Getting Warmer (30 page)

There was a knock on the door: Jill. Dr. White had left a message on her voice mail. I had hoped she wouldn’t get it until after I’d left; the bell would ring in five minutes.

“What’s up?” she said. Then, spying Tyler: “Wow. It must be serious if Dr. White let you on her machine.”

Tyler’s shoulders tightened. He didn’t turn around. Jill caught my eye. “
Passive aggressive,
” she mouthed. I smiled in spite of myself.

Dr. White said, “Natalie looked herself up on the computer.” She motioned to her machine. “She found this.”

Jill’s mouth twitched. “You Googled yourself?”

I rolled my eyes. “Just wanted to see where I lived, what I was doing. We’ve been out of touch.”

“Oh, my God,” Jill said, peering at the computer screen. Tyler edged away from her. “This kid’s got serious problems. You think it’s—” Her eyes flicked over to Tyler. “You think it’s the kid who you’d think it would be? The kid with the dysfunctional family who has a history of emotional aggression?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think it’s Jared.”

“We’ve asked Tyler to help us identify the blogger,” Dr. White said. “Until we have any further information, we’re not going to make any assumptions. Natalie has over a hundred students. It could be anyone.”

“No, it couldn’t.” I shook my head. “The whole no-capitals thing is misleading. Look at the comma usage. This kid knows his punctuation. That rules out at least two-thirds of my students.”

Jill put her hand on Tyler’s arm. He edged even closer to the corner of the room. If she pushed him much farther, he’d have no place left to go. “I’m proud of you, Tyler,” Jill said. “This time you’re on the side of the angels.”

“Dr. White said that if I help her out, she’ll reduce my school probation,” Tyler mumbled.

For the rest of the day, I scanned the eyes of all of my students who had mastered comma usage. I failed to detect any hatred. It’s not that these kids thought I was the greatest thing since iPod phones; they just didn’t think much about me at all. I was
She Who Assigns Homework
;
She Who Gives a Final Grade
;
She Who Makes Me Read Boring Books.

Due to the schedule rotation, I didn’t have my honors class, which was a relief. I felt oddly frightened of seeing Jared, of discovering the depths of his cruelty.

I ate lunch at my new usual spot, with the math department. I’d become friends—or at least friendly—with Miss Rothstein. We were so tight that she asked me to call her by her first name, Stacey. Today she was showing me a printout of her Macy’s gift registry. She had requested white towels, white sheets and white dishes. She had even requested a white bath accessories set.

“I hope it’s not too much white,” she said

“You could pick an accent color,” I said. “Eggplant, maybe.”

“You mean, like, purple? I don’t think so.” She sighed. “I could never pull off purple.”

“Nicolette was going to do a lot of eggplant,” I said. “You know Nicolette in the office? But then she eloped, so she never got to register.”

Stacey picked up her tiny milk carton and took a drink. “I heard Nicolette was getting a divorce.” She grimaced at her carton. “I hate skim milk. The day after my wedding, I’m going back to whole.”

 

 

Jill was sitting at her desk, eating her lunch: some sandwich on focaccia. She smiled when she saw me. “Is Nicolette getting a divorce?” I whispered.

She motioned for me to shut the door and sit down. “Big blowup,” she said once the door was closed. “They’d been saving money for a party in the spring—a kind of post-wedding reception.”

“But I thought she didn’t want that,” I said. I was still whispering even though no one could hear us through the door.

“That’s what she said at first. But then we talked about it. I explained the real purpose of ceremonies: they mark a transition. One part of our life ends, another begins.” She gestured as she spoke. Her fingers were perfectly manicured a ruby red. Her clothes, as usual, were black. “Without a wedding,” she continued, “Nicolette felt like she and Rodney weren’t really married.”

“Plus she missed out on all the presents.”

“That, too. So anyway, they had this pile of money building up.” She leaned forward for emphasis. “And then, without discussing it, Rodney used the cash to make a down payment on a new truck.”

“No!”

She settled back in her chair. “He’s exhibited poor impulse control from the beginning.”

“Is Nicolette very upset?”

“I’ll say. She keeps saying that she loves him but she can’t trust him. Nicolette has a completely idealized view of romantic love. Cognitively and emotionally, she hasn’t quite made the leap from adolescence to adulthood.”

