by Dave Cravens
“You’re right,” Parker agreed. She cleared her throat and turned away to mutter a quieter version. “Blue Ford needs to grow some gosh-darn fucking balls.”
“Look!” Drew pointed to the Sheriff’s car pulling alongside them with its flashing lights.
The Sheriff’s loud speaker squawked to life. “Clear the intersection.” Stated the voice. “Clear the intersection.”
The measured display of authority seemed to be just enough to snap everyone’s common sense back into place. Oncoming traffic halted to let Blue Ford in and the drop off lane was rolling once again.
“Do you know the Sheriff?” asked Drew. “He’s looking at you.”
Parker squinted to see Bill waving to her car as he continued on. “Kind of.” Wonder what he’s doing here? “Whatever, he cleared a path.”
Upon her turn, Parker pulled into the parking lot just as another car was leaving a “guest” space. Perfect timing! Parker slid into it with relative ease. She couldn’t believe her luck.
“You sure you can park here?” asked Maddy.
“Ha, ha,” Parker shot back sarcastically. “I’ve got to hunt down your music teacher, remember?”
Parker said goodbye to her kids and sent them off to their class lines on the playground. She eyed each teacher as they came out to collect their children, wondering which one might be the music teacher. Then, it occurred to her the music teacher would likely teach several classes and might not collect any kids right away. Before she could inquire anyone about it, a familiar voice broke her concentration.
“Something’s different about you,” said Julie Kimball as she approached with Glory at her side.
Parker hunched her shoulders. “I’m on time and wearing clothes that fit.”
Glory tilted his head, as if he wondered if Parker’s modest wardrobe was somehow a ploy to make him uninterested. “Well, you’re still kind of hot.”
“Thanks,” said Parker, unsure whether to be offended or flattered. Eager to stay on task, her eyes lit up with a new question. “Say, you two know most of the teachers at this school, right?”
Julie offered a rather mischievous smile. “Um, we know every teacher, every student and every parent who isn’t a No-See-Um at this school.”
“A No-See-Um?”
“Yeah,” said Glory. “By definition, they’re not hot. Or ugly. They’re just, you know -- there.”
“They blend in to the background,” Julie added. Her eyes lit up with her open smile. “OMG, Parker, this is the perfect time to get you up to speed on who is who and what is what around here!”
“Well, I don’t really have time for—”
“Perfect,” Julie cut her off. “Now listen closely.”
Julie and Glory went on to describe the categories of parents whose children attended Oak Creek Elementary, all through the lens of Julie’s eye for fashion and Glory’s sliding scale of hotness.
There were the Sports Clubbers -- easily identified by their expensive athletic wear designed to give off the impression they were going to the gym immediately after drop-off. But these were “false goddesses” in Julie’s estimation, as she spent an inordinate amount of time at the gym every day and kept close tabs as to who actually followed through.
Then there were the International Trophy Wives – a small contingent of foreigners, usually from Russia, China or some Eastern country who Julia and Glory guessed found their American husbands online through a ninety-day program. These were among Glory’s favorites, as they ranged from mildly hot, to super-hot and wore shocking colors of lipstick. The thicker the accent the better.
A more elite group, never to be denied were the Professionals. Dressed in suits or scrubs, these mothers and fathers loathed venturing onto school grounds and worked hard to blow through the drop-off lane as quickly as possible. In the rare instance they found themselves stepping onto school property, they associated with only their cellphones, loudly broadcasting their conversations so others could understand how important they were. Julie and Glory were split on this group, with Glory more forgiving of women in expensive dress suits. Parker wondered if she might have qualified for such a category at one time.
Then there were the PTA’ers, full time mothers who ran the gambit in attractiveness and likeability. They could often be found loitering around school grounds, generally appearing helpful and cheerful. “But it’s all an act,” Julie explained. “All these bitches are after is your money. Money, money, money. As if public schools are in some kind of perpetual financial crisis or something.”
Parker tilted her head, confused by the statement. “Aren’t they?”
