Rumors

by Phil M. Williams

  “I have to go. I’m going out. I’m not gonna sit around waiting for you.”

  “Don’t be like that.”

  Ashlee slammed shut her laptop. She opened her bedroom door. “What are you doing?”

  “Uh, nothing,” Caleb said. “I was just wondering where Mom is.”

  “She went out. Said she won’t be home until tomorrow.”

  “With who?”

  “I don’t know. Probably some douchebag.”

  “Did she leave any money for food?”

  Ashlee’s mouth turned up for a split second. “No. She said to make spaghetti.”

  Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. “You took the money, didn’t you?”

  “It was only ten bucks. You can’t buy pizza with that.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “I’m going out. I need it.”

  “I’m telling Mom.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll tell her how you were listening to my private conversation.”

  “Whatever.” Caleb started for the bathroom.

  “There’s pasta and half a jar of Ragu,” Ashlee called out.

  Caleb slammed the bathroom door behind him.

  CHAPTER 7

  Rick and His Dirty Little Secret

  Coach Rick Barnett turned his pickup truck into his neighborhood, the afternoon sun shining in his eyes. He flipped down his visor. Boxy stone colonials and brick ramblers built in the fifties sat on quarter-acre lots, with mature trees that caused a leaf-removal apocalypse for the residents every fall. He parked in the driveway of his one-story brick home and cut the engine. His garage was too small for his full-size truck.

  He stepped to the front door and pushed inside, into the foyer. Soft music played on the stereo in the living room. Perfume wafted in the air. Rick blew out a breath and walked into the living room. I really need to start locking my door.

  Heather Miles stood in high heels, heavy makeup, and nothing else. She was tan and toned from head to toe. “I thought we could celebrate the big win.”

  “It was just a scrimmage,” Rick said.

  She sauntered toward him, her hips rocking back and forth. Heather was in her mid-thirties, petite, with curly brown hair to her shoulders. She was pretty but overdone, like an eighties’ Glamour Shot.

  “You can’t come over here unannounced,” Rick said. “How would it look if someone saw you? You know how people talk around here.”

  “Maybe it’s time for the world to know.”

  Rick took a step back. “Did someone see you? One of the boys?”

  She frowned. “No, I parked around the corner. Went through the backyard.” She pressed out her lower lip. “Don’t I look pretty?”

  “Of course, but …” Rick glanced at her clothes in a small pile on the couch.

  “Don’t you want me?”

  Rick grabbed her thong and lacy bra, and handed them over. “We need to talk.”

  She snatched her underwear, then nearly toppled in her sky-high heels as she put on her thong. “I’m tired of being your dirty little secret.” She kicked off her heels, grabbed her T-shirt and jeans from the couch, and dressed, not bothering with the bra. She stood with her hands on her hips, her brown eyes boring a hole through him.

  “I told you from the beginning that I didn’t want anything serious. And I told you that I didn’t want this getting out.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “You’ve always been ashamed of me.”

  “Come on, Heather. How would it look if people knew I was sleeping with a player’s mother? How would Caleb feel? What do you think the other kids would say to him?”

  She wiped her eyes with her index finger. “Nobody would say shit if we got engaged.”

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that?”

  “I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

  She moved into his personal space, looking up at him. “Don’t do this. Please. I can be whatever you want.” She undid his belt.

  He stepped back, but she moved forward, holding firm and unbuttoning his khaki shorts. Rick removed her hand, buttoned his shorts, and fastened his belt. She sat on the couch, put her head in her hands, and cried. He sat next to her but out of reach.

  “Heather, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. If I could take it all back, I would.”

  She turned to him, her eyeliner streaking down her face. “Don’t you fuckin’ say that. I’m not some mistake. You’re just like every other man. You want what you want, but you don’t wanna be serious.”

  “You came on to me. This was your idea.”

  “Fuck you.” She stood from the couch and moved in front of him. Standing, she wasn’t much taller than Rick seated. She reared back and slapped him across the face.

