“Sit,” Jil said, and the students dropped into their desks. “We’re already late.”
“Oh, c’mon, Miss, aren’t we supposed to study like current affairs and shit?”
“And stuff?” Jil corrected him. “Yes, I guess so. But vandalism isn’t exactly my idea of a choice discussion.”
“Well, there must be a reason that they’re putting that sh—stuff up there,” Kyle countered. “Maybe the students are sick of some of what’s going down. Maybe someone thinks it’s time to get even.”
“In what way?” Jil perched on the side of her desk. If the students opened up, maybe she’d get some clues.
“Like maybe they’re sick of the teachers ragging on them.”
“Yeah, or maybe they’re pissed about the caf food.” Joey laughed loudly.
“Yo, that shit is disgusting,” Jordan agreed from the back of the room. Jil looked at him, and he put his head back down again. Bex picked at her fingernails and didn’t say anything.
“What do you think it means, Miss?” asked Yasmine, a petite girl with a heavy Columbian accent.
“No idea. Maybe someone was bored on Sunday night and decided to come into school and play a prank. Maybe someone likes knowing that people are on edge. Or maybe, as you said, someone really is offended by an injustice, and this is the way they’re choosing to express it.”
“Yeah,” said Kyle, “and maybe someone wants revenge.”
“Revenge on what?”
Bex rolled her eyes. “If it were easy to talk about, people wouldn’t need to tag.”
Theo banged his textbook down on his desk, his eyes blazing. “Cowards.”
Before things could go any further, Jil took out her own textbook. She’d have to sleuth around later. “Page twenty-five. We’re going to start learning something today or you’ll be with me in August!”
The chatter stopped.
When the bell rang for end of period, she was surprised to see Jessica Blake outside her door. Her heart clenched, then resumed its normal rhythm at double-speed. The students thundered out the door, quieting immediately when they saw Jess standing there.
“Morning, Miss,” they said as they ducked their heads and hurried past her out the door to lunch.
“Hello. Save your iPod till you get outside, please. Jordan, take that hood down.”
“Hey, Ms. Blake.”
“Good morning, Rebecca. How are things?”
“Fine, Miss.”
“Great. Off to lunch?”
Bex shot a glance over her shoulder at Jil. “Can I, Miss?”
Jil nodded permission. “We’ll catch up another time.”
Bex ducked her head and left.
“Does Rebecca have detention?” Jess asked. The room had cleared, and her voice in the silence sounded incredulous.
“No, no. She’s just been absent for a while and needs some help to catch up on work.” She briefly considered telling Jess about the odd dynamic between Theo and Bex, but decided against it. Now wasn’t the time. She needed to wait until she had more to go on than a hunch.
“Ah. I see. It’s unlike her to miss school.”
“I think she and Alyssa were close,” Jil replied.
Jess’s face took on a distant and worried look at the mention of Alyssa’s name. “Oh. Did you send her to Student Services?”
“Tried. I don’t think she’s the kind of kid to go for help.”
“Hmm. Maybe I’ll pull her in for a talk.”
“Might not be a bad idea. How are Alyssa’s parents?
Jess sighed, and seemed to slump a little against the doorway. “They’re suing the school.”
“What for?”
“Not sure yet. Everything’s in closed-door meetings. Giovanni DiTullio’s handling it.”
“Really? You’re not even in the loop?”
Jess looked over her shoulder, and Jil read her fears. The hallway seemed clear, but this wasn’t really the place to be having this type of discussion. If she asked how Jess was doing, would she be crossing that line again? That line that was as unclear as a highway line in a blizzard?
“Do you want to come in?” she whispered.
Jess met her eyes and hesitated, then stepped inside and closed the door. “I shouldn’t have involved you in this,” she said, as soon as the knob clicked. “It’s not your problem.”
If it’s your problem, I want to help. But of course she couldn’t say that. “When will you have an idea of the outcome?”
“Next week? If they even decide to go through with it. The board might just settle to keep it out of the papers.” She leaned against the door and closed her eyes for a second.
Jil almost reached out to touch her arm, but Jess’s eyes opened, as if she’d suddenly remembered the reason for her visit.
“Payroll called.” She shifted a clipboard from one hand to the other, absently stretching and flexing her fingers like they were stiff. Probably too many hours filling out paperwork.
Jil raised her eyebrows. “Problems?”
“Yes. Apparently, you’re not on the list. Have you been getting a paycheck?”
“Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” Jil replied.
Jess grinned. “Going that well, eh?”
“Well, I can’t say this semester has been the smoothest period of my life.”
“You can say that again. I’m sorry this has to be your first teaching experience. Things aren’t exactly uneventful around here, but this semester is really taking the cake.”
“It’s all right. I’m only here til December anyway, right?”
Jess stopped. “Yes,” she said, as if that hadn’t occurred to her before. “You’re right. We’ll have to see if we can find somewhere else to put you. It’ll be quite a loss for us.”
“Thanks.” She meant it. No way she would ever consider staying, but it meant a lot to her that Jess valued her, at least.
