Chapter 4

The Lexus needed to go to a repair shop, but I couldn’t take it to Roger’s place. He didn’t need extra worries about me going to Kat’s school. And since Gil had suggested that I not get involved, I didn’t plan to tell him I’d gone to Sidmore High.

I uttered more ugly words about teenagers. Paying for damages to my car wasn’t the problem. My problem was what I’d do without wheels for the time it would take for repairs.

Driving through a business section, I read Johnny’s Auto Repairs on the front of a metal building with no apparent rust spots. The man working outside appeared decent. Straight black hair, clean face. His jumpsuit told me he was Johnny. “Sure, I can fix this,” he said. “The dent and stripped paint will be invisible when I finish. I’ll have her ready by Sunday. We’ll be open all day.”

I had spied a car dealership two blocks away and walked back there. A spindly salesman scooted over to me, his firm handshake saying I was the most important person in his life. “Do you have any rentals?” I asked.

“Just about anything you could want. And if you like what you try, you could own it. What were you looking for?” He guided me around showcase autos, some vintage, and everything in-between. What would teenagers not go for? I wanted to ask but decided not to. The newness of the Lexus had probably attracted them. I lolled through the lot, watching the sales guy’s fake smile. He slowed near the new cars that would earn him a nice commission.

“That one,” I said, turning.

“That one?” His smile inverted. “Are you sure?”

“That one’s me.”

“I’ll have to try and find the keys. Are you sure you want that one?”

He watched my foot tap and eventually slunk toward the sales building.

“Perfect,” I complimented myself while I headed toward the condo. The vehicle I drove had a silver metal interior and its steering wheel on the right-hand side. It wasn’t equipped with air conditioning, but an oscillating fan perched on its dash. This boxy baby wouldn’t attract teens’ keys or feet. Large side mirrors stuck out everywhere, and the huge empty space in back would hold lots of items Kat and I could purchase. The gears had been stripped but repaired, the salesman told me before I left. And the owner had purposely repainted it this color. The Lexus would be repaired soon, and I’d be subbing at school just one day. I needed a day at Sidmore High to get everything straightened out with Kat. Then the Lexus would give the exact feel I wanted for attending her graduation.

“You’re driving a what?” Kat asked once I returned to the condo and phoned her.

I grinned. “A mail truck.”

“One of those little white trucks that the mail carriers use?”

“Yes, but this one’s green. Avocado.”

She gave the neatest chuckle I’d heard from her in some time, which confirmed my selection of vehicles.

“You have to see it,” I said. “I’ll take you for a ride.” I clunked through the kitchen with the phone, glancing again at the answering machine, wishing I’d missed something. Gil knew where I was staying. He could have found me. Maybe I hadn’t looked hard enough. Maybe the red light blinked when my eye did, and I’d missed it.

I hadn’t. I shrugged off disappointment and thrust a dish into the microwave.

“What are you doing?” Kat asked.

I made my moves quieter. “Fixing dinner.”

“So early? What’re you having?”

The microwave screamed, and I yanked out my meal. “A corn dog. Want one?”

“No thanks. I have fettuccini if you’d like some.”

Moisture flooded the floor of my mouth. But Roger would stare at my hair. Even if he didn’t speak, I’d know what he was thinking. Natural burnt sienna, right. After my experiences at school, I didn’t need more rejection. And I was in no mood to attempt to make him cheerful. “Next time. Maybe save me a little?”

“I sure will.”

I had briefly entertained thoughts of dinner at Gil’s place tonight. I’d eat his great food. Sit beside him, smell his singular smell, feel his hand on mine and tell him, “I’m too old for this struggling with teenage students.” No, I thought. I wasn’t too old for anything. Whenever anyone asked my age, I said I had a son in his thirties, but I’d given birth when I was four. Okay, ten. Actually, I had decided that I would be whatever age I felt, and I had been feeling just fine.

My real problem today was the way one of those big punks had looked at me. The Lexus. Apparent riot. And I was going back there? The trouble wasn’t that I was too old. I just normally used better judgment. But I had decided. I was returning. No matter how big those teenagers were, or how rude, I’d be at Sidmore High in the morning. And I hoped neither I nor anyone else would get hurt.