  Rick stood, now towering over Heather. “You can leave now.”

  “You’re gonna regret this.”

  “I already do.”

  She grabbed her bra and heels and glared at Rick. “You can’t throw me away like fuckin’ trash.”

  “That’s not what this is,” Rick said. “I’m trying to be straight with you. I don’t love you.”

  “You don’t know what love is.” She stomped from the house, leaving the front door wide open in her wake.

  CHAPTER 8

  Janet and the Poison Apple

  Janet sashayed down the empty hall, flanked by red lockers, classroom doors, and the occasional drinking fountain. Coach Rick Barnett exited the staff bathroom.

  “How’s my favorite coach?” Janet said as she approached.

  Rick turned toward Janet.

  He was a decade her junior but just her type: tall, like her; athletic; a strong jawline with a symmetrical face; and those ice-blue eyes.

  “I’m all right,” Rick said, his face impassive.

  “The team looked good at the scrimmage. You guys ready for the Lions?”

  “Not yet. That’s why we practice all week.”

  She smiled wide. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have them ready to go by Friday. Shane’s really excited. His goal’s a state title.”

  Rick nodded. “That would be nice, but we have to focus on the Lions first. One game at a time.” He glanced down the hall. “I should get back to my class. Lewis is watching them for me.”

  “Of course. Me too. I need to check on one of the new teachers.”

  He turned to walk away.

  “Rick?”

  He turned back to Janet.

  She bit the corner of her lower lip. “If you ever want to … get a drink or something, let me know.”

  Rick smiled with his mouth closed, his eyes still. “Thanks, Janet.” He walked down the hall toward his classroom.

  Janet followed for a bit, then stopped at room number 122, Ms. Townsend, English Language Arts. Raucous voices spilled into the hall. She opened the door and stepped inside without knocking. Janet’s mouth hung open. The desks were arranged in a horseshoe. The room was awash in bright colors. Gwen Townsend and her twenty-seven students threw balled-up pieces of paper at each other, laughing, with huge smiles.

  “What is going on in here?” Janet shouted over the insanity. A piece of paper ricocheted off her glasses. Janet glared at the culprit. Drew Fuller. The eighteen-year-old senior piece-of-trailer-trash. Big nose, beady eyes, and forehead acne.

  “I’m sorry, Principal Wilcox. Total accident. I swear,” Drew said, showing his palms, with a barely detectable trace of a smirk. He went back to throwing paper balls, ignoring her authority along with the rest of the class.

  “That’s enough,” Gwen said, smiling and also ignoring Janet. The room quieted on Gwen’s cue. “Everyone pick up the paper ball closest to you. Only take one. Read the five facts, and try to figure out the person behind the facts. Remember. Only yes and no questions, and the first ten who ID the person correctly get a treat. Ready? … Go.”

  Janet narrowed her eyes at Gwen. She’d been hir
ed by Principal Pruitt without Janet’s input. Definitely not someone Janet would’ve hired. She could tell Gwen was all fluff and no substance. One of those teachers who was too damn nice to the students. Teachers like her made it hard for rigorous teachers and administrators like Janet. They did the hard work of instilling discipline, only to be undermined by teachers like Gwen.

  The students chattered, going from person to person, asking yes/no questions. Gwen turned her attention to Janet. “I’m sorry about that, Janet—”

  “Principal Wilcox.”

  “If you prefer.”

  “I’d like to talk to you outside … now.”

  Gwen turned to her class, holding up one hand. “Lovelies.”

  Her class laughed, then quieted.

  Drew said, “Lovelies?”

  Gwen smiled at the young man. “Yes, you are all my lovely students, so get used to it. I’ll be right back, but please continue with the icebreaker. Drew, will you keep track of the first ten winners?”

  “I got your back, Ms. Townsend.”