“Whatever. I hate them.”
Glory argued against all PTA’ers being she-devils, happily naming off five he flirted with regularly. He then went on to detail several parent subsets.
The Helicopter Moms – generally newer mothers who constantly hovered over their children and pulled their roller bags to school for them (rarely hot.) These were not to be confused with the Yellers – veteran mothers who continually barked orders at their children from a long distance (never hot.) In direct contrast were the Vanishing Mothers – notorious for dropping their kids off at the curb for birthday parties and never on hand to discipline their hyper-active Ritalin-laced child when he or she set fire to a piece of furniture, placed a kitten in a microwave, or punched another kid in the crotch.
There were the Over-Achievers – usually well-tailored and manicured but afraid to sully their hands. The Parent Paparazzi – always adorned with cameras taking a thousand pictures of their spawn. The Pocho Cartel – those of Mexican descent who couldn’t speak Spanish. The Telemundos – those of Mexican descent who couldn’t speak English. And finally, as noted before, the mysterious No-See-Ums – the blandest of souls whose children had attended Oak Creek for years, but thanks to their preference for neutral color schemes, home-styled haircuts, and an inability to standout or speak up, were completely lost in the daily shuffle. Glory and Julie agreed that the parent body was mostly composed of No-See-Ums, but due to their very nature, it was impossible to directly prove they existed.
“Like black holes,” concluded Julie.
“In space,” added Glory. “Not the kind in your butt.”
“Wow,” said a wide-eyed Parker. She took a moment to digest the unexpected dissertation. “You make it sound like everyone here is a total asshole.”
“Well, what did you think of Glory and me when you first met us?” asked Julie.
“I thought you were total assholes.” Parker folded her arms. “I kind of still do.”
“Exactly. Which makes you the same.”
“Come again?”
Julie smiled. “You just gave us a brutally honest answer. You didn’t sugar coat it. You told it like it is. Like we do. We may be total assholes, but you’ll always know where we stand.”
Glory gave an enthusiastic thumbs up.
Julie frowned. “And trust me, the same can’t be said for any of these other assholes.” She wagged her finger to encompass all the remaining parents, students and teachers who began to disperse with the ring of the final bell—including the Baby-Faced mother from yesterday who Parker suddenly noticed stood at her side and likely had heard the entire conversation.
Baby Face’s face carried the same disapproving scowl she had before.
Julie’s eyes narrowed as if she were taking aim. “Whatever, Cheryl, move along! None of this concerns you!”
Baby Face quietly pushed her baby stroller away, crooking her head to continue her scowl at Julie.
Parker caught herself nodding. “Holy shit!” She shook her own head and fought off a shiver. “I’m disturbed by the fact that you’re almost making sense. And I nearly forgot what I was going to ask you in the first place!”
“Oh yeah!” Julie smiled and rubbed her hands together. “Was it about the gossip surrounding whoever parked in Heller’s driveway yesterday?”
“The perpetrator remains a mystery,” added Glo
ry, putting his thumb to the side trying to be helpful.
“Uh--no.” said Parker, looking away as she casually scratched the back of her head.
“Was it about the hunky new gym teacher who is also a war veteran and an eligible bachelor?”
“If you’re into that,” Glory’s thumb teetered toward the “down” position. “He’s alright.”
Parker waved her hands as she tried to recapture her own thoughts. “What? No, no, no.” She snapped her fingers, finally landing on it. “The school’s music teacher! I wanted to speak with the school’s music teacher!”
Julie smiled. “Oh yes, Mr. Bernstein! He’s very good.”
“Nice guy. Knows music.” Added Glory.
“Mr. Bernstein,” Parker took a mental note. She turned her focus on the scattering body of kids and teachers as they filed into the school’s doors. “Great, can you point him out? What does he look like?”
“He’s short. Caucasian. Grey hair.” Julie answered. “Glasses.”
“He answers to Mr. Bernstein.” Glory added.
Parker tried not to roll her eyes. “Yes, do you see him? I want to ask him about piano lessons.”
