I’ve only been to one costume party in my life, and it wasn’t even for Halloween. Several years ago, I went to the Pulpwood Queens’ annual ball. The theme was the Wizard of Oz, and I went as the Tin Man. A few days ago, my sweet grand nephew, Reed was asked what costume Aunt Kathleen should have for Halloween. His immediate response: “Princess.” I’m so delighted that he views me in such a glamorous light. But I must confess that I’ve always wanted to dress up for Halloween as Morticia Addams.

Some of you might have read my short story, “Role Model.” It’s the only writing I’ve ever self-published. I listed it on Amazon for ninety-nine cents, and even though it has been for sale since 2014, I’ve yet to earn a penny. I like to think that Amazon mistakenly sends my royalty payments to some needy person in the Czech Republic.

The short story started as a tribute to my favorite high school teacher, Miss Opal Mosher. You’d understand if you were lucky enough to have her as a teacher. When I got to high school, I dreaded taking biology. Rumor had it that biology was the hardest class at West High and that Miss Mosher, the only one to teach this class, was a ball-buster. Like all students, I took physical science as a freshman. I hated it. Newton’s Law: really? What’s so darn amazing about gravity? I’ve never worried about falling off Earth, or someone shooting an apple off my head. But when I was a sophomore, I worried about failing biology. I didn’t think of myself as a smart student. I never failed a class, but I feared I’d fail biology. And I was easily intimidated. Miss Mosher was a large, scary woman.

The second year of high school arrived, and I tried to find a seat at the back of the biology classroom, but they were all taken by the time I walked in. Forced to sit in the second row, I slumped down on the lab stool and prayed Miss Mosher wouldn’t notice me. And she didn’t for the first couple of weeks. Then things changed. In all her gruffness, Miss Mosher was sweet, kind, and encouraging. She turned out to be my favorite teacher ever, and I fell in love with biology. Unlike physical science, biology made sense: photosynthesis, human anatomy, and cell division. I even loved dissection, but I did feel sorry for the cat and pig. Later, I became outspoken on experimenting on animals, but I won’t go there now.

I worked hard in biology because I loved the subject matter, but also because, I wanted Miss Mosher to be proud of me. She was the reason I decided to become a science teacher. I was lucky to be able to teach life science (basic middle-school biology) during most of my career.

I found out years later that after she retired (33 years at West High), she started a dog obedience school. How cool was that?

Miss Mosher, I regret I never took the time to tell you how special you were.

Here are the first few paragraphs of “Role Model,” followed by an Amazon link. If you want to know what happens, you have to buy the rest of the story. Adjusted for actual inflation, ninety-nine cents in 2014 would now be $1.18, but I “inflated” it to $1.99. Monkey see; monkey do. Trick or Treat!

By Kathleen Kaska

Every Thursday evening, Katy treated herself to a triple dose of glamour. At six-thirty, Ginger sauntered onto the screen in her sequined gown, causing the Skipper, the Professor, and any male who happened to be marooned on Gilligan’s Island that week to drool. Then Mrs. Emma Peel, Agent 99 of the Avengers, volleyed with her counterpart, Mr. Steed. Mrs. Peel always remained cool in the face of danger. She was daring and witty, never at a loss for words. But the true inspiration occurred at eight when Morticia Addams crossed her arms, snapped her fingers, and smiled coyly at the camera—beautiful, intelligent, sensuous. Morticia was everything Katy was not. Mrs. Peel and Ginger were everything Katy was not. But it was Morticia who provided the inspiration Katy needed.

Her mother would be pissed as hell, but who cared, Katy thought. Her mother didn’t have stringy blonde hair that hung limp like dead fish on a trout line. Her mother didn’t have to go to PE with older girls whose bra size exceeded Katy’s score on last week’s algebra test. Her mother would never understand that Katy didn’t have time to wait for the natural transformation into womanhood. And when it did finally occur, Katy held no illusion that she would look anything like her gorgeous heroines.

Timing was everything, and so far, so good.

It was five o’clock on Monday morning, and the sky was beginning to brighten. Her family wouldn’t need the bathroom for another hour. While Katy waited, she picked up the bottle and reread the directions to ensure she’d gotten them right. Black Beauty, the label read, guaranteed to give hair that midnight sheen. There was a picture of a woman with wavy black hair cascading down her white shoulders. Katy had studied the different brands at Old Corner Drugstore. Black Beauty by Clairol was the most expensive, and Katy didn’t have enough money. She thought about purchasing a cheaper brand, but she remembered her dad always saying, “you get what you pay for.” No, it was Black Beauty or nothing. Katy was about to give up on her plan when things started to happen last Saturday morning.

Katy was still in bed with her pillow over her head. Her two youngest sisters were awake early, watching cartoons with the TV blaring. Katy had no plans for the weekend and was destined to face another disappointing week at school. Last Friday, Ben had avoided her all day, and as she was leaving school, she saw him walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Lynnette Luster. They were laughing—the laughter that told Katy her no-good boyfriend and the school slut was a bit too friendly. There was no way Katy could complete with Lynnette Luster. Lynnette was wild. Her older sister Lucinda had gotten pregnant the year before; it was only a matter of time before Lynnette followed in Lucinda’s footsteps. The voluptuous Luster sisters——they even looked fertile, in a daring, damn-you sort of way. They plowed through boys like hay balers, swooping them up where they stood, entwining them in a wad of emotions, and then dumping them in the field to rot. Katy pictured Ben lying on his back in the dirt, dried up, staring at the sky as his last breath fluttered from his lips. “Help me.” When the phone rang, Katy was striking a match to light Ben’s foot.