Rumors

by Phil M. Williams

  “She’s not here.”

  “Make yourself some spaghetti.”

  “We don’t have any Ragu left.”

  “Just use margarine.”

  “Whatever.”

  Caleb walked back to the kitchen, put pasta and water into a pot and set the electric burner on high. He grabbed some clean clothes, went to the bathroom and showered as his dinner cooked. He dressed and brushed his hair in the mirror. His straight brown hair was long in the front and covered his ears. He wore it swept to the side, like a certain pop star that he had a crush on, although he’d never admit that. Caleb had a cute face, clear skin, and bright green eyes. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that he looked so young. People often thought he was a middle-schooler.

  He returned to the kitchen with damp hair. He checked the pasta by throwing a piece against the wall. It stuck, so he turned off the burner. He strained the water through a colander and put his pasta in a bowl. The margarine was expired by four months, but he used it anyway. He opened the fruit cocktail and poured half the can into another bowl. He took his meal, along with a glass of water, to his bedroom. Caleb sat on his bed, looking at his phone as he ate. He sent a text.

  Caleb: Hey

  Madison: Hey yourself

  Caleb: How was your first day of school

  Madison: Actually pretty great. I met some nice girls. Love my classes. How about u

  Caleb: Sucked as usual. I wish I could’ve moved with you. I hate it here

  Madison: Wherever u go there u are

  Caleb: Huh?

  Madison: Something my therapist told me. I hate to say it but she was right

  Caleb: Right about what

  Madison: I thought I hated West Lake too but it’s a perspective thing. It doesn’t matter where u go ur problems follow u

  Caleb scowled at his phone.

  Caleb: U hated it here then u moved and now u love Cali

  Madison: I got help over the summer. Everyone should go to therapy. So enlightening. Know thyself! U should go. Seriously

  Caleb: With what money?

  Madison: Talk to the school counselor

  Caleb: Mrs Baumgartner is an idiot

  Madison: If u keep doing the same things you’ll keep getting the same results. Thinking that u won’t is the definition of insanity

  Caleb: Easy for u to say ur not stuck in this shithole

  Madison: No it’s not. I worked at getting better

  Caleb shook his head and tossed his phone to the foot of the bed. I liked you better before.

  CHAPTER 15

  Rick’s Summer Fling

  Rick’s phone buzzed as he parked in his driveway. He blew out a breath and exited his truck. Again, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He stopped at his front door; an envelope was taped to it. He looked around, expecting her to be watching. The sun was low on the horizon, coating everything and everyone in an orange glow. Grasshoppers flew and hopped, hanging on to the last bits of summer bliss.

  He snatched the envelope from his door, entered his brick rambler, and walked to the kitchen. He set his keys on the counter and removed his WL Wolf Pack hat. He took a deep breath and opened the envelope. It was a messy handwritten note, pen strokes jagged, as if the pen were a conduit for her anger. It wasn’t signed, but he knew who wrote it.

  Rick,

  Who the fuck you think you are? Your nobody. A fucking high school football coach. A loser. You will never do better than me. This is the biggest mistake of your life.

  I will not go away. You will not get away with this!!!!!!!!!!

  Fuck you, asshole

  Rick tossed the letter in the trash and checked his text messages. While he was at practice, he’d gotten eighteen new texts.

  Heather: Need to talk to u

  Heather: Call me

  Heather: Where r u

  Heather: I need u

  Heather: Don’t do this to me

  Heather: I still love u I know u still love me

  Heather: We can make it work

  Heather: Don’t do this it’s a mistake

  Heather: I can make u happy

  Heather: Why r u afraid to b with me

  Heather: R u a coward

  Heather: Where r u

  Heather: Talk to me please

  Heather: Don’t ignore me

  Heather: U will regret this. I’m the best thing ever happened to u

  Heather: Guys at gym r always asking me out. I don’t need ur bullshit

  Heather: U think u can throw me away

  Heather: I will make ur life a living hell

  Rick tapped her number.

