Shadows of Memories (Baxter Academy)

by Charles, Jane

  Ten

  Thank goodness I did take Monday off. My first stop was the bank, which turned out to be the easiest part of the day. I’m already on Nana’s account and her safe deposit box so it’s easy enough for me to make the changes. The water, electric, gas, cable and telephone company were a nightmare. Each place was within days of cutting everything off. Since I didn’t have Nana’s checkbook, I had to beg them to take a partial payment until I can bring them up to date. I’ll somehow have to sneak her checkbook tonight and write myself a check for what I did pay because I’m wiped out. I barely make enough to cover my own rent, car payment and student loans, and these partial payments just emptied my pitiful savings and maxed out my two credit cards. I probably should try and grab her box of checks too, just in case she decides to start using those. Not that she can write one out, but you never know what she’ll do.

  At least her bank account is somewhat healthy. As she hasn’t paid anything in months, except for groceries, the balance is there to pay me back and bring her bills up to date.

  The one thing that hadn’t lapsed was her insurance and probably because she pays it quarterly. I removed the car from the policy, which should have been taken care of months ago. The homeowners’ is still in place, so hopefully everything is taken care of. I can’t think of any other bill she might have to pay. The house has been paid off. I do know that, but aren’t there property taxes or something? What if she threw that bill away? What does the city or county do? Take your house?

  Shit, the only thing I own is my car and I’m still making payments on that. I rent. I don’t have to be responsible for garbage, cable or any of that stuff. What if I’ve forgotten something important? I haven’t even been out of college a year. What the hell do I know about owning a house and all that goes with it?

  I’m so not prepared to Nana’s guardian, and that’s what I’ve become.

  Shit!

  Aren’t I supposed to ease into all of these adult responsibilities? Not get dumped headfirst into the deep end without a clue.

  The last thing I do is contact my landlord to break my lease. I can’t wait until summer to move in with Nana. She needs someone to watch out for her. Hell, I’m not sure she’s even eating. At least if I’m there, she’ll get breakfast and dinner.

  Even though it’ll cost me, I can break the lease, as long as I’m totally gone by the end of March, unless the place gets rented before then, but I don’t anticipate that happening. At least I have a month to move because I’ll need that time to get Nana’s house cleaned out. I really don’t want to bring my stuff in until we’ve purged a lot of the things she should have tossed long ago. Not so much with most of the house, but that locked room scares me and, my room hasn’t been touched since the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of college.

  The whole situation is overwhelming. Maybe I should have taken today off too.

  There’s a knock at my office door and I call for the person to come in. It’s Jada Daniels, another junior. “Come in, Jada.” I motion to the chair in front of my desk. I have to put my problems away. The students need me now. That’s where my concentration has to be. “We need to start talking about your future.”

  She sighs and slumps into the chair.

  “If you could have any career you want, what would it be?”

  “What’s the point, Miss Jenna? It’s not like I’m ever going to actually have a career. Let’s be real. This school is just a step above an institution. Nobody’s going to want me.”

  I wish to hell these kids could see that they do have futures.

  I push the anger aside. It isn’t their fault. They’ve been conditioned to accept that having dreams is pointless and that they’re lucky to have what they do. Most would be on the streets, in an abusive home or dead without Baxter, or the help they got before coming here. Hell, some of them still think they don’t deserve anything better and it pisses me off. I’m not angry at them but at the adults who didn’t protect them.

  “It’s a game I like to play,” I finally say. Though this isn’t a game at all. Their futures depend on what they accomplish at Baxter and in college. Maybe by the time they’re actually holding a bachelor’s degree they’ll begin to accept they have potential and can do anything they wish. Or at least have the confidence to give it one hell of a shot.

  “Fashion design.”

  This is a new career and something I haven’t researched before. “Why fashion?”

  “Have you seen Project Runway?” Her blue eyes light up when she smiles.

  I grin back, finally feeling a connection. And hope for her. “Yes.” It’s one of my favorite shows and I’m always amazed at what the designers can do in such a short time. I can barely sew on a button. Nana tried to teach me to sew. Not clothing but quilts. It was her favorite hobby. I did manage to make one of those “quilts in a day” once. It only took me a month.

  “My dream is to design clothing.”

  “And be on the show?”

  Jada’s face turns red. “I hope to be good enough one day.” She finally admits.

  “Do you know how to sew?” We might as well get the basics out of the way.

  She laughs. “I’ve been sewing since I was old enough to hold a needle. My grandmother bought me a beginner’s sewing machine when I was six.”

  I glance through her file. Jada was raised by her mother and grandmother, along with her three younger siblings. The mother overdosed when she was six and her grandma took over, working two jobs to make ends meet. When Jada was twelve, her grandmother died of a heart attack and she and her siblings were put into foster care. I don’t know what happened to the others, or to Jada for that matter, or how she ended up at Baxter. That’s never told to anyone. Only the therapists and psychologists have that information. The teachers, staff and high school counselors, like myself, focus only on preparing the kids for a future. Looking forward and never back, except at rare times like this and that’s only to determine what skills they may already have.

