The Princess of Las Pulgas (33 page)

“I
was
a
new
teacher—and
somewhat
arrogant.”
I
look up
at
the
sound
of
Mr.
Smith’s
laughter.

“A
lot
arrogant,
you
mean,”
Jeb
says.

“Indeed,
but
I
love
a
challenge
and
so
do
you.
Admit
it!
You
were
the
one
who
took
over
Walsh
Investments
and
turned
it
around,
when
even
the
Walsh
family
had
given
up
on
it.”

“Walsh
Investments?”
That
comes
out
of
my
mouth
unexpectedly;
I’d
meant
to
say
it
only
to
myself.

Walsh
Investments
was
a
company
my
dad
used
to
talk
about
as
the
financial
success
story
of
the
decade.
I
try
to
picture
Jeb
Christopher
in
a
suit
and
tie
pointing
to
people
seated
around
a
large,
shiny
boardroom
table,
telling
them
what
to
do
and
how
to
do
it.

“I
never
took
the
risk
you
did,
Zach.
Your
job
was
on
the
line,
but
only
my
ego
was
in
jeopardy.
I
never
guaranteed
the
Walsh
family
anything.”
Jeb
picks
up
the
large
serving
dish
of
stew
and
asks,
“Seconds?”

Keith
serves
himself
another
heaping
bowlful.
“So
the
other
teachers
at
Channing
got
steamed
just
because
your
students’
scores
went
up?
That’s
nuts.”

“Not
steamed,
exactly.
More
like
unsettled,”
Mr.
Smith
says.

“Jealous
is
more
accurate,”
Jeb
tells
him.
“Don’t
pay
any
attention
to
Mr.
Christopher,
here,”
Mr.
Smith
says.
“The
teachers
were
surprised,
and
they
should’ve
been.
I
was
a
bit
surprised
myself,
in
all
honesty.
But
as
Jeb
said,
I’d
guaranteed
that
I’d
bring
those
students
up
to
grade-level
or
resign,
so
I
had
some
scrambling
to
do
before
any
of
them
started
improving.”

“What
my
modest
friend
hasn’t
told
you,”
Jeb
says,
“is
that
he
set
up
contests
with
cash
rewards,
made
home
visits
every
week,
and
took
his
kids
on
field
trips—at
his
own
expense.
All
to
motivate
them
to
do
better
in
school.”

“I
didn’t
have
much
salary
left
that
year,”
Mr.
Smith
chuckles.
“And
I
took
many
a
meal
at
this
table
to
keep
from
starving.”

“Those
kids
would
have
gone
to
hell
and
back
again,
not
to
let
you
down,”
Jeb
says.
“Every
one
of
them
scored
in
the
80’s
or
90’s
on
those
final
tests.
Three
even
made
the
honor
roll
in
their
junior
year.”

“That’s
when
I
decided
there
were
probably
more
than
just
this
handful
of
at-risk
students
out
there
who
needed
a boost,
and
they
weren’t
going
to
school
in
Channing.”

Mr.
Smith
lifts
the
serving
dish
from
the
center
of
the table
and
passes
it
across
to
me.
For
a
moment
he
doesn’t
let
go,
and
we
hold
that
dish
together,
his
eyes
locked
onto
mine.
“Las
Pulgas
had
plenty
of
those
kinds
of
students,
so
I
came
here
to
work
with
them.”

The
look
he
directs
at
me
is
one
I’ve
seen
every
time
K.T.
raises
her
hand,
or
whenever
Chico
reads
one
of
his
stories,
or
when
Jamal
recites
an
original
poem.
I
can
see
that
he
thinks
I’m
like
the
other
students
in
his
class;
he
thinks
I
need
a
boost
,
too.

I
take
the
dish
and
set
it
down,
suddenly
not
very
hungry
anymore.

Chapter 50

Of
all
my
Las
Pulgas
Mondays,
this
one
will
have
its
own
special
place
in
my
brain.

When
Keith
and
I
go
through
Mr.
Icky’s
security
stop,
I’m
so
twitchy
worrying
about
what
my
brother’s
going
to
be
facing
that
I
get
sent
to
the
wand
guy
for
closer
inspection.
I
want
to
stick
close
to
Keith
today,
but
he
just
brushes
me
off.
Pulling
the
brim
of
his
baseball
cap
down
over
his
eyes,
he
silently
disappears
into
the
principal’s
office.
His first
official
day
back
and
he’s
acting
like
he’s
here
for
some
kind
of
award,
while
I’m
the
one
who
feels
sick.

And
the
assembly
makes
me
feel
even
sicker.
I’m
closed
in
with
hundreds
of
students,
all
with
revenge
against
the
Edmunds
on
their
minds.
The
announcements
take
about
fifteen
minutes,
then
there’s
the
prom
committee
report.
Keith’s
waiting
in
the
back
corner
by
the
exit,
chewing
on
his
thumb
with
his
head
down
so
I
can’t
see
his
eyes.