  “Hello,” Heather said.

  “I’m gonna tell you this once,” Rick said. “You are not welcome at my home. Don’t text me or call me again. Do you understand me?”

  “You called me. I should call the police and file a PFA. Then I’ll tell your principal.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “You’re not gonna tell me what I can and can’t do. Fuck you, you fuckin’ asshole, loser, piece of shit—

  Rick disconnected the call and blocked her number.

  CHAPTER 16

  Janet and Rachel

  Red and white streamers dangled overhead as Janet walked down the empty hall. Rachel Kreider, the president of the teachers’ union and also the teacher for the gifted students, rounded the corner up ahead, coming from the opposite direction. She was dressed and ready for football Friday—mom jeans and a red-and-white WL football sweatshirt. Teachers were permitted casual dress on Fridays, provided they wore school-spirit attire. The chubby woman stopped and waited, then turned and accompanied Janet toward the main office.

  “I spoke with Gwen again,” Rachel said, walking in lockstep with Janet.

  “Anything interesting?” Janet asked.

  “No. She asked me to leave her classroom. Said she had work to do. Can you believe the nerve of that woman? What a snob.”

  “Something’s been bothering me about her ever since I met her. She looks familiar to me, but I can’t place her.”

  “Maybe you saw her at a conference?”

  Janet shook her head. “I haven’t been to a conference in years.”

  “Maybe you should call her last school.”

  “I did and all her references. They all had nothing but nice things to say about her. What’s weird is, she hasn’t worked in four years. I asked her old principal about it, and he said she needed time off to deal with a family tragedy, but I think he’s full of shit.”

  “That is weird.”

  They arrived at the main office, passed the reception desk, and entered Janet’s back office. Rachel shut the door behind her and sat across from Janet at the desk.

  “Well, I’ll keep digging,” Rachel said.

  Janet nodded. “We’ll find something. Everyone has something to hide.”

  “I noticed that she’s gotten rather chummy with Lewis.”

  “He’s another one I’d like to get rid of.”

  “Such a know-it-all.”

  “He’s constantly undermining the administration. Principal Pruitt could’ve fired him a long time ago for insubordination, but you know Pruitt.”

  “He never wants to rock the boat.”

  “Sometimes the boat needs to be rocked.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  Janet pursed her lips, waiting for Rachel to justify her existence in her office. “I should get back to work.” Janet’s eyes flicked to the door.

  “I do have something else I wanted to tell you. It’s about Shane and Coach Barnett.”

  Janet leaned toward Rachel, her elbows on her desk.

  Rachel had a hint of a smirk, relishing her temporary position of power. “One of the gals in my stitch-and-bitch group is good friends with Coach Schneider’s wife. She said that Coach Barnett likes that Jamar Burris kid. You know. The black boy?”

  “Of course Rick likes him. He’s the JV quarterback.”

  “But Coach Schneider thinks that Coach
Barnett might bench Shane if he doesn’t play well.”

  Janet frowned. “Shane’ll be great. He won’t let some sophomore take his position. And Rick won’t bench a senior, especially one as good as my son. Just the other day I was talking with Rick about scholarship opportunities for Shane.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Gwen and the Personal Narrative

  Gwen stood in front of her class, holding a double-sided piece of paper, reading from the typewritten text.

  “‘Just lose ten more pounds. Have smaller thighs. Your butt is too big. You’d be so pretty if you just lost some weight.’ These messages run through my head like a bad song on repeat. Why haven’t the messages gone away? I’ve learned to eat healthy, to exercise. I’m a healthy weight. I should have this obsession licked, but fat girl scars run deep.

  “‘Buffalo butt. Bubbles. If you were the leader of a gang, they would call it the chub gang.’ That last one’s my ‘favorite.’”

  Gwen heard a few stifled giggles from the back of the class. She glanced up from her paper, and the laughter ceased. She continued.