Julie sucked air in through her teeth as if suddenly in pain. “Oooooh, yeah, that might be a problem.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I think he was fired yesterday.”
17.
“What?!?”
Parker’s heart sank. She dropped her head and looked at the floor to absorb this heavy nugget of news that had somehow been buried deep in the gossip column of the last several minutes. “Julie – I feel like you could have led with that.”
Julie shrugged and looked at her watch. “Oh! I’m going to miss my spin class if I don’t get moving! We’ll see you later, okay?”
Glory’s phone buzzed. He checked it and pumped his fist in the air. “Yes! I’ve got a new fare. Later, Parker!”
Parker hardly noticed Glory’s exit. Her mind scrambled to make sense of a music teacher she’d never even met being fired from a school her daughter hardly even knew. Was it true? How had she missed this news? Why was he fired? What did it mean for the music program? How was Maddy going to react to another setback?
Parker instinctively walked toward the school’s front office and soon found herself confronting the sharply dressed silver-haired receptionist with ruby red lips.
“May I help you?” asked the receptionist.
“I’d like to see Principal Mendez,” demanded Parker.
“She’s not available,” answered the receptionist. “However, Principal Heller’s schedule is clear.”
Parker’s eyes narrowed at the mere mention of the name. “Vice Principal Heller?” she asked in a reflexive effort to correct the receptionist’s oversight.
“Yes,” answered the receptionist. Her voice dripped with disdain. “Vice Principal Heller.”
Parker eyed the receptionist carefully, noting her rim-rod posture and perfectly pressed dress. Oh, you’re a Heller Loyalist, aren’t you, Silver Fox? “Yeah, I would prefer to speak with Mendez.”
Silver Fox turned her nose up. “What does this concern?”
“I’ve questions regarding the school’s music teacher, Mr. Bernstein.”
“Mr. Bernstein is no longer employed by Oak Creek Elementary,” explained a new voice. A familiar voice. A voice that made Parker’s blood run cold.
Parker turned to see Vice Principal Heller stepping around the corner. Shit, are you constantly eavesdropping on people, Heller? Parker forced a smile. “Yes, I just heard.”
“That’s concerning,” Heller challenged. Her beady eyes carefully scanned Parker over. “Considering we have not formally announced his exit.”
“Can I ask why he was fired?”
Heller put her hands behind her back. “Mr. Bernstein is no longer employed by Oak Creek Elementary.”
“Right,” Parker took a deep breath. “I don’t suppose you could give me his contact information.”
“No.”
Parker rolled her eyes back to Silver Fox. “You see – this?” She pointed to the space between her and Heller. “This, is why I would have preferred to speak with Mendez.”
“Ms. Monroe,” Heller stepped forward. “Employers are not legally permitted to discuss the termination of an employee in the state of California. Nor are we allowed to divulge any personal contact information of employees.”
“He’s not an employee anymore.”
“Former employees.”
Parker took a step closer to Heller. “Well, can you tell me about the music program? What’s going to happen with that?”
Heller blinked. She swallowed. “There is no music program currently being offered at Oak Creek Elementary.”
“For how long?”
“I cannot say.”
“Are you going to hire a new teacher?”
“I cannot say.”
“You can’t, or you won’t?”
“Ms. Monroe,” Heller pulled her suit jacket tight. “Do you have any other business to conduct on school grounds?”
“I cannot say.”
Heller’s face turned red. “If you have no other business to conduct on school grounds, and are not a volunteer or an employee, then I suggest you get on with your day.”
“Great,” said Parker, folding her arms. “Then I’d like to volunteer.”
“Excellent,” Heller forced a smile. “Come back after you’ve had the proper background check from the Sheriff’s department. It usually takes two weeks to get cleared. Unless, of course, they find unusual gun violations.”
Holy fuck, Heller, was that a joke or are you throwing down with me?
Parker’s eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Other than despite being cleared by the Sheriff, as Principal—”
“Vice Principal.” Parker corrected.