  “We didn’t have much money and we’d get remnants from the fabric store to make our clothes. When mom was gone, we made over some of her stuff and grandma let me make stuff from clothes she didn’t wear anymore.” Jada holds a sad smile. I think they’re good memories of a difficult time.

  “I miss sewing but I do get to do some here.”

  “Costuming?”

  “Yeah, but I want to create my own outfits.” She pulls a sketchpad from her bag and puts it on the desk. “Thanks for not letting them take it from me during the fire drill.”

  “May I?” Just because she took it out of her bag doesn’t mean I can touch it. These kids can be sensitive about a lot of things and I always ask for permission. It was drilled into us from day one. The students had so much taken from them or done to them, without permission that we are always to ask and never assume. They need to know they have control. At least in reasonable circumstances, such as this.

  “Please.” She’s practically bouncing on her seat, biting her bottom lip.

  I take the book and flip it open, looking at page after page of designs. I had no idea this was her talent. I knew she was in art classes, but I never dreamed this is what she was working on. “These are amazing,” I finally say.

  “Do you really think so?” She asks anxiously.

  “I wouldn’t tell you so if I didn’t think it.” As much as I want to help every student achieve their dream, I won’t lie to them if I think it’s impossible.

  I close the sketch pad and hand it back to her. “I guess we need to start researching schools for Fashion Design.”

  The smile slips from her face as she puts the book away. “It won’t do any good. I need to be able to show garments. Or, at least pictures of clothing I’ve actually designed and made before I’ll ever be considered.”

  She must have researched this before.

  “I can’t do that here and the costumes I help make don’t count.”

  “We still have little over a
year before you graduate,” I remind her. “Let me see what I can do.” If I have to take her to the fabric store myself, I will. But first, I’ll need to talk to Mag. She’ll know which administrator I’ll need to speak to for permission to switch Jada’s art concentration.

  I haven’t seen Jenna in two days, but she’s all I’ve been thinking about. Should I call her? Would she even talk to me? Go out with me?

  I already know the answer and should probably just give up. But I can’t. At the very least, I want to be her friend. At the most, possibly a hell of a lot more, but I can’t even get her to have a cup of coffee with me.

  Maybe I should get one of our mutual Facebook friends to intervene.

  Yes, I’m stalking her Facebook page, which does make me feel a little creepy. It still doesn’t stop me though. It’s my day to be with the ambulance, my part-time job, but we haven’t gotten any calls so I’m just kicking back in our small office, waiting to be needed, and practically creeping on her via social media.

  There are a ton of pictures. Hardly any that she’s posted. They’re mostly ones from friends where she’s been tagged. Nor does she post much herself, but comments on friends.

  The only male friends we have in common are Dylan, Joey, Ben, Justin and Kian. The rest are females. Since I already know what she thinks of me, I can just imagine what she makes of this coincidence. I’d like to think that as far as friends go, I’m probably about fifty-fifty, but it turns out, most of my friends are women. Either I need to stop friending females or get more guy friends.

  Bored, I go through the feeds. Alyssa Blake and Justin Smith, friends from high school, are getting married in nineteen days, according to Alyssa’s post. I’d forgotten. The invitation is at home. She attended Mercy when I was a student and she’s also a friend of Jenna’s. Had Jenna been at one of the parties with Alyssa?

  I click on Alyssa’s page and scroll through. I know she mentioned Jenna in earlier posts, or maybe she just tagged her in a photo. I can’t remember. The status I was looking for is only a few weeks old. There it is. Bridesmaids doing their final fittings and Jenna’s an attendant.

  I hadn’t really been looking forward to the wedding—until now.

  The radio beeps and I straighten and listen. A minute later, my partner, Tim, comes in the room. “There’s been an injury at Baxter.”

  “What happened?”

  “One of the students fell on the ice.”

  “Type of injury?”

  “She’s conscious but her leg hurts.”

  We like to know ahead of time what we’re going to find or be walking into when we get to Baxter. There have been suicide attempts and some kids have bad reactions to medications. They’re monitored closely, but sometimes the meds just don’t work like they should or adjustments need to be made. A kid falling on the ice can happen anywhere.

  One of the supervisors is standing at the gate when we pull up and they open it to let us in. For the most part, vehicles do not drive beyond the walls of Baxter, but stay in the parking lot on the other side. There’s a small area to drive within, and we follow the curve of the road, stopping where it ends and the sidewalk starts. There’s a group of people just ahead and we walk toward them.

  Jenna is leaning over a young girl. The crowd parts as we come near. Tim leans down on the other side of her.

  “What happened?” I ask, visually assessing her from head to foot.

  “I was in a hurry to get back to class and slid on the ice.”

  I nod. “What hurts?”

  “My knee.” She puts a hand on her left leg.

  “She can’t put any weight on it,” Jenna offers.

  Tim checks her eyes and pulse. “Did you hit your head?”

  “No.”

  “I need to test your leg,” I say before touching her.

  She grimaces and nods. When I took the job as an AMT and became a firefighter, we had training that was specifically Baxter related, and how to deal with the kids in different situations. I gently turn her leg and she winces. I then move her foot. More wincing. I stop touching her. “Let’s get the gurney.”