“So maybe it’s for the best,” I said. “The breakup.”

She scrunched up her face. “I don’t know. Even though they’re both emotionally immature, they seemed really . . .”

“In love?”

“Yeah.” She took a big bite of her sandwich.

“What’ve you got on the focaccia? Roasted eggplant?”

She shook her head and then swallowed. “Portobello mushroom. With a red pepper aioli. You want a bite?”

“No, thanks.” I stood up.

She put her sandwich down on its sheet of waxed paper and stood up. She towered over me. She slumped a bit, perhaps trying to bridge the gap. “I’m glad you stopped by.”

I looked at the floor. “Yeah, well, I just wanted to see what was going on with Nicolette.”

“Lars said to say hi.”

“Did he find a job yet?”

She shook her head. “No, but he has a promising lead. Charter school in Glendale. Nicolette says Dr. White’s about to fill his position. She’s got two good candidates—she just has to decide which she likes better.”

I nodded. I’d heard this, too. “So it’s working out?” I said casually. “You and Lars?”

“I guess.” She paused. “You know how immaculate he always looks? How clean? You should see his apartment. Total pig sty. He’s got these two roommates from Arizona State—he completely regresses around them. Between the beer and the farts, I can’t stand to be in that place for more than ten minutes at a time. It’s like being in a frat house.”

“So you should stick to your place.”

“I know. But of course, I’ve got a roommate, too.” She sighed. “I don’t know. I like him. I really do. And, weirdly enough, he likes me. But I always seem to attract guys who want to be dominated, and I’m afraid Lars is another Peter Pan.” She shrugged and tried to smile. “I don’t want to be his mother.”

I tilted my head to one side. “You could be his Wendy instead.”

She smiled. “That’s one way to look at it. I’ve missed you, you know.” I didn’t respond. “Would you come out with us sometime soon?” she asked. “I mean, with Lars and me. It would be like old times.”

I was quiet for a minute. “I’m not sure I want it to be like old times.”

“It’ll be like new times, then,” she said. “Think about it?”

“I’ll think about it.” I eyed her sandwich and weakened. “You know, I wouldn’t mind just a little taste of the sandwich.”

No one ever tells you to sit down for good news, so when Dr. White offered me a visitor chair the next morning, I held my breath. Tyler had gotten there ahead of me. Today’s T-shirt, gray this time, was emblazoned with a computer code, which, for all I knew, translated into something like, “I know your American Express account number and your mother’s maiden name.”

Ten minutes into my first period class (Freshman Honors), Nicolette had clicked into my classroom on the painfully high heels that she wore with her excruciatingly tight white jeans. “Dr. White needs to see you,” she said. “I’ll take over.”

I practically ran out of there. Knowing that honors was my first class of the day, I’d arrived early to make sure my room was clear of feces, reptiles, bugs, bombs, or any other surprises. Once the bell rang, I poured all of my energy into not meeting Jared’s eyes. I was afraid I would start crying.

“Did Tyler catch him?” I asked Dr. White once I was seated. She nodded. “It’s Jared, isn’t it?”

She shook her head.

I looked at Tyler, who, for once, had turned away from the computer to face us, though one hand still trailed on the keys, as if for comfort. “Was he hard to find?” I asked. “It is a he, isn’t it?”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “Took me, like, five minutes to get his name. If that. He registered under his real name, as if no one could ever get past his screen name.
Pathetic
.”

“But you used only legal methods to find this information, right, Tyler?” Dr. White said casually.

He grunted in the affirmative—I think it was the affirmative—without making eye contact.

Dr. White thanked Tyler and sent him to class with a yellow pass. Then she closed her door and sat down behind her desk. She clasped her hands in front of her, leaned forward, and looked at me with concern. “It was Cody Gold.”

For an instant, I thought she was kidding. Cody wouldn’t write those things about me! Cody was like a puppy dog. Cody loved me! “But—why?”

She shook her head slightly. “I have no idea. Have you had any problems with him?”

“No! He’s always—well, I always thought he liked me.”

“Your students don’t have to like you,” she said gently. “They just have to respect you.”