“Anyway,” Jess went on. “I called and left a message for the HR person. Can you come down to the office today and get that straightened out with Mary?”
“Sure.” Of course she wasn’t on the list. She was on assignment, being paid out of the investigation’s budget. The school was getting a free teacher in exchange for the privilege of being surreptitiously scrutinized. She’d have to call Padraig and get that particular detail ironed out. It didn’t seem like Mary was the type of admin assistant to let things slide. She’d want a reconciliation. Pronto.
As Jess left, Jil found herself wondering why Jess had chosen to deliver the message personally. Surely she could have paged her to the office, or had a note dropped in her box.
Buck Weekly cornered her in the hallway on her way down to her office.
“Julia, I was wondering if you could give me a hand?”
Jil didn’t respond. Saying yes before knowing the request would probably get her involved in something lengthy and tedious, but she didn’t want to appear unfriendly or rude by saying no right off the bat.
“What is it, Buck?” she asked politely.
“I’m putting together the Thanksgiving Mass. Would you have time to look over the program?”
Jil shrugged. “Sure,” she replied, not knowing what else to say. Why not collaborate on a Mass? It would give the illusion of professional rapport—something they sorely lacked at the moment.
Buck led the way to his office, gesturing for her to sit at his desk. She perched gingerly on the side of his chair while he rumbled around the room, looking for something. She didn’t like the closed door, or the smell of his stale shirt as he leaned over the desk, reaching for a pen.
“Excuse me,” he said, a trace of annoyance in his voice. She scootched back. Why did he make her feel like she was in the way, when he’d asked her to come here in the first place?
He found the program and handed it to her, standing over her shoulder as she read.
Her heart flipped. She had no idea what would be appropriate at a Mass of Thanksgiving. If this was a test, she would s
urely fail.
“Would you excuse me?” Buck asked. “I need to see Jessica for a minute.”
Jil nodded. “Sure.” Anything to get him out of her space.
As soon as the door closed, she stuffed the program into her purse and grabbed a Post-it. “Forgot an appointment. Have to go. Took this copy home to give it some more thought. See you tomorrow.”
When she got back to her office to collect her things, she found the light on. She grabbed her bag and coat, flicked off the light switch, and locked the door. It seemed that she’d repeated this action once already this morning. Hadn’t she already turned the light out? Didn’t she always turn the light out when she left?
“Ms. Kinness.” Jil whipped around as she passed the chapel—a place that always made her faintly nervous. The chaplain stood in the doorway, a tentative smile on her face, her long white braid slung over her shoulder.
On closer look, Jil realized the chaplain wasn’t at all old. In fact, she was quite young. It was just the color of her hair that gave the impression of age. The Coke-bottle glasses didn’t help either. Her irises were a very light gray, and a permanent frown line creased her delicate forehead—as if she spent a great deal of time squinting. In fact, Jil realized, the chaplain had no pigment in her eyes at all.
Albinism.
“Hi.” Jil stopped.
“I was wondering if you had a moment to talk?”
Jil hesitated. She didn’t really want to go inside the chapel. That seemed to be a very likely place to get struck by lightning.
Ms. Reitman seemed to sense her feelings. “I have an office,” she said gently.
Jil exhaled. “Okay. Sure.”
She stepped into the chaplain’s rather small quarters—just enough room for a desk, a chair, and a bookshelf.
“Have a seat. My name is Maggie, by the way.”
“Julia,” said Jil.
“So how are you settling into St. Marguerite’s?” Maggie offered her a chair.
Jil sat, a little awkwardly, and tried not to stare at the huge tile mosaic portrait of Jesus starting down at her. “Fine, thanks. Have you been here long?”
“This is my second year.” Maggie took the lid off a jar on her desk and unwrapped a Werther’s. She offered the jar to Jil, but she shook her head.
“No, thanks.”
“My first few weeks were a little difficult, as I remember,” Maggie continued. She rolled up the sleeve of her denim shirt that looked like it had been hanging in her closet since the 1970s. It even had an embroidered cat on it, for God’s sake. Apparently, she was not exactly Ms. Fashion Conscious, which might explain why she always sat alone in the staff room. It was high school after all, and the cliques in the cafeteria only graduated to become the cliques in the staffroom. High school never changed.
“Why’s that?”
“Oh, because I’m a woman, I guess.” Maggie smiled ruefully and tapped a pen against her desk. “The chaplain before me had been here for well over thirty years. He was very…traditional…from what I understand. Some of the staff weren’t particularly thrilled with a female recruit.”
“Too bad.”
Maggie smiled.
“I didn’t know women could be chaplains.”
“Sure they can. My job is mostly to write the morning prayers and liaise with the Religion Department to organize events. Sometimes be a guest teacher in a class.”
As part of the Religion Department, maybe that would have been nice to know.
“I just can’t bless a sacrament or perform Mass.”
“So basically, nothing a priest can do.”
“That’s right. But neither could a male chaplain.”
Jil thought for a second. “But a male chaplain could study for the priesthood if he wanted.”
“Yes. He could. And then he could come back and perform Mass here at the school, if he wanted. But that still doesn’t make him any better a chaplain than I am.”
