Blush
Rating: G
Written: April '99
Category: Humor, kinda sorta romance
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own Jesse or James, and fortunately, I'm not making any money off of writing about 'em.
Summary: What was Jesse and James' time at Pokemon Tech like?
Author's note: This, believe it or not, is a true story. It happened to me. And who better to tell a story with than Jesse and James!
Feedback: Please. Allicatt3@aol.com
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Blush
by Rocket Jesse
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Here's something you probably didn't know about me: I used to like one of my Pokemon Tech teachers.
That's right! I, Jesse of Team Rocket, actually had a favorite teach.
I had a few good reasons, of course. She was funny, young, caring, and had a great fashion sense. And if I thought real hard, I bet I could remember if James liked her, too.
Oh, no, I remember which one he liked. It was that perky one . . . what was her name? Miss I-had-too-much-coffee? I can't remember. Anyway, he had this little crush on her. He didn't *tell* me this, of course, but a girl picks up on these things. We were in her class together. I think it was art, which, believe me, is the *worst* class to have a perky teacher in. None the less, I guess she was kinda pretty. Certainly not like *me*, but obviously good enough for James' hormones to pick up on.
It was cute, really. I should ask him about her someday.
Where was I?
Oh, yeah. My favorite teacher.
Miss . . . um . . . Miss Caren? Miss . . . Caralelle? Umm . . . come on, I know this . . . oh! Miss Carufel. Her name was Jodi Carufel.
Maybe I just like people whose names begin with J.
Woah, never mind that thought. It's one of those pointless random musings that's only funny if you're really tired, really stoned or really drunk.
So. Miss Carufel.
Yeah, she was Korean. Real pretty. Great clothes.
About twice a week, I'd stay after school with a friend who wasn't James and we'd all talk.
Yes, I *know* it's pathetic.
Yes, I *know* I'm a detention girl.
But, God help me, she was fun to hang around with.
One day, I was waiting in her room with her by myself for my big bro to pick me up. He drove a silver convertible -- can't get much better than that.
She taught language arts, which, I must say, was an enjoyable class. Probably just 'cuz she was such a great teacher.
But *this* is going to shock you.
If you are pregnant, prone to heart attacks, or operating heavy machinery, do *not* read the next line.
I got an A+ in that class.
Surprised?
Amazed?
Alive?
Well, I did. I had no detention, no late homework, no dog-eaten homework and no one-night-cram-for-the-huge-test nights in that class.
I guess you could say . . . I'm . . . proud?
Nah.
That's just not me.
Now, *James* is a different story.
I think he graduated that class with a . . . D? No, how silly of me. I don't give the poor guy enough credit.
D+.
I know he was very pleased with himself for getting a C- on the final. I got an A+ on it, so you can imagine what that did to his ego.
So, on this day I was waiting for my silver convertible ride, Miss Carufel and I were talking about boys.
Yes, I agree, dangerous topic to discuss with teacher.
Not that I knew that then.
She was talking about who she liked when she was my age, how he asked her to the Halloween dance, how he blew milk out of his nose once, ya know -- stuff like that.
Okay, by then, having known him for the better part of my life, I *knew* that I had a crush on James. I'd stopped trying to deny it to myself a loooong time before then. It was (is) just too obvious for that anymore. My blind great aunt Edna would probably be able to tell.
Well, one thing led to another, and before I knew it, Miss Carufel was trying to *guess who I like*.
Very bad.
And for some reason, I told her yes, he *is* in my language arts class.
Very, very bad.
Somebody please pass the paper bag, please?
She got to James . . . and . . . I just could not lie to this woman! Plus, I knew my blush gave it away, anyway. I happen to be so unlucky that when I blush, it's on the Weather Channel.
Today will be a chilly, breezy day with temperatures averaging in the fifties. Look out for heat, though, at around three o'clock, 'cuz Jesse's gonna blush!
Is there a knife in that paper bag?
After she found out that, yes, Jesse *likes* James, I made her pinky swear she wouldn't tell a single soul. I believed her. No reason not to.
The next day, I came into class, and find the layout for a new seating arrangement up front.
Guess who I got to sit next to.
It's *so* obvious, I'm not even gonna *say*.
Don't get me wrong, here; I wasn't the kinda girl who got all nervous and stuttered around guys. Maybe sweaty palms a little, but that had worn off with James. I was completely comfortable around him. It was fun sitting next to him.
Well, most of the time.
You know how idiotically annoying he can get.
After seating me next to him, Miss Carufel didn't say a word about you-know-who for weeks. I thought I was home free, what with summer a month and a half away and all.
I thought wrong.
You see, my desk was in the back corner right next to a bulletin board.
God, bulletin board? They couldn't have picked a dorkier name.
I was between James and this hideous board. James was on my right. Guess which way I was facing most of the time.
He talked to me pretty much non-stop.
Miss Carufel, on this fateful day, decides to tell James to, "Stop flirting with Jesse."
And, folks, you can expect another heat wave when Jesse has language today!
He shut up and turned to the front of the room, avoiding all eye contact with me.
Which is fine.
And . . . hey! Is that a blush I see on your face, Mr. C-?
Despite the embarrassment, I derived some pleasure from this experience.
Who wouldn't?
But I'm not *quite* finished yet.
I can only guess at what was going through Miss Carufel's mind during semi-quiet work time. She came to the back of the room to fix the bulletin board. Then she told me she needs me to slide my desk over, so she can have more room to do her board stuff. Slide it over to James.
Sure, I thought, why not. This will be fun, sitting closer to James. Miss Carufel's just helping me out here.
I scoot my desk over a few inches.
Not enough, she said.
Since when does she need six cubic feet of space to put stuff on the dumb board?!
I scoot over a few more inches. I mean, I know she has good intentions, and I know it'll be great sitting so close to him, but it's getting just a *little* obvious.
Still, she is not pleased.
She took matters into her own hands.
Setting down all her papers and pins, she smiled at me and gave my desk a good shove.
It clinked as it collided with James.'
Yes, actually, everybody *was* staring.
What *was* semi-quiet work time was now stare-at-Jesse-and-James-while-they-blush time.
We'll have temperatures upwards of 90 degrees as Jesse's desk meets James'!
And then . . .
Then he asked me for my green marker.
Marker?
Oh yeah, those things you color with.
Marker. That's good. I can do that.
I sighed and gave him the marker.
What some of you may call "the wrong thing to say" or "bad timing," I call genius.
That was the last time I ever told anybody who *I* like.
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Have I unknowingly changed the way you look at the world? Let me know at Allicatt3@aol.com.
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