“So what did you do today without going to school?” I asked Kat cheerily. “Did you cook and clean house for your dad? Your place never has time to get dirty, you know. The way you keep everything scrubbed, you could serve your meals right off the floor.”

“I went to the funeral.”

“Oh.” I had no other stupid response to give. When Kat didn’t say more, I asked, “Did other people from school attend the service?”

“I saw three or four students. The boy I broke up with, John Winston, was there. Couple of administrators. A custodian.” A hitch altered Kat’s tone.

I didn’t ask whether her Spanish teacher had gone. But dating a boy at school would be great for her. “Is there a chance you and John might make up?”

“No. He wants to get serious. I don’t.”

I understood. “Baby, I really need you to do something for me.”

“Sure. What?”

I glanced at my wilted corn dog. “Come to school tomorrow.”

“Come…”

“I think I got myself in real trouble. Nothing new, but this time it’s something you could help with.”

“What do you mean, come to school?”

I hadn’t planned to tell her I’d gone there. “I’m going to be a substitute teacher, and I need you around. I need support, Kat.”

Absolute quiet came from her end of the line.

“You, teaching? Why, Gram?”

“I wanted something to do.” Get you back to classes. Taking exams. Crossing a stage.

“You don’t need the money, do you?” She sounded concerned.

“Oh no. The problem is…I really needed things to do with my time.” I pinched my right palm. Told God I was only playing.

Extended silence said Kat didn’t believe me. God probably didn’t either.

“You always find tons of things to do, Gram. Fun things.”

Okay, so I’d out and out lie. I set my corndog down and crossed my fingers. I’d tell her better later. “I wanted to be around people. Young people.”

Kat snickered. “Now that, I believe.” Good. She was so gullible. “Knowing you,” she said, “I bet you’ll be running the school by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I might.” Concerns from the day made me famished. I nibbled on the corn dog, pretending it was fettuccini, while Kat made up her mind.

“But do you know what today’s teens are like?” Her warning came a few hours too late for the Lexus.

“Not so different from when I was growing up or teaching.” Kat either giggled or choked, and I added, “I know some things changed, but I’ve dealt with teens before.”

“It’s been a while.”

I set my food down. “C’mon, kid, support me. I was hired.”

“Oh, Gram.”

“Just a day, baby. They really needed subs.” I was getting no response so I pushed harder. “Kat, I went there. It’s a scary place.”

She inhaled sharply. “Do you know whose place you’ll be taking?”

“No. But that shouldn’t make a difference, should it?”

Kat sighed. “Just one day?”

“That’s all I’m giving the place. A big guy ran into me today. His attitude stunk.”

“And you think the other kids’ attitudes will be better?”

“Can’t get much worse.”

She coughed, and I whined, “Will you come? Be my protection for the day?”

Her exhale sounded like resignation. “Going there will be hard for me.”

I wanted to hug Kat and say everything would be peachy. But I couldn’t. I had no idea how keen the experience would be for me, much less for her. Could her beloved adviser be a killer? With my inquisitive self, I’d find out what the trouble was, and I’d serve my major purpose. I’d have Kat returning to classes. “I know it won’t be easy,” I said. “But I’ll be there for you, and you will be near for me.”

“Supporters of each other.”

I smiled. “You got it.”

“See you there around seven,” Kat said, and then she hung up.

Seven? Was that an hour in the morning?

“Who wakes up before seven o’clock?” I asked Minnie cactus after I got off the phone. “Surely kids don’t crawl out of bed, eat breakfast, and get to school fully dressed by that hour. We used to start classes much later.”

Minnie kept her pink head steady while I finished gobbling my corn dog. I laid out my clothes and dove into bed by 8:30. At 5:32 a.m. my alarm shrilled. I slapped it and drifted back into dream world.

* * *

A half hour later I sprang up, stared aghast at the glowing clock face, and scrambled. I showered, holding my head back to keep my hair out of water, since I wouldn’t have time to dry and fix it. Damp hair ends stuck to my neck while I dressed. I folded a slice of bread and ate it, tossed back some orange juice, and dashed out the door.

