Matt sat at his usual table in the commons during break while people stopped by. A nervous first-timer who took five minutes to approach the table. An oblivious freshman handing out a survey for yearbook. A couple of girls who would do anything on a Saturday night in exchange for a party bag. None of them stayed long.
Matt was getting ready to leave when Amanda walked up. “Hey, Matt.”
Matt raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment.
“I missed you at Helping Hands last week. I didn’t do any pickups or anything. I just drew up some posters instead.”
“Great.”
Amanda shifted her bag from one hand to the other. “I just wanted to make sure that everything was okay?”
“Yep.”
“That’s good. I know that…well, sometimes hospitals freak me out, too. Especially the smell.”
“Hospitals do not freak me out.” Christ, why was she even talking about this?
“That’s okay. I just…that’s okay. So maybe I’ll see you at the next meeting? I could still use some help and you’re a lot better at carrying those boxes than me.”
Before Matt could answer, a couple of guys, longtime customers, ambled up to the table. “What’s up, bro?”
“Not much,” Matt said.
The guys looked Amanda up and down, then glanced back at Matt. “You busy?”
“No.”
“Can we talk business?”
Amanda cleared her throat. “Well, I have to get going, Matt. Maybe I’ll see you next week. Bye.”
“Whatever.”
Amanda had just started walking away when one of the guys said, “What the hell?”
“Come on, Matt knows what’s up,” said the other guy. “It’s obvious. Fat girls always give the best head. They love that stuff, right?” The first guy cracked up and offered a fist for bumping.
Matt watched Amanda’s back, gauging the distance, trying to decide whether or not she had heard. “What do you guys want?”
Mr. Marsh sent Matt a note during Earth Science. When Matt showed up at his office, Marsh’s desk was buried in paperwork.
“Sorry about the mess, Matt. Have a seat.” Mr. Marsh shuffled a few papers around before giving up and tossing them on top of a pile. He sighed. “Progress reports go out this week. The athletes have to keep it above a 2.5 or they get kicked off teams. It’s do-or-die time for a lot of seniors, so we have to notify parents. I’m swimming in it this week.”
“But you still have time to pull me out of class.”
“That’s right.” Mr. Marsh sat up straighter in his chair and smoothed his tie. “I guess you know why I called you in here today.”
Matt tilted his head, waiting.
“The sign-up sheet to give a formal speech at the big Spring Varsity Week assembly goes up today. Auditions start in a few weeks. I knew you’d want to be first on the list.” Mr. Marsh leaned forward, his serious eyes searching Matt’s face for a few uncomfortable moments.
Matt couldn’t remember selling Marsh any weed, but if he thought Matt was going to speak at an assembly then he was definitely on something.
Suddenly, Mr. Marsh threw his head back and laughed. Unrestrained belly laughs, too big for his little office. He clutched at the edge of his desk for support and knocked a stack of papers off, which made him laugh harder. Eventually, he collected himself. “I’m sorry, Matt. I’m teasing, of course. I just wanted to see the look on your face. And boy, you sure didn’t disappoint.” Mr. Marsh took off his glasses and wiped at his eyes. A couple of little hiccup-laughs bubbled up. “I needed that today. Thank you.”
Matt just rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Good one, Mr. Marsh.”
The counselor put his glasses back on and regarded Matt. “Man, you even get a sixty percent in Remedial Sense of Humor, don’t you? Let’s hope the school board doesn’t start mandating field trips to the comedy clubs, trying to make sure you’re a well-rounded citizen.” Mr. Marsh sifted through piles of paper until he found the one he was looking for. “That reminds me of the first thing I wanted to talk to you about today. Seriously.” He scanned the paper. “Ms. Edwards tells me you haven’t been showing up to Helping Hands.”
“Isn’t she thorough.”
“Give her a break, Matt. She notified me instead of Gill. Not everyone here is looking to jam you.”
“I worked on one of their projects, this book drive thing. I’m good, right?”
“Can I bring you some news you should know already? Every meeting. I’ll cut you a break. We’ll forget the ones you missed, but you hit every meeting the rest of the school year. Starting now.”
All traces of the smile were gone from Marsh’s eyes. The two regarded each other in silence for a moment. “Come on, Matt, meet me halfway. Go to the meetings.”
Matt stared straight ahead. “Fine.”
Marsh rubbed his hands together like he was warming them up.
“Great. Now let me show you the second reason I called you in here today.” He handed Matt a brochure. The glossy trifold had three circles on the cover. Each circle showed a group of multiethnic twentysomethings working on a task. Tinkering with a car engine, painting a house. “Tech’s taking late applications this year.”
“And?”
“And they require a diploma, two letters of recommendation, and a demonstration of skills in a particular program area.”
“And?”
“Matt, I talked to every teacher you’ve had for high school science. They all said the same thing. You never once turned in a homework assignment and your participation in discussions was nonexistent, but they had to pass you because you aced all the in-class labs. Mr. Sixty Percent strikes again.”
Matt flipped through the brochure and saw pictures of students laying the foundation for a house.
“I could write you one of the letters of recommendation. Mrs. Bishop, from physics, has agreed to write the other one. You know how she is—won’t pretty up your attitude or anything, but she’ll attest to your skills, and the fact that you show up every day. I think you’ve got a shot at getting in.”
“More school.” Matt closed the brochure. “You think that’s what I’m after?”
“Flip it over to look at the back,” Mr. Marsh said. Matt saw a picture of three students in safety goggles standing in front of a circuit board. “They have an electricians’ program. There’s a two-year apprenticeship, but you make money while you’re doing it. Nothing special, but it’s a decent living wage.”
Matt skimmed the text, remembering Mrs. Bishop and her labs.
“Once you’re done with the apprenticeship, you’re a licensed electrician. And with the real estate market doing what it’s doing around here, plus all the new buildings going up at the university, there’s going to be more jobs than the local workforce can handle. That’ll last for a while. As in quite a few years.”
Matt studied the rest of the pictures on the brochure.
“By year four, you’d be making more money than I do. I’m not joking now,” Mr. Marsh said. Matt looked up from the brochure and into Mr. Marsh’s eyes. “By year seven, you’ll make more than Mr. Gill.”
Matt held up the brochure. “Can I keep this?”
“You bet,” Mr. Marsh said. “Here, humor me, take an application, too.” He handed Matt a manila folder full of papers. Matt stuck it under his arm.
Matt stood. “I better go back to class.”
“All right, Matt, let me know if you want me to write that letter,” Mr. Marsh said as Matt opened the door.
“If Ms. Edwards calls me again…,” Mr. Marsh added as Matt stepped into the hallway. Matt turned, his face carefully blank.
Mr. Marsh shrugged. “Just saying. If she does, I guess I’ll know your answer.”