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ANGEL AT THE BLACKBOARD

Growing up fat is one thing, but being a girl with crossed eyes and coke-bottle glasses fixed to your face is quite another. But only once you've topped those traumatizing factors with severe mental abuse will you know the story of my young life.

The family who raised me knew nothing about love. Sure they fed me too much and kept a roof over my head, but their constant criticism scarred me for life. By the time my mom was financially able to take me in, the damage was irreversible. I already knew I was too stupid to ever make anything of myself, and too pathetic too worthless to live. At fourteen, I swiped some pills from the cupboard and tucked them in my backpack. I didn't know what they were, and I didn't care. All that mattered was that they ended my pain the way they, occasionally, ended mom's. But when some nosy teacher walked in the bathroom door behind me, those pills slipped right through my fingers, along with the hope of ever being free.

I went home that night and cried into my Bible, begging God for a reason to live. I wasn't surprised when even He couldn't give me one. And then I met Mr. Bradley.

I should have seen right away that this was no ordinary man. While his square jaw and chiseled laugh-lines were as common as his mustache, his eyes were much too blue to belong to a mere mortal. He was a thirty-five-year-old Police Chief-turned-teacher, and I was a cocky fifteen-year-old. We were both new to high-school that year, as was the class we'd be spending our time in. At least until I was old enough to drop out.

Law Enforcement was the latest addition to a vo-tech totally dominated by guy shops'. It wasn't something that particularly fascinated me, but it beat getting my nails grimy with grease and motor oil.

On our first day, Mr. Bradley walked in wearing his police uniform, trying to intimidate us with his shiny, powerful badge. He was arrogant, boisterous, and simply the biggest jerk I'd ever met. While my classmates slithered out that first day with their hunched backs and lowered heads, I stayed behind with my arms across my chest and my opinions in order. It took me a few moments to find my tongue, but I finally bit the bullet and asked him for a minute of his time. His response was even creepier than his drill sergeant routine. He glanced at his watch, smiled, then sat down with his hands folded under his chin.

"What can I do for you?" He asked, smiling.

"Well, you see, I'm quitting in October, and I don't

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