The green truck appeared uglier with the sun’s first rays glistening off its side, its putrid hue making the juice sour in my stomach. No one had told the mail truck this was supposed to be an important morning. It kicked and balked. I cranked the key, stomped the foot petal, and called the truck nasty names. Eventually it decided to cooperate. After all, today I was a teacher.

I reached the school and parked in a different spot. Sliding down from the truck’s seat, I stood a moment and straightened my spine, proud of my new status. Big kids were tumbling out of cars and trucks with tremendous tires. Rap music blared through open windows, the deep boom boom-boom, boom boom-boom from its bass seeming to pound inside my head.

A sudden urge to dance struck. It always did when I heard the lively strain of “The Mexican Hat Dance” coming from my shoulder bag. I reached inside it and took out my cell phone. Few people had its number. The readout showed the call coming from my Austin office. “Good morning!” I answered.

“Mrs. Gunther?”

“Yep, it’s me.” I leaned back against the mail truck.

“This is Brianna Thompson.”

“I recognized your voice.”

My newest hire as manager, the young woman with minuscule thighs and a penchant for details. She was quiet a moment, faked a cough, and then asked, “Shouldn’t a predicate nominative come after a linking verb?”

“Absolutely.” I watched more vehicles pulling into the lot. Most of their rear bumpers held Sidmore High School parking stickers.

“Well, when you answered…” Ah, Brianna was correcting me. “Shouldn’t you say ‘It’s I?’” she asked.

“Do you know how dumb that sounds?”

Silence. “Yes.”

“Brianna, whenever you’re thinking, do you think I shall do that? Or this is I?”

“No ma’am.”

“Whenever our agency creates promotional literature or edits for businesses or individuals who want proper grammar used, we make certain it is. But if we went around speaking properly all the time, we’d sound like we were trying to be high-falutin’. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“No ma’am.”

“Neither me. Now don’t correct me. And I’ve told you, call me Cealie.”

“Yes ma—Okay, Cealie.”

“Great. So did you call because you wanted to hear my pretty voice?”

She finally laughed. “I was wondering if you’d be coming around here soon.”

More vehicles with loud music pulled into the parking lot, making it difficult for me to hear her. “Did you need me?” I asked.

“Not really. I just wondered.”

“My plans aren’t definite now. Unless you need me there for something, I’ll see you whenever I see you, okay?”

“Sure. Are you having a nice time?”

I peered at the school building looming ahead, at the muscular almost-adult males giving me unhappy stares. “It’s unusual.”

“Just like you. Nice talking to you, Cealie.”

“You too, Brianna. And please don’t go in to the office so early.”

She laughed, and we clicked off. Teenagers leaving their vehicles stared at my mail truck. Some of them yelled. “Yo, mamma, what a beauty.” “Neat wheels.” “I’d like to go riding in that thing!”

I gave them a big nod. They appreciated distinction. I did have a unique means of transportation. Bouncy steps took me toward my new job. A boy even held the door open for me. His eyes were a brilliant shade of aqua, highlighted by his smartly cut sandy blond hair. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m Mrs. Gunther. I’m teaching here today.”

“And I’m a student here, but only for a few more days. I’m John Winston.”

Kat’s former boyfriend. I skimmed him again. Clothes neat, a nice-looking boy. And polite. Too bad she didn’t find him right for her.

Teens coagulated in the cavernous hall. Today they looked calm. None smelled of wet doggie. “Good morning,” I bid the students I passed, but they all seemed asleep behind half-open eyelids. I empathized. I scanned the corridor for Kat.

Bodies unidentifiable as to sex slumped on benches and against walls. None was my grandchild. At the moment, it didn’t matter. I’d see her sometime during the day.

My steps slowed. Suppose Kat didn’t show up? Then I’d be here all alone?

I scanned zombie-like bodies dotting the hall. Yesterday I’d seen what they looked like when they came to life.

Fear crawled through my stomach. I breathed, coating my mind with my mantra: I am woman! I can do anything—alone. My final stomp on anxiety came from envisioning Kat in a cap and gown. Hiking my chin up, I pushed into the office.

