little and wanted some ridiculous, little plastic toy that we both knew I wouldn’t play with for more than an hour. It didn’t work then when I was cuter, so it probably won’t work now, but my tricks of persuasion are few. Mama, I say in a child-like lilt, I want to try homeschool. I’m going to end up in a strait jacket if I have to go through much more of this. I'm being completely ostracized.

Kip slides open the van door, and my mother passes his afternoon soda to him. He says he needs his fix the second the last bell rings.

Christina, you go to school to learn, not to make friends. I shouldn't even have to tell you that, my mother scolds.

I remind her that my grades have dropped this semester. I can’t focus on learning while I have idiots spewing garbage in my ear. Would you be able to work the cash register at your job while people cuss you out? No, you wouldn’t, Mama. And I’m having a hard time holding it together at school. A really hard time. I start crying and not for the benefit of pleading my case. I’m legitimately frustrated.

Kip jumps between the driver and passenger seat. If she’s going to homeschool, so am I! It’s only fair, he says adamantly.

Before you start double-teaming me, let me just say that you are both staying in your respective schools. Homeschooling is for holy-rollers and drop outs, my mom begins ranting. I attempt to interrupt, to clear up her misconceptions, but she holds up the pointer finger of silence as soon as I part my lips. Learning to stick with things, even when they get tough, builds character. If you quit now, you’ll spend your whole life quitting things.

I start puffing in frustration, looking for the words that will convince her I have now built all the character I’ll need, at least for the next ten or fifteen years. I’ve never been much of a smooth talker when it comes to my mother. She’s not swayed by the techniques that work so easily on my dad. I usually have him bending to my will with a few tears. Or as a second line of offense, Nobody loves me or even I wish was dead! It’s not like I’m Daddy’s little princess; he will usually agree to anything to keep me from blocking the TV. I’m considering making an empty suicide threat to shake my mother when Kip lays his hand on my shoulder and cuts me a glance that says, Let me handle this.

Christina, Mama is right. Homeschool wouldn’t be a viable option. Who would even teach you, with Mama and Daddy both working full-time? It would take a lot more work than you realize. And responsibility and self-motivation and dedication to make yourself do your lessons every day. Could you really do that? You know what.....do some research, go to some meetings, and get some knowledgeable home-educating parents on your side. Bring facts to the table that show this is really something for them to consider. Mom only wants the best for you, Christina. If you really can show that you’ve investigated correspondence school or whatever they call it, I’m sure you’ll hear her out on the subject, won’t you, Mama? Kip finishes with an easy smile

Mama is practically choking on laughter after Kip’s soliloquy. Give your old mother some credit, Kip. That was some Grade-A hooey right there, she says as her chortle simmers to a pleasant chuckle.

I pass Kip a doubtful look. He shakes his head, grinning. He silently, mouths the words, Just watch.

My brother is such an oddball. I don’t get him. And I really don’t know why he’d want to leave his school. He’s popular despite being the only seventh grader with a full mustache. He says the principal has a mustache, too, and that’s why he gets to keep it. He calls the principal his Mustache Comrade. I’m surprised she’s not offended.

When I get home, I rush to my room to plop down on my bed. I'm trying to make sense of my whole tenth grade year. To understand why everyone else is living their glory days, and I'm living my nightmare. There’s got to be a reason. I've had plenty of time for reflecting on the matter since I started getting the leper treatment at school. Oodles of alone time for thinking about life and my identity. Enough solitude to say fairly that I don't like it one bit. I'll leave all that solitude to Thoreau wannabes and Buddhist monks. I just end up thinking in circles and never come to solid conclusions. So much for the answers being within. I lie back on my pillow, sighing heavily. Honestly, I know I’ll survive going back to North Yokel High in the fall. People have suffered far worse trials than high school unpopularity, but I deeply dread it none-the-less.

Dear God or Whoever,

Please stop making my life suck. And please give me bigger breasts. At least, a B cup. Just enough to fill out my bra. I don't think that's being too greedy. And a friend or two would be nice. In fact, if can have just one true friend, you can keep the boobs, and I'll stuff. Oh, and please give me a boyfriend with a big...

My impromptu prayer is interrupted by a crinkling sound. I see a yellow, folded sheet of paper being pushed under my bedroom door.

The outside of the paper rectangle says, Convince me in my Mama’s loopy handwriting. I excitedly unfold the paper. The inside is a computer printout list with an entry circled in hot pink highlighter: Weekly Home Schooling Convention, Sunday 2 p.m., North Yokel Pentecostal Church. Uh… Pentecostal Church. The phrase conjures images of sweaty, unblinking preachers on television, asking you to give ‘til it hurts. But I’m pressing myself to keep an open mind. As it turns out, the world is absolutely nothing like I expected it to be. Maybe North Yokel Pentecostal Church will be another surprise.

Dear God, Thanks for working so fast! Wow. I'm impressed. And for the record, I was going to say heart. A boyfriend with a big heart, but whatever you in your infinite wisdom deem fit will be just fine....

How should I dress for this meeting thing? my mother ponders aloud as she picks through her ratty, high-waist jeans. I’ve been wondering the same thing. I want to look wholesome and average enough to blend in with the homeschooling students, whether they dress like