Where You Are (28 page)

Authors: J.H. Trumble

BOOK: Where You Are

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When the bell rings, he packs up, then stays behind to straighten the desks. He casts a quick look at the door after the last kid leaves.

“You're bad,” he mouths to me, then flashes me a grin.

Robert

Andrew, Andrew, Andrew. I like that he's so aware of me in class. But he's so obvious. At least,
I
think he is. But maybe that's because I know what's going on between us. Maybe to my classmates it's just class as usual.

I really want to see him tonight, but I don't think that's going to happen. Then again, maybe he'll get home early and I'll see him before I leave the group session.

I stop by the band hall to pick up my sax. I could stand to practice some tonight.

“Oh, hey, Robert,” someone calls out as I squeeze through the crowded doorway. It's Luke. He weaves his way over to me and throws an arm over my shoulder as he walks with me to my locker. “Hey, I didn't know that you and Erick Wasserman were such
close
friends.”

“You saw.”

He cracks up and leans against the locker next to mine. “Dang, that
is
a fan club. Those three have got it bad for you.”

“Look,” I say, nodding toward my three stalkers huddled together on the other side of the band hall. All three are watching me, but when Luke looks their way, they scatter.

“Better you than me, man,” he says. “So, anything new in your love life?”

I don't answer, but I can't stop the grin from spreading across my face.

“Yeah?” Luke says. “Things are working out? Holy cow, I still can't believe you and Mr. McNelis.”

I give my head a subtle shake and take a quick survey of everyone around us. No one seems to be listening.

“Sorry,” Luke says, dropping his voice.

Andrew

I'm watching the clock. I swear to God, if that kid is one minute late, I'm out of here. So I'm especially irritated when he walks in fifteen minutes late and slouches into a desk like he's about to kick his shoes off and watch a rerun of
South Park,
which apparently is showing outside my classroom windows.

Unbelievable.

“So, I'm meeting with your father tomorrow morning. You want to give me a preview of what the problem is?”

He smirks but doesn't look at me.

“Great. Okay. Well, you haven't turned in your homework all week, so I'm going to assume that we need to review this unit from the beginning. Would you say that's true?”

Nothing. I wait, a nice fat pregnant pause, just for him. And still nothing.

“You know what? You're a piece of work, Stephen. My little girl is spending two extra hours in day care today, just so I can waste my time here with you. If you're not going to engage, why do you even bother coming?”

Now he does look at me. “I'm surprised you could even get it up for a girl.”

I want to deck this kid
so
bad. I swallow my retort. “I think we're done here.”

He gets up and gives me a look of disgust as he struts past me to the door. “See you in the morning, Mr. McJerkoff.”

I grab the sleeve of his jacket before I can check my anger. “You little prick.”

He tries to shrug me off at the same time I let go, and he stumbles and drops to the floor.

“You okay?” I ask, offering my hand.

He slaps it away and gets up, shrugs his backpack back onto his shoulder, then gives me the finger.

I can't wait for our meeting in the morning.

Robert

I'm going to miss these kids,
I think as I move the chairs back to the dining room table. But I don't think I ever want to hear “Mary Had a Little Lamb” again.

Ms. Momin is in the driveway helping Jo-Jo's mom get him into the car. I can hear him laughing and snuffling even inside.

As I pack up the recorders, I let my eyes linger on the couch and try to imagine myself there with Andrew again. I can't stand all this sneaking around. I wonderâif I told Mom, would she understand? Would she let us hang out together at our house? Nice thought, but not likely. Still, I find myself imagining him stretched out naked in my bed and feel myself start to stiffen.

“That's the last one,” Ms. Momin says from the doorway. I give her a smile and stack the recorders on the hearth. She holds the door open for me. “So, one more session, next week, right?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Great.” I slip past her, and then she says, “Hey, Robert, I'm just curious. What math class are you taking this year?”

I hesitate and consider lying. “Calculus.”

“Oh. Then you must have Ms. Echols.”

She knows.
“Um, no. Actually, I have Mr. McNelis.”

“You do?” She's holding on to the edge of the door. Her eyes shift to the street, then back to me. “You didn't tell me that last week. In fact, you acted like you'd just met.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry. It's just kind of weird running into your math teacher outside of class, you know.”

I can't dial fast enough.

“Hey, this is a surprise,” Andrew says when he picks up.

“Where are you?”

“Right at this moment, I am riding a black stallion.”

Whatever I expected, it wasn't that, and it kind of knocks me off my track. “Um, should I be jealous?”