“I
know
. But Cody . . . he had a little crush on me, I think. It seemed sweet at the time. But now—” I stopped. If I talked any more, I’d start crying. To maintain self respect, I could allow myself no more than one breakdown a week in Dr. White’s office. No, make that one breakdown a career.

“I’ve called Cody’s parents,” Dr. White continued. “They’ll be here for a meeting at three o’clock. I’d like you to join us.”

I nodded and stood up. Suddenly, I wanted to get out of there.

My classroom was no more appealing, though. As I approached, I could hear Claudia’s voice: “How can you tell the difference between genuine love and infatuation?”

I was trying to figure out how that would figure into a discussion of
A Separate Peace
, when Nicolette answered, “Ya know, I still don’t know. I mean, when I met Rodney, I thought: this is it. He was so not like the other guys I’d gone out with.”

I was about to march in and end the discussion before Nicolette started comparing and contrasting Rodney’s sexual proclivities with the countless partners who’d gone before when I caught a glance at Cody’s face. I recoiled, as if I’d seen a snake. Or a bag of crap. Or the face of someone who had betrayed me.

My eyes filled with tears. I envisioned Cody finding a dead snake in his yard (surely he didn’t hate me enough to kill something), smuggling it into his backpack and leaving it on my chair in anticipation of my fear and humiliation. I envisioned him finding some dog poo in his backyard (surely he didn’t hate me enough to hoard his own shit) and stinking up his locker for an entire day until he had the chance to unload it.

I was a failure. Anyone who could inspire such venom should be doing something else.

I fled to the teacher’s bathroom and shut myself in a stall until the bell rang.

Next was one of my college prep classes. I had the students take turns reading aloud. They were quiet, expressionless, slumped over their desks.

Next came Adventures. Five minutes into a lesson on semicolons, I thought: this is ridiculous. These kids haven’t mastered commas; why bother with semicolons? Only three kids handed in homework. (Robert’s excuse: “I worked a party for Suzette last night—you know I quit my job at the hospital? And anyway, I got home really late.”)

Robert lingered after class. I felt a little better. Robert liked me. He was still borderline illiterate, but at least he liked me. I asked him how Ladd’s tutoring was going without pointing out that his work had slipped off since he’d stopped coming in for extra help in the mornings. Robert considered his paid tutor for a moment. “He’s—he’s bending my mind. An interesting dude.”

Katerina sauntered in. Robert beamed. He hadn’t hung around to talk to me. Of course not.

Katerina said, “Ms. Quackenbush, is it true that you’re directing the winter play?”

It was true, I said, though I didn’t think I could do as good a job as Mr. Hansen.

Her smile fell. “Yeah, Mr. Hansen was really cool.”

Jill caught me as I was sneaking out the door at lunchtime. “I forgot my lunch,” I lied. “I was just going to grab a burrito.”

She came with me even though she probably had a plastic container filled with something wonderful waiting for her in the faculty fridge.

“I talked to Cody’s mother this morning. She and her husband separated last month,” she told me as we sat in a booth at a Taco Bell, sipping giant Diet Pepsis and waiting for our gorditas. “Most likely, Cody’s transferring his feelings of anger onto you.”

The acoustics in this place were terrible. Shrieking chairs, slurping sodas, rustling paper: the sounds bounced off the walls and ceiling. People talked too loud, trying to be heard over the noise, making the din even worse. At the tables around us sat men in various matching shirts. One table had burly white guys wearing royal blue T-shirts that read, VALLEY PLUMBING. Another table had short, solid Mexican guys. Their T-shirts were purple and read, GOODMAN’S LANDSCAPING.

Everyone looked happier than me, the plumbers, the landscapers, the moms with toddlers trying to claw their way out of strollers. Me with my save-the-world attitude and my eighteen years of schooling. The plumbers probably out-earned me by a good twenty thousand dollars a year.

My cell phone rang. I fished it out of my bag. “Hot date?” Jill asked.

I checked the display number. “My mother.” I let it go to voice mail.

A group of familiar-looking teenagers walked in, two skinny girls and a boy with bad acne and squinty eyes. I smiled. They ignored me. Jill waved. They ignored her, too. “Two bulimics and a chronic liar,” she murmured. “If you have to use the bathroom, I’d do it now.”