  Gwen followed Janet into the hall, shutting her door behind them. Gwen wore a pencil skirt and a loose blouse. She was fresh-faced, with milky skin, big blue eyes, and straight dark hair. A real-life Snow White. Janet thought, Where’s that poison apple?

  “Your classroom’s out of control,” Janet said.

  “I’m sorry, Principal Wilcox. We’re doing a first day icebreaker. It’s called snowball fight. The kids love it, but it can get out of hand.”

  “Well, your class is making entirely too much noise. What if one of the classes next to you was taking a test?”

  “On the first day of school?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “I’ll be more careful about the noise in the future.”

  “Consider this your first warning.” Janet turned on her heels and marched back to the main office.

  Principal Pruitt’s administrative assistant sat at the reception desk, typing on her laptop. She looked up from her screen. “Good morning, Vice Principal Wilcox.”

  Janet glared at the old woman. She wondered if Grace’s use of Vice Principal was purposely pejorative. Maybe to get under Janet’s skin. “Good morning, Secretary Moyer.”

  Grace Moyer smiled at Janet.

  Janet walked past reception to the back offices. Principal Pruitt’s office door was open. Pruitt sat behind his desk, laughing into his phone receiver. Don Pruitt had a ruddy complexion, stocky build, and a big blocky head atop a nearly nonexistent neck. He looked like an aging Barney Rubble.

  “All right now,” Principal Pruitt said. “Tell that beautiful wife of yours that I said hello. Yep. Of course. Bye.” He hung up the phone and looked at Janet. “Morning, Janet.”

  Janet stepped into his office, shutting the door behind her. “Hi, Don. How was your weekend?” Janet sat in one of the chairs in front of Pruitt’s desk.

  Principal Pruitt leaned back in his leather chair. “Nancy and I are officially empty nesters. We dropped off Mary at Penn State over the weekend. My back’s killing me from helping her move in. I’m getting old with a capital O.”

  “How does Nancy feel about being an empty nester?”

  He sighed. “She cried when we left State College, but that’s Nance. She’s emotional, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He paused for a moment. “Do you know how you can tell if you’re suffering from empty-nester syndrome?”

  “Depression?”

  Pruitt shook his head with a grin. “You call the power company and ask them to check your meter because the hot-water bill’s way too low.” He slapped his knee and laughed.

  Janet forced a smile. “You guys can have sex all over the house now.”

  Pruitt laughed again, his barrel chest moving up and down. “I’m not sure my old back’s ready for that. I just hope the good Lord’ll grant us good health for the duration.”

  “You and me both.”

  “You’re still a young woman. No need to worry about that yet.”

  Janet smiled at her boss. “Thank you, but I’m not that young.”

  “You’re a spring chicken compared to me. I’m an old rooster, too tough and gnarled even for the Crock-Pot.” He chuckled.

  “All right, you old rooster. When are you going to retire and live the good life with Nancy?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I need five years for full retirement. I’d rather not take a pay cut until Mary’s out of college.”

  Janet nodded. “There’s more to life than money.”

  “You’re right about that, young lady.”

  “So, I wanted to ask you about the new ELA teacher, Gwen Townsend.”

  “Great lady. A fantastic teacher too. She came with one heckuva résumé.”

  “She doesn’t have much control over her classroom. I had to reprimand her for the unruly behavior of her students.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. The students were throwing paper at each other. They were yelling and screaming. I think she might be a problem.”

  “Huh. I’m surprised. I figured she’d be a shining star.”

  “I’m not impressed with her.”

  “I guess I could talk to her.”

  “No, don’t worry about it. I’m on it. I am her evaluator.”

  “Don’t be too rough on her.”

  Janet tilted her head. “Of course not.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Gwen and the Gossip

  Gwen stood in her empty classroom, fiddling with the HDMI cable on her document camera, the picture still blue on the projector. She turned off the device, then turned it back on. That usually worked when she ran into technical difficulties. She waited for a moment. Still a blue screen. She went back to her desk, grabbed a few almonds, and took a swig of kombucha to wash it down. A portly woman breezed through her open door.

