Greg Abimbola’s Russian II class, like all his classes, was small, just half-a-dozen students, all of them good kids, and a couple of them with real talent. Heads bent low over desks as they struggled to translate a simplified piece from Pushkin’s Metel. It wasn’t in the textbook, but as Russian without Pushkin was like breathing without air, Greg had assigned it anyway.
Besides, he didn’t have the mental energy to do actual teaching and it would keep them out of trouble for the rest of the period. He needed time to think. He stared absently out the classroom window, thoughts floating across his mind like night snow passing a streetlight. Long, brown fingers tapped out a rhythmic tattoo against the edge of his desk.
It was several minutes before his eye regained its focus.
‘Can I have your attention for a moment?’
Six heads raised themselves gratefully from the assigned toil.
‘I have to step out for a few minutes. Needless to say, I trust you not to misbehave too badly while I’m gone.’ He was rewarded with a couple of smiles. ‘As an incentive, this week’s homework will be finishing the passage, so if you get it done this afternoon, you’re free and clear. Deal?’
Various flavors of ‘yes, sir’ came back at him. He rose from his chair and headed out, careful not to step on the Mirny and Vostok as he did so. He’d stashed the two ships out of sight beneath his desk. It was the only place he could think to hide them.
He marched down the corridor in long strides, headed to the admin suite next to the principal’s office. Glancing briefly at the stenciled glass door that led to Ms Ellis’s domain, he wondered if he’d be seeing her yet again over this latest dereliction of duty. He dismissed the thought out of hand. The elevated chatter of six kids behind a closed door was unlikely to attract attention, so his absence would almost certainly go unnoticed. And as for Russian II, they would either work, or not. So long as they didn’t burn down the building, Greg didn’t much care.
None of them were likely to vandalize his classroom with racial epithets.
He slipped into the admin suite and leaned over the top of Emily Pasquarelli’s cubicle.
‘You got a minute, Emily?’
‘For you? Always.’
She beamed up at him from a pile of polite letters reminding certain parents that fees were still due. Warmed by a space heater under her desk, the morning’s red coat had been removed and was now hanging up on a nearby stand, her brown gloves placed neatly to one side of her work area.
‘I need you to get hold of a few kids for me,’ Greg said. ‘I’d like them back in my classroom immediately after school.’
‘Why?’ A small frown had creased Emily’s forehead.
‘Discipline stuff. Nothing too serious, but I want it nipped in the bud.’ He banished a sudden image of Demetrius Freedman, tight-lipped and disapproving.
‘OK, sure.’ Emily picked up a pen. ‘Who am I looking for?’
Greg’s mind flashed back to the group of kids who’d been lingering by the ships at the end of class.
‘Landon Worthington, Chandler Delcade, Pamela Mercurio, Alexa James, and Corbyn McConnell.’
‘Seventh grade? They’ll all be in the same place, then. Should be easy enough. I’ll check their schedules.’
‘Thanks, Emily. You’re the best.’
‘Yes,’ Emily agreed, chuckling. ‘Yes, I am.’
Greg waved at her over his shoulder. Taking the stairs two at a time, he headed down to the first floor and the science department. The science labs and their associated classrooms were just off the main lobby, directly beneath admin and the principal’s office one floor above. His progress was blocked, however, by glass security doors that had swung shut across the corridor, presumably in an attempt to keep the cold out. Normally, they were held open by magnetic latches when school was in session. But not today.
Greg swore under his breath. The doors locked automatically and wouldn’t open without a keycard, which he hadn’t thought to bring with him. He rapped impatiently on the glass. No one responded. All the classroom doors in the science department were closed. It was unlikely anyone could hear him.
‘Need a hand, Mr Abimbola?’
It was Stacey, the security lady. She must have seen his predicament from her station at the front entrance. She waved her keycard over the reader. The lock to the doors clicked open. Greg smiled at her gratefully.
‘Stacey, you’re an angel. I owe you one.’
‘No problem. You take care, now.’