He laughs. “Hardly. I'm on the merry-go-round at the mall with Kiki. And frankly, I'm a little nauseated.”

“I think your ex-wife knows.”

“Knows what?”

“About us.”

For a moment all I hear is the music of the merry-go-round and the chatter of voices in the background. Then Andrew says, “No way.”

“She asked me who my math teacher is.”

“Did you tell her?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Look, I know it may sound like she's suspicious, but it was probably just natural curiosity. She knows you're a senior. She knows I teach seniors. At some point she probably realized I might be your teacher.”

“But we acted like we didn't know each other.”

“Okay. There is that.”

“I told her it was just weird running into you like that outside of school.”

“Makes perfect sense to me.”

“I don't think she believed me.”

“Okay, let's just assume for a moment that she knows. What? That I'm your teacher? That it was awkward running into each other at my ex-wife's house? She doesn't know anything. Maya's been my best friend for more than ten years. If she knows something, if she's suspicious, she'll say something to me. She's always had my back. Okay?”

I'm not so sure, but I say, “Okay,” anyway.

“Hey, I'm the one who's supposed to be paranoid here. I'll let you know if you need to worry. And, hey, I kind of like you calling me.”

Since he likes it so much, I call him in the morning too.

“You are going to make me late,” he says quietly when he answers. No
hello
. He just jumps right in. I like that.

“I just wanted to say hi.”

I can actually hear him smiling through the phone. “Hi to you too.”

“Do you always leave for school this early?”

“No. I have a parent-teacher conference this morning. My favorite thing to do, you know.”

“Somebody giving you a hard time?”

“Oh, you could say that.”

“Anybody I know?”

“A kid named Stephen Newman. He's a freshman and a pain in the ass.”

“I know his sister. She was a flute player.”

“I'm sorry.”

I laugh. “If he gives you too hard a time, just let me know. I'll beat him up.”

“I'll keep that in mind. But I don't think we'll have to resort to that. He's a big talker, but he's pretty harmless.”

I draw my phone a little closer to my mouth. “Can I see you tonight?”

“I was hoping you'd ask that. Got a place in mind?”

“I'll think about it.”

“And I'm going to try very hard
not
to think about it.” He laughs. “You are going to get me in so much trouble. I got to run. I'll see you sixth.”

“Try not to grope me in class, okay? Kids might start to talk.”

Chapter 38

Andrew

The meeting is being held in a small conference room behind the receptionist's desk. “They're waiting for you,” she says.

“Thank you very much.”

I am smartly dressed in a pair of dark gray slacks and a white, long-sleeved button-down with a tie. And I am right on time. Nevertheless, when I open the door I apologize for keeping them waiting.

“I'm Andrew McNelis,” I say, extending my hand. Mr. Newman looks at it like I might have peed on it first. Like father like son. I withdraw my hand and greet Stephen (who also looks at me like I'm urine-soaked) and Mr. Redmon as I take a seat. This is going to be fun.

I lay my records out on the table in front of me. Mr. Redmon starts the meeting with some small talk. “Mr. Newman was just telling me that Stephen has been tapped for varsity next year.”

“That's great,” I say, looking directly at Stephen.
They must need a freakishly short ball boy
. He glares back at me. Neither he nor his dad responds.

Mr. Redmon clears his throat and suggests we get started. He asks me to talk about what I see going on in class and about Stephen's grades.

Fortunately, I have come prepared. I address his grades first since that's the most objective issue and the least likely to call my professionalism into question. I've printed out three copies of his grades and slide one over to Mr. Redmon and one to Mr. Newman.

“Stephen is not turning in his homework. I've received only three partially completed assignments since we returned from the holiday. Not only is that pulling his grade down, but I believe the lack of practice is really hurting his performance on quizzes and tests. The last test he took”âI remove that from the folder and pass it across the tableâ“he made a forty-nine on. As you can see, he didn't even attempt about a quarter of the problems. I gave him as much partial credit as I could on the other problems he missed. I also gave him the opportunity to make test corrections after a review with me. That could have brought his grade up to a seventy, but he declined.”

I rest my case.

Mr. Newman barely glances at the papers in front of him. When I'm done, he pushes them back across the table. I take them, stack them neatly, and return them to Stephen's file.

“My son doesn't like you,” he says, which are the first words he's spoken since I arrived.

“I understand that, but I'm not here to be popular with kids, Mr. Newman. I'm here to teach algebra.”