Life bustled. Unlike those dulled children outside, people darted through this space. A few adults greeted each other, some ducked into inner doors, others grabbed papers or dropped some, cursed, and made off for the holding area, where I saw more glum teens gathering in chairs.

I stood on the guest side of the room, assembling my senses. My senses said to scoot. Rush back out the door. But I recalled my mission. Get Kat here.

“Oh, Mrs. Gunther,” vice-principal Anne Little said. She wore a slimming plum-colored dress and appeared glad to see me. “I have your assignment. Come on back here.”

On my side of the counter, more angry students sat. With them, miserable-looking adults, probably parents. I sprang across to Anne Little’s side of the room like I’d been offered the key to the city.

A teacher scuttled past, rushing to get what she needed. She seemed to need discipline forms to write up students. And classes hadn’t even begun.

Tom Reynolds came through the office area. He took papers from a secretary’s desk and noticed me, a smile replacing his scowl. I smiled back, and he turned away. The woman he’d accompanied to yesterday’s funeral approached. “This is our principal, Hannah Hendrick,” Anne Little told me. Hannah wore a peacock blue pantsuit with a navy collar. Not one wrinkle in her fabric. Anne Little told her, “This is Cealie Gunther. She’ll be taking Jack Burdell’s place today.”

Hannah Hendrick clasped my hands. “I love you,” she said.

“Thanks. And we just met.” Was it me making them so happy? Or did these women’s pleasure stem from having someone replace that teacher, Jack Burdell?

“You have no idea how hard it’s been lately to find enough subs,” Hannah said.

“Glad to help.” I almost meant it now with such warm greetings.

A teacher’s complaint called Hannah away, and Anne Little handed me keys. “I’m also keeper of the school keys. This one is for the classroom. Lock it whenever you leave the room. And this one’s for the desk. The biggest one is for the ladies’ restroom.”

“You have to lock classrooms and restrooms?” I asked, and she nodded and rushed off. Why lock those rooms? I wondered.

Cynthia Petre sat behind her monitor. Her mousy brown hair was clamped back, and she wore a purple blouse with an emerald green skirt. I told her hello. “Good morning,” she said without looking at me.

“But I didn’t do it, Coach!” A lanky boy stormed in from the hall behind the bulldog-faced man in coaching clothes. The tiny woman with big black hair who’d been with Coach yesterday came in too, looking like she could spit fire. Everyone in the area appeared angry now, as though ready to kill. With so many, how could police sort out just one who might actually do it? Were the police still here?

A hand tightened on my arm. “You might want to get to your room,” Anne Little said. “It’s almost time for the bell.”

“Ah, the bell.” Pleasant memories returned.

“You go down that hall,” Anne Little said, indicating the outer hallway, “then turn left, and when you get to a corridor, turn left again. Room 111. You can’t miss it.”

I opened my hand. Stared at the keys.

“That one.” She pointed. Her mouth did a little twitch, and her squinty-eyed gaze told me she wondered if I could handle subject matter if I couldn’t even remember what key to use. “A substitute folder should be on Jack’s desk. It’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

Okay, I told myself, I could handle this. Someone died here this week, but being around this school wouldn’t pose a real problem. I just needed to go to a classroom, do whatever the absent teacher instructed in his folder, and after a few hours, I’d leave.

I headed out the office and passed a scrawny woman with skin so pale it appeared translucent. She hustled inside to Anne Little. “Did you hear about Jayne Ackers?”

“What about her?” Little said.

“Shot last night. She died.”

The entire staff stopped what they were doing. Faces whipped toward this woman as though a puppeteer had jerked a string joining them. Everyone uttered astonishment.

I turned to the pale person with news. “Who’s Jayne Ackers?”

She frowned as if I had no business asking. Still, human nature surely made her reply. “Jayne was one of our substitute teachers. Not too popular with the kids.”

My heart thudded. Wide-eyed, I walked through the doorway to become a sub myself, and glanced back at vice-principal Anne Little. “Miss Ackers only subbed for us a few times,” she said, as though that would give me some comfort.