Greg had no further trouble reaching Demetrius Freedman’s classroom. The long, narrow laboratory was full of sophomores heating things up in glass tubes. Greg knew enough about chemistry to recognize the various set-ups as an experiment involving distillation, but that was about it. And whether the experiment was actually part of the curriculum, or simply Demetrius’s way of putting the lab’s only source of heat to good use, Greg had no idea.
Seeing him enter, Demetrius intercepted Greg at the doorway, his face reignited with righteous anger. Greg swallowed back a sigh.
‘You can’t just let this go,’ Demetrius said, reiterating what he’d been saying from the moment they’d discovered the vandalized ships. Then, Greg had hustled him out of his classroom, unwilling to have a discussion right then and there. But now there was no avoiding it. He needed Demetrius. And the price of Demetrius was … this. The chemistry teacher kept his voice low to avoid being overheard, but it was insistent, nonetheless. ‘You need to go to the principal and get the entire goddamned class disciplined. This is fucking outrageous. Someone has to pay. Whoever did this should be expelled.’
Greg shook his head.
‘No one’s getting expelled and you know it. It was one or more of five kids – I saw them hanging around the models. And not a one of those kids is on financial aid. They’re all “good” students, whose parents pay full freight and have a ton of clout to match. I may not have been here long, Demetrius, but I know this: this is Pittsburgh. Everyone who’s rich and powerful is connected to everyone else. So there’s no way this school is going to bite itself in the arse by expelling someone.’
Somewhat to Greg’s surprise, Demetrius nodded in slow agreement.
‘But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t raise hell over it,’ he cautioned. ‘We gotta lay down a marker. Show folks we’re not going to be messed with.’
‘And then what? After all the sturm and drang and concerned hand wringing, all that’ll happen is a slap on the wrist, which is almost worse than doing nothing at all. Scratch that: it’s actually worse. You make this a big deal that goes nowhere? Everyone will see how little you and I count for around here, and things will go downhill quicker than you can say “whitewash”.’
‘Principal Ellis ain’t gonna look at this … this shit and do nothing!’
‘She’ll do next to nothing. And no matter how sorry Ellis is about what was done, some part of her will always resent the fact that I’ve just gone and caused her a whole load of trouble with the people who pay her bills.’ He allowed himself an ironic smile. ‘Thanks to our good friend, Lindsay Delcade, I’m on thin ice with her already.’
Demetrius shook his head.
‘I think you’re wrong, man. But even if you’re right, leak it to the media. They’ll be on top of this like a fat kid on candy. It’ll be all over the news. Raise a real stink. Then she’ll have to do something. And if she won’t, the governors most surely will.’
‘The media? God, no!’ Greg could feel the blood draining from his face. ‘The last thing I want is a bunch of effing journos sticking their noses into my business.’
‘So you’re just going to bow your head like some field hand, and thank the nice folks and the nice folks’ kids for fucking you over?’ Demetrius’s long, thin body vibrated with anger. A couple of the closer students turned to see what was going on.
‘I didn’t say that,’ Greg said, keeping his voice low. ‘I’ll deal with this myself.’
‘How?’
‘Do you have any activated carbon?’
‘You … What now?’
‘Activated carbon.’
‘Uh … sure. But what do you need it for?’
‘For repairing my ships. I need it to fix some of the pigments.’
Demetrius gave him a strange look before disappearing into the storeroom at the back of his classroom. He returned moments later with a large jar of black powder, his every step followed by curious, sophomoric eyes.
‘Thank you.’ Greg made to leave. Demetrius grabbed him by the elbow.
‘You’re welcome. But don’t think this conversation is over. This is serious shit that just went down. You can’t just let them get away with it.’
Greg made a non-committal gesture. Enough to get Demetrius off his back.
‘Can you swipe me through the fire doors? I left my keycard upstairs.’
Freed from the confines of the science department, Greg found his way to the main lobby and clattered down the stairs to the basement.
‘Twice in one day,’ Andrea Velasquez said, archly. ‘If only I was as popular with guys my own age.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ Greg said, smiling. ‘But I do need a favor.’
‘Another one?’ Andrea’s arms were folded across her chest in an imitation of annoyance.
‘Another one. Where is Señor Sanchez?’