Mr. Redmon clears his throat again. “Mr. McNelis, Stephen believes that you have singled him out, that you are treating him differently than other students.” He consults the paper in front of him. “He's says you've humiliated him in class, that you've threatened to kick him, that you've told him to shut up and get out, and that you've stood him up for tutoring. He also says you called him a prick yesterday.”

That little prick.

“Mr. Redmon, I think I'm a pretty good classroom manager. Some of what Stephen has described is merely part of my management system. The kids understand it for what it is. When I tell a student I'm going to kick them, and then I'm going to kick their dog, absolutely
no one
takes that literally. The same goes for telling them to shut up and get out. I'm sure I say something like that a couple times a day, and have for over a year. It is not meant in any way to shame students.
They
know that. And I believe Stephen knows that too.

“As to why he's coming to you with this now,” I continue, “I can only assume he's expressing his anger at being held accountable. He's been increasingly disruptive in class.”

“That's a lie,” Stephen cuts in.

I continue without pause. “I have had no choice but to deal with his disruptions, including referring him to the office yesterday. I have a class to teach, and I cannot teach if a student insists on hijacking the entire class.”

“Everybody's talking in class,” Stephen sputters. “And everybody's goofing off because we're bored. He doesn't teach us anything. And he just doesn't like me.”

Mr. Redmon addresses me, ignoring Stephen's outburst. “Have you spoken with Mr. Newman about Stephen's behavior?”

“Actually, no. I think it's more effective if I work directly with my students. Unfortunately, in Stephen's case, I believe we were headed for parent intervention.”

I can tell from Mr. Redmon's demeanor that he appreciates the fact that I have dotted my i's and crossed my t's and that our discussion so far has remained professional. It makes his job a lot easier.

“Did you call Stephen a prick during tutoring yesterday?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Liar,” Stephen says again.

You know what, you little shit? Two can play this game. And I've had a hell of a lot more practice than you've had.

“I don't really understand why Stephen is so angry with me and why he is choosing to act out in class.” I say this looking directly at Stephen. I love the expression
act out.
It makes him sound like a two-year-old. “But I assure you I don't treat him any differently than any other student. If anything, I've given him more latitude with tardies and such just to avoid getting into a battle with him over petty issues. And I certainly haven't called him names.

“I am happy to do anything I can to get him back on track. In fact, I've already rearranged my own personal schedule to accommodate his football practice. I don't know what more I can do.”

Take
that,
twerp.

Mr. Redmon thanks me and releases me back to my classroom. He is clearly planning to remain behind to continue speaking with Stephen and his father. I offer my hand to Mr. Newman again just to emphasize what a pompous ass he is, and just as I expect, he refuses to shake.

Afraid of the gay?

I retrieve my hand, give him my biggest smile, and leave the room.

I can only imagine what's being said in there. If Mr. Redmon is half the principal I believe him to be, he's supporting me 100 percent, just as he said he would. If he believed everything kids told their parents about teachers, there'd be none of us left.

Last year Ms. Youngâone of our more senior teachers with thirty-five years in the classroom and six months from retirementâwas accused of inappropriate contact with a student because she, allegedly, tried to kiss one of the boys in her class. Yeah, she did. When kids misbehaved, she threatened to kiss them. That was
her
classroom management plan. First, she warned them. With the second warning she pulled out her fire-engine red lipstick and slathered it on her thin lips. There was no third warning. The next time a kid misbehaved, she gave him a big ol' smooch on the cheek. She rarely had to correct a student three times.

I get back with plenty of time to spare before first bell, and I have to admit, I'm feeling pretty good. Numbers don't lie, but kids do, all the time.

“How'd it go?” Jen says from my doorway.

“Good. We'll see what happens tomorrow.”

Robert

It's dark and it's pouring rain; we take advantage of both to make out in a far corner of the H-E-B parking lot. Andrew is soaking wet and his skin is cold and goose bumpy. I'm doing my damned best to warm him up. Nobody's undressing today, though. We're taking a risk as it is, but we're not
that
stupid. That doesn't mean that we're hanging out in the backseat like altar boys, though.

“Can you get away for a night this weekend?” he asks. “I'll get a hotel room downtownâa late Valentine's Day present, or maybe an early birthday present.”

“Really? All night? Like with a bed and everything? And a lock on the door? And no pictures of your ex-wife anywhere?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don't know. Are you sure your heart can take it?”

“You know, you keep that up and I'm going to . . .”

“You're going to what?”

“I'm going to dock you ten points on your next test.”

“Gasp. Abuse of power. Sorry, Teach.”

“Don't say that, okay?”