  “This is what I heard from the ages of ten to eighteen. These utterances came from my sister, my mother, classmates, and even strangers. Every incident inflicted emotional scarring to the point that I felt physical pain.

  “One incident in particular comes to mind. It was my senior year of high school. I had just turned seventeen, and I was ten pounds lighter than the year before. I was feeling a bit better about myself. The first semester went by quickly. Teachers and classes were fine, friends were decent, and the football team had just won the division championship. Things were looking up, or so I thought.

  “A few weeks after Christmas break, my best friend Amy and I sat in the lunchroom. I talked and she ate. I never ate lunch in high school. Not once. Two tables over, Mr. Football himself, Jim Davidson, razzed Donald, who was one of my neighbors and a kid who I had gone to school with since elementary school.

  “‘He looks like a weasel,’ Jim said in reference to Donald. ‘Seriously, look at him. The teeth and that big-ass nose. And look how close together his eyes are.’

  More laughter from the back of the room. Gwen glanced up from her paper. Shane and Lance, wearing their football jerseys, stifled their laughter with fists over their mouths. Gwen went back to the story.

  “Donald stood with his head down and tears in his eyes.

  “‘Shut up, Jim,’ I said, barely above a whisper.

  “Jim glared at me. ‘Did you say something, fat ass?’”

  Again, Shane and Lance chuckled. Gwen paused but didn’t reprimand them, then continued.

  “I spoke up, louder and clearer this time. ‘I said, shut up.’

  “Amy was shocked, her eyes wide open in response to my outburst. Donald used my distraction to walk away. Jim stood from his table and approached me, most of the cafeteria watching the fireworks.

  “‘What the hell’s your problem, Buffalo Butt?’ he said.”

  This time when Shane and Lance laughed, one of the girls in the front row turned to them and said, “Stop laughing. It’s not funny.”

  Another girl said, “You guys are so immature.”

  Again, Gwen did nothing, waited for the disturbance to pass, and continued.

  “I glared right back. ‘You’re my problem. I’m tired of you picking on everyone. How would you like it if someone picked on you?’

  “Jim grinned and said, ‘There’s nothing to pick on me about.’

  “‘You’re a loser.’

  “He laughed. ‘Loser? I’m the best football player in this school. I’m popular, and I can get any girl I want.’

  “I stood from the table. ‘Did you get a football scholarship?’

  “He didn’t respond.

  “‘You’re a good football player for this little school, but, at a bigger school, you’d be just another guy. You didn’t get a football scholarship because you’re not good enough.’

  “The lunch crowd laughed and heckled. Jim looked around, worry etched across his brows. He knew he was losing the crowd.

  “‘And what kind of grades do you get?’ I asked, twisting the knife.

  “Again, he didn’t respond.

  “I snapped my fingers. ‘Oh, that’s right. You’re barely passing. Not exactly college material, huh? In nine months, I’m going to college. I’ll get a good job. I’m exercising regularly, and I’ll continue to lose weight, but you’ll still be a loser.’

  “The crowd hooted and hollered, saying things like, ‘She got you,’ and ‘Loser,’ and ‘Burn.’ Even his best friend laughed at him.

  “For the first time, I walked out of that cafeteria with my head held high.

  “After school, Jim accosted me at my locker. ‘I need to talk to you,’ he said.

  “‘Why do you even bother with me?’ I replied.

  “‘Why did you get so mad? I was only kidding.’

  “‘Did you like it when everyone laughed at you?’

  “He shook his head.

  “‘That’s how I feel every time someone makes a snide comment about my weight. And I’m not the only one. Other people are tired of the teasing too.’

  “‘Like who? I’m friends with everyone,’ Jim said.

  “‘No, you’re not,’ I said. ‘Do you think Jenny likes it when you call her fish face? What about Bridget? Do you think she likes to be called whitey? Or Donald? Do you really think he likes to be compared to a weasel? To be honest, everyone’s sick of you.’