“-- I can refuse volunteer status to any parent I deem disruptive to the school environment.”
“You’re saying I’m disruptive?”
“I’m saying if you are disruptive I will have you escorted from school grounds. Considering yesterday’s display of gunplay and poor choice of clothing you might want to tone things down.”
Parker’s blood boiled. “My poor choice of clothing?”
“Showing that much cleavage is never a good idea, especially around young boys. As a mother, I would think you’d understand that. Today, at least, you’ve chosen something more school appropriate.”
“Are you—fucking--kidding me?” Parker took another step closer to stand literally toe to toe with Heller. Her blood was boiling now. She clenched her right fist.
“Alright, Heller, everything checks out,” said Sheriff Bill as he suddenly appeared from the adjoining hallway. Bill stopped in his tracks as he noticed Parker and Heller facing off with one another. “Um – is everything okay?”
18.
Parker blinked, then slowly turned her head to look at Bill the Sheriff.
She forced a smile. “Bill?” she asked, surprised by his sudden appearance. “Bill!” she tried again, more as a statement this time as if seeing an old friend. “What – are – you – doing here?” Parker’s mind raced so quickly through the slot machine of possible answers she had to practically squeeze her words of her mouth.
Bill put his hands on his belt buckle. “Well, there was a break—”
“The Sheriff doesn’t need to explain anything,” Heller jumped in on Bill’s answer as she stepped between Parker and him to serve as a physical barrier. “It’s school business, and none of yours.”
Parker’s smile turned from fake to genuine. Hiding something, Heller? “I would argue it is my business. My children attend this school. If there is something amiss that could endanger them, I have a right to know. In fact, all the Oak Creek parents have a right to know. I bet, Bill would agree with me on that. Wouldn’t you, Bill?” Parker leaned to the side to see around Heller’s small frame.
&nbs
p; Bill raised his hands to signal a “don’t shoot.” He laughed nervously. “Yes, of course, but the school has a right to craft an appropriate communication to parents. We don’t want to cause any panic.”
“Panic?” Heller snapped.
Bill’s hands instinctively raised higher. “Not, that there is any reason to panic!” he corrected himself. He let off a nervous chuckle and looked at Parker. “Parker, really, your children aren’t in danger. I can assure you of that. I’d just wait for the official communication from the school district.”
Heller winced as she looked back and forth from Parker to Bill. “Do you two – know each other?” She practically choked on her question.
Bill tilted his head, as if unsure how to answer.
Though Parker still couldn’t place Bill in her memory, she trusted her mother was right about them attending school together and wanted to press the idea to see if Heller or Bill might break. “Bill and I are old classmates,” explained Parker. “You know, high school buddies. Class of ’92, right Bill?”
Bill blushed. “Actually, I was a year behind you.”
“Go Hawks!” Parker pumped her fist in the air to cover her blunder. “The point is, once a Hawk, always a Hawk. Birds of a feather do shit together, isn’t that right Bill?”
“Why do you keep saying my name?”
“Because that’s what old classmates do, Bill.”
“I see.” Confused, Bill raised his index finger as he looked back and forth from Heller to Parker. “I don’t see, actually, what is happening right now?”
Parker smiled at Heller. “Vice Principal Heller was just about to tell me all about Mr. Bernstein’s music program here at the school.”
Bill screwed his face up into an idiot grimace. “Really? Because I thought—”
“I just informed Ms. Monroe that Mr. Bernstein is no longer an employee of Oak Creek Elementary, and that we no longer have a music program.” Interrupted Heller.
Nice try, Heller. Now I know that Sheriff Bill knew about Bernstein’s job situation. But why would he be involved? Parker stepped forward to go toe to toe with Heller again. “What I don’t know, is that if I reach out to Mr. Bernstein for a recommendation for a private piano teacher for my daughter that I’m not, in fact, engaging with some crazy lunatic who was fired because he was caught fantasizing about dressing up in skin suits of the children he murders.”