  “Gurney?” The girl’s eyes go wide with fear and she looks to Jenna.

  “They need to take you to the hospital to have your leg looked at,” Jenna explains.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she insists.

  “Would you like someone to go with you?” Jenna asks gently.

  “Please,” she whispers. Tears forming in her eyes. I’m not sure if it’s from fear or pain.

  I stand and walk toward the ambulance and Mag hurries to catch up to me. “What do you think it is?”

  “It could be a twist, sprain or break. Whatever it is, it probably needs to be x-rayed.”

  Mag glances back. “They’ll need to remove her clothing to examine her, right?”

  “Probably.” A doctor will want to visually examine the leg and he can’t do that through the jeans she’s wearing.

  “Her therapist will need to go along.”

  “No problem.”

  “And can you radio ahead and ask for a female doctor?”

  I meet her eyes and then nod. I don’t know what the kids at Baxter have gone through that eventually led them here, but some bad shit has happened to most of them. It sickens me that the sweet girl on the ice is afraid to go to a hospital, needs to have a therapist with her and worse, that it’s best that she not have a male doctor. I hope there’s a special place in hell set aside for people who hurt kids.

  Tim and I get the gurney out and begin rolling it down the sidewalk to the girl. Is she going to get upset if I touch her? I had moved her leg and her foot and she was okay with that. Tim had taken her pulse and she didn’t do anything. But, we’ll have to lift her now and some of these kids do not like being touched. I learned that the hard way once. Not that I had much choice. That kid would’ve bled to death if we left him where he was after slicing his wrist with a broken glass. He hadn’t even been trying to hurt himself. It was a freak accident, but the kid would have rather lie there bleeding before allowing me to help. The nurse on duty had to give him some kind of anti-anxiety medication before we could load him into the ambulance and take him in for stitches.

  I squat beside the girl. “I’m Cole. What’s your name?”

  “Jada.”

  “Jada, this is Tim.”

  She looks between us, fear and anxiety in her eyes. Or, it could be pain. I can’t read the kids here and I’ll probably never be able to.

  “What happened?” Kian asks as he walks up. He shows up whenever something happens here and probably got the call the same time I did.

  “Jada fell on the ice. We’ll need to take her to the hospital,” I explain and then look back at the girl who can’t be older than sixteen. “Jada, Tim and I are going to need to lift you to get you on the gurney. Is that okay?”

  “How?” I’m not sure if she’s afraid of being touched or can’t figure out how we are going to get her on there.

  “First, I’m going to put this around your leg so it doesn’t move any more than necessary.” It’s an immobilizer. “Is that okay?”

  She nods and I’m not picking up any anxiety from her. I slip it over her foot and up her leg before pulling on the straps to Velcro it tight.

  “How’s that?”

  “It hurts.”

  “Yeah. I’m afraid it’s going to until the doctor figures out what is wrong.” Tim hands me the board. “Now, Officer Kian and Tim are going to roll you to your right side and I’m going to slip the board under you. Is that okay?”

  “This is gonna hurt too, isn’t it.”

  “Probably,” I admit. No sense in lying. Besides, the kids at Baxter value honesty more than anyone else I’ve met. They want their information straight up with no sugar coating.

  “Okay.”

  Tim and Kian gently roll her as I slide the board as far as I can and they lay her gently back on it.

  “That wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

&nbs
p; Good. I hate to think we caused her more pain, but it was necessary.

  “We are going to lift the board now and transfer you to the gurney.”

  We repeat the same movements once she is there. Rolling her to her side so I can remove the board and then letting her rest back.

  “This is a lot better than the cold sidewalk,” she says after a moment and I chuckle, mainly because I’m relieved she didn’t become distressed.

  Tim covers her with blankets, tucking them beneath the mattress. She quickly pulls her arms out. That’s the first sign of any discomfort she has with the situation, other than her painful leg.

  “Miss Jenna?”

  “Yes, Jada.”

  “Keep my sketchpad safe?” It’s more of a question than a statement.

  “Of course.” Then I notice Jenna is holding a book close to her chest.

  “Thanks.”

  We roll her to the back of the ambulance and Tim and I load the gurney in. We can’t go anywhere until Mag returns with a therapist. Kian is standing at the back with his head inside the door. Beside him is Brooke Preston. I don’t even know where she came from. Jada begins asking all kinds of questions, almost in awe of what’s stored inside. I can hear Tim explaining everything. At least Jada isn’t scared. If she is, she’s hiding it damn well.

  I walk over to Jenna, who is sending the few students who had gathered back to their classes. It’s just me and her because the other adults are at the ambulance.

  “How you doing?”

  “Good.” She shrugs.

  “Your grandmother?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “If you ever want to get coffee and talk…” This is so not the time to be asking her out, but I can’t let the opportunity slip by me either.

  “I don’t think so, but thanks for your help Sunday.” She turns and walks away.

  Shit. What the hell can I do to get her to talk to me?

  Eleven

  I lean back, sipping my glass of wine, glad I came to the wedding shower. It’s been a long week and I’m glad to see it come to an end.