  “Four years later, I ran into Jim at a party. I had recently graduated from college, ready to begin my first year of teaching. I was healthy, happy, and twenty pounds lighter. I spotted Jim, but I acted like I didn’t see him. He looked to be about thirty pounds heavier, and I had heard that he had failed out of college.

  “He approached me. ‘Could I speak to you outside? Alone?’

  “I frowned. ‘I guess.’

  “We stepped outside, in the parking lot. It was warm and humid, the moon nearly full.

  “He took a deep breath. ‘I, uh, just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for all the stupid stuff I said to you in high school. And I wanted to thank you for what you said.’

  “I raised my eyebrows.

  “‘When you stood up to me, it was a wake-up call. You made me a better person, and, uh, … I wanted to thank you. So, thank you.’

  “Jim had grown as a person. He was no longer that arrogant bully. He was an empathetic young man who had regrets. I forgave him, and I let go of my ‘Fat Girl Scars.’”

  Gwen’s class applauded. She blotted her eyes with a balled-up tissue. It had been the fourth time she’d read the story today, but it still got to her.

  “That’s an example of a personal narrative,” Gwen said. “We all have unique experiences. So dig deep, be brave, and write about something meaningful to you.” She pointed to the due date on her whiteboard. “I’m giving you two weeks to complete your personal narratives. Does anyone have any questions?”

  Lance Osborn raised his hand from the back of the class.

  “Yes, Lance,” Gwen said, pointing at the handsome senior.

  “Is that really true, you being fat?” Lance asked.

  “Don’t ask that,” said a girl from the front row.

  “You’re so rude,” another girl said.

  “It’s okay,” Gwen said. “I was overweight as a kid, but that didn’t mean that I deserved the taunts and the bullying.”

  “Maybe they were trying to encourage you to lose weight, like a coach,” Lance said.

  “What position do you play in football?” Gwen asked, glancing at his red-and-white Wolf Pack jersey.

  “Wide receiver. It’s the guy who catches passes.”

  Gwen smiled. “I know what a wide receiver is. What if you dropped the winning touchdown pass—”

  “He better not drop the winning touchdown pass,” said Shane, wearing his number twelve jersey and sitting at the desk next to Lance.

  The cla
ss laughed.

  Gwen continued. “What if, after the game, the game where you dropped that winning touchdown pass, I said, ‘Lance, you can’t even catch a cold. You should quit because you’re the worst wide receiver who’s ever played the game of football.’”

  “Damn, Ms. Townsend, that’s cold,” Lance said.

  Gwen nodded. “Yes, it’s cold and cruel. If someone said that to you, do you think it would be easier or harder to catch that next touchdown pass?”

  Lance frowned but conceded. “Harder.”

  Gwen surveyed her class. They hung on her every word. “We all have things we’d like to improve about ourselves, but, if we have others bullying us and making us feel bad about ourselves, it becomes infinitely harder to do something about it because our self-esteem is so battered. Kids who are bullied are often neglected and abused at home, and, because of the abuse, they often lack self-esteem. This lack of confidence is like a bully magnet. So, not only do these battered souls deal with abuse at home but they also deal with it at school and will likely deal with it as an adult with an abusive boss or spouse.”

  “That’s messed up,” Jamar Burris said from the front row.

  Caleb Miles, sitting next to Jamar, stared at his desktop.

  “You’re right, Jamar. It’s a heartbreaking truth,” Gwen said. “Bullying is something I absolutely despise. I challenge each and every one of you to be a hero and to stand up to bullies whenever and wherever you see them.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Caleb and the Picture

  Caleb walked through the crowded hallway from Ms. Townsend’s classroom toward his locker. His head was tilted down, making eye contact only with the floor. He almost ran into two beautiful senior girls. He stopped and glanced at them.

  “I’m sorry,” Caleb said, then attempted to walk around them.

  They moved with him, still blocking his way. “Why did you send us that dick pic?” the brunette asked with her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Yeah, little pervert,” the blonde said.