Jil smiled. This wasn’t at all what she had expected. She didn’t know why she suddenly felt like saying, “I’m a bit removed from the church,” but she said it.
“Interesting, for a religion teacher. What drew you away from the church?”
She stared past Maggie, at a portrait of Mary, under which hung a pearl rosary. That’s what she remembered most about church as a child. The rosary, slipping between her fingers as she counted out the prayers. She could still say it out loud.
Hail Mary, full of grace
The Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Fruit of thy womb. The most Catholic of virtues—life. Love, between a man and a woman, which created life.
Jil just looked at Maggie’s earnest face. For once, she couldn’t think of any lie to tell. She looked down at her hands. “Because I’m no longer welcome.”
Maggie tilted her head. “God always welcomes us back. When we’re ready.”
The sound of Buck Weekly’s voice echoed down the hall, and Jil remembered the program.
“I’m helping put together the Thanksgiving Mass,” she whispered.
“Oh?”
“Buck asked me.”
“Yes. Father MacEvoy called this morning to confirm the time. We’ll all head to the church down the road.”
“I get the feeling Buck’s testing me.”
Maggie chuckled. “That could very well be.”
Jil took out the program from her purse and handed it to Maggie, who read it carefully. “Well, this would be fine if it were Easter,” she said, a small smile playing at her lips. “Let’s make a few adjustments, shall we?”
She took out her Sunday missal and handed back the program. “Best be in your handwriting.”
Jil smiled and grabbed a pen while Maggie read out suggestions. In ten minutes, the program was unrecognizable, but peppered with Thanksgiving hymns, prayers, and readings, and they were both grinning.
“Thank you,” Jil said as she got up to leave.
“Anytime. The ladies must stick together.”
*
“Julia!” Buck called from a classroom down the hall.
She turned around in time to see him approaching.
“I left the program on your desk this morning,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I’m late for class.”
“Oh.” Buck looked at his watch. “I was wondering if you might be free this Saturday?”
She froze. “Excuse me?”
“For a field trip,” Buck said impatiently. “The residence students are supposed to have a session in the Outdoor Education Center on Saturday, but Rosie McMonahan’s out with the flu, and I need another female teacher with me.”
Jil considered this briefly. Buck supervised the residence students? Something about this required more investigation.
“Sure,” she said brightly. “What time?”
“Eight.”
“A.M?”
“Yes,” Buck said, a vague hint of annoyance tracing his words. “Is that a problem?”
“Not at all. I’ll be here.”
Chapter Eight
Saturday morning, Jil bundled into her freezing SUV with her mittened hands wrapped tightly around a large mug of coffee. Perhaps she should have thought to ask what this field trip would entail.
Buck had mentioned something about survival skills and a high ropes course, so she’d donned her hiking boots and sports clothes with layers. In her knapsack, she’d packed snacks, water, and a Swiss Army knife, though now she wondered if she should have left that at home.
“Better safe,” she muttered as she checked her bag one last time, then headed for St. Marguerite’s.
A school bus waited in the parking lot, its exhaust streaming blue clouds of steam into the crisp morning air. As she alighted from her vehicle, her feet made crunching indents in the frost-covered gravel.
Buck ambled toward her, grimacing. “Good morning. Glad you could join us. I was beginning to wonder.�
�
Jil looked at her watch: seven forty-five. “You told me eight.”
Buck stopped. “No, I said it started at eight. We still have a half-hour bus ride.”
Jil rolled her eyes inwardly, but outwardly smiled an apology. “I misunderstood. Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“As a general rule, Julia, I find it best to arrive early when I’m not sure of the schedule.”
Jil bit her tongue. “Ready whenever you are.”
She climbed on board the bus, where Mark Genovese took up the entire second row—his hulking torso packed into one double-seat, while his massive legs extended over the aisle to the other.
Jil saw the empty seat right behind the driver and scooted inside. “Good morning, Mark.”
“Hello, Julia.”
Buck was saying something to the driver, so Jil leaned in. “Did he tell you to get here for eight too?” she whispered.
Mark grunted. “That man is constantly confused. Must be all the medication.”
Jil pressed her lips together to avoid a snort, then sat down. Interesting.
From the back of the bus came a cheer, followed by some foot stomping and whistling.
Mark barely turned his head. “Quiet in the back,” he bellowed. An instant hush descended. A moment later, the bus pulled out.
Buck stood and took the microphone.
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. She snuck a look back at Mark, but he was staring straight ahead, his mouth pressed into a thin line.
“Good morning, senior Pathways students.”
“Good morning, Mr. Weekly,” they chorused, some more smart-assed than others.
“Today we have the privilege of attending the Outdoor Education Center to participate in their High Ropes Course. This is intended for credit toward your physical education requirements.”
“Yo, Mr. Weekly, I don’t take no phys ed,” called a boy from the back. His hair was gelled into a perfect fauxhawk, and he smirked at his buddies.
“Well, James, first of all, I’d appreciate if you raised your hand before making a comment. I was in the middle of speaking. How do you think I perceive your interrupting?”
UnCatholic Conduct Page 8