  “Hi,” she said, approaching. “I’m Rachel Kreider. I’m the gifted teacher, and I’m also the union president. I wanted to introduce myself.” Rachel thrust her hand out to Gwen.

  Gwen smiled and shook Rachel’s hand. “I’m Gwen Townsend. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Rachel’s brown hair was cut to shoulder length, her bangs short and straight across her forehead. She wore a short-sleeve sweater and high-waisted khakis. She looked like a mom circa 1987.

  “Are you planning to join the union?” Rachel asked. “I can get you the paperwork. It’s supereasy.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not interested in joining. I’m on a really tight budget.”

  “It’s not very expensive but definitely worth it.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Rachel forced a smile. “So, how’s your first day been? Got any nixie boys?”

  “Nixie?”

  Rachel giggled. “You know. Little troublemakers. It’s always the boys.”

  “So far the students have been very well behaved. Maybe too well behaved.”

  “Oh, that’s not possible.”

  “Everything’s so structured for them. It can stifle creativity.”

  “You give them an inch, they take a mile.”

  “Sometimes, but sometimes they need freedom and the responsibility that goes with it.”

  Rachel narrowed her small eyes for a split second. “So, I heard you used to teach in Philly.”

  Gwen nodded but didn’t elaborate.

  “Why did you leave? You get tired of all those nixie boys?” She giggled again. “I’m sure they’re a handful down there.” Rachel lowered her tone to a whisper. “You know? Most of them don’t even have fathers at home.”

  Gwen exhaled. “Having two engaged parents is a challenge everywhere.”

  “Oh, don’t I know it. Is that why you left?”

  A knock came from Gwen’s open door. Gwen and Rachel turned to the man walking toward them.

  “Gwen?”

  “You must be Greg,” Gwen said, extending her hand to the man.

  Greg looked young despite his scruffy beard. He was thin but had a paunc
h. His arms were pasty, without muscle definition. Occupational hazard of a sedentary tech guy.

  “Yepper. I got your ticket about the document camera,” Greg said, shaking her hand. His other hand held his phone.

  Gwen said to Rachel, “Will you excuse me for a minute?”

  “It’s gonna take a while. You might wanna come back,” Greg said to Rachel.

  Rachel scowled at Greg, then smiled at Gwen. “I’ll see you later. It was so nice to meet you.”

  “It was nice to meet you too, Rachel,” Gwen replied.

  Rachel waved and grinned on her way out.

  “You can thank me now,” Greg said, looking Gwen over with his eyes and holding his phone out front as if he were taking her picture.

  Gwen furrowed her brow. Did he just take my picture? That can’t be right. He wasn’t even looking at his phone.

  “Rachel’s the biggest gossip here. She’ll come into your room, waste your time, and then spread everything you tell her.”

  Gwen nodded. “Okay, … thanks for the heads-up.”

  Greg glanced at Gwen’s desktop with her containers of carrots, almonds, and cheese. “You have sixth period lunch?”

  “Seventh period. This is my planning period, but I was starving.”

  “I’m seventh period too.” He stared at her, his pupils dilated. “You, um, … uh, … wanna have lunch tomorrow?”

  Gwen forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s really nice of you to offer, but I normally eat at my desk and work through lunch.”

  Greg stepped back as if he’d been slapped. He adjusted his wire-rim glasses. “Let’s look at that document camera.” He spoke in a monotone, his kind affectations off in an instant. Greg walked toward the document camera, Gwen behind him.

  “I keep getting a blue screen,” Gwen said.

  Greg ignored her comment and powered on the camera and the projector. He tapped on the remote. The screen read Input, then HDMI. Her lesson appeared.

  “It’s working,” Gwen said, grinning. “Thank you so much.”

  He set down the remote and narrowed his eyes at Gwen. “You have to have it on the right input. You could’ve figured that out with a five-minute Google search. I’m not here to fix every little problem for you. My time is valuable.”