Down and Out in Bugtussle

by Stephanie McAfee

  I go in the kitchen, get a Diet Mountain Dew out of the fridge, and stick a bottle of water in my purse. I pick up my keys and walk out the door. Pissed off and ridiculously uncomfortable in my tight-ass pants, I drive to Bugtussle High School for my first official day on the job as a permanent substitute teacher.

  It feels strange turning into the parking lot, because the last time I was here, I’d just quit my job after being fired by my former principal, Catherine Hilliard, who was having an affair she thought no one knew about. But I knew all about it, and when she became privy to that information, she no longer wanted me out of there, but out that door I went anyway. She ended up resigning in order to keep her gross and disgusting affair with former superintendent Ardie Griffith a secret and, although leaving town with him in the middle of the night might not have been the best way to keep that under wraps, I’m glad that they’re both gone. As I’m pulling into my old parking space, I remember it’s not mine anymore and go park at the other end of the lot. I get out of my car, depressed by the fact that I didn’t even last a year away from this place. I walk in the side door next to the cafeteria and report to the conference room where Chloe Stacks, Bugtussle High School academic counselor, is waiting for me with a nice, neat stack of folders.

  “Hey, what are you doing in here? I thought Mrs. Moore handled all this business.” I take a seat and pray that my zipper has the strength to hold it together for the rest of the day.

  “She does, but Mr. Byer asked me to help her with this particular task because we’ve had some issues this year.”

  “What kind of issues?” I ask, not sure I even want to know. I tug at the band of my pants, wishing they would give a little and ease the squeeze on my waistline.

  “Very frustrating and time-consuming issues,” she says.

  “Alrighty then.” I take a shallow breath and tell myself to stay positive. “So how’s the house coming along?” Chloe recently purchased a very nice lake home for herself all by herself, and even though I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen inside and out, Chloe saw much room for improvement. Maybe she just wanted to make it hers because the last deed that bore her name also bore that of Richard Stacks, her abusive, controlling, and unbelievably unfaithful ex-husband, whom Lilly and I eventually managed to run out of town, divorce papers in hand. It wasn’t an easy thing to do and we had to pull a few shenanigans, but we got the job done.

  Chloe’s chattering away about the renovations when she stops talking and lowers her voice to a whisper. “Oh my goodness. Have I told you the latest Jackson family news?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Tate got transferred back to Tupelo.”

  “J.J.’s older brother?” I ask, and she nods. “I haven’t seen him in years. How is he?”

  “He’s awful. Just awful. You know, I met him at Christmas and I didn’t exactly love him, but I was like, Okay, it’s the holidays—he’s probably just had too much eggnog, so just be nice. Well, it wasn’t the eggnog!”

  “No?” I try not to smile. When Chloe finds someone she doesn’t like, it’s a rare moment and I want it to last.

  “No,” she says, whispering. “He came by my house Saturday morning and J.J. wasn’t even there! My doorbell rang and I opened the door and there was Tate Jackson. Said he was just stopping by to see how the renovations were going. Like he’s my contractor or something!”

  “So was it a promotion or a demotion that brought him back this way?”

  “Oh, it’s a promotion. He’s like the sales manager for the whole southeastern United States now, so he basically gets to pick where he wants to live. Fortunately, his job will require a lot of travel. He told me all of this while he was inspecting my new gutters.”

  “So is he married?”

  Chloe stares at me. “Of course not. He has the maturity level of a sixteen-year-old.”

  “Sounds like my kind of guy,” I say, and I’m only partly joking. Tate Jackson was a hottie back in the day.

  “Right,” she says. “Because you’d love to date a man who owns a stuffed fox and two dozen mounted deer head?” She shivers with disgust. “And don’t even get me started on those disgusting fish that are, as we speak, sitting in J.J.’s garage along with all the rest of his junk. All except for the fox. It had to be kept inside, so it’s in J.J.’s living room.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really! He’s staying with J.J. until he finds a house.”

  I can’t help myself. That makes me laugh out loud. “Why don’t you and J.J. just move in with each other already? I mean, y’all practically live together as it is.”

  “You know we have to be married first.”

  “You’re so old-fashioned.”

  “I am not!” she snaps. “That’s the way it’s supposed to be! If you and Mason had just gotten married instead of shacking up down there, you might still be there.”

  “And I would be miserable,” I remind her. “Can we just leave that in the past where it belongs? Please. Do you have any idea how relieved I was when I pulled back into the driveway of Gramma Jones’s house and put my stuff back in my old bedroom? I never want to leave there again. I don’t even want to go on vacation. Right or wrong, I’m happy to be home, okay?”

  “I’m sorry, Ace. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “You’re all fired up about Tate and his taxidermy collection.”

  “You know, I don’t understand why he couldn’t stay with his parents or with their sister. Okay, his sister has a family, so I do understand that, but I don’t know why he couldn’t just stay with their parents.”

  “Maybe they’re allergic to deceased animals,” I say. Chloe ignores me.

  “Why didn’t he just stay in Birmingham? J.J. says he has a nice house on a golf course. Now he has to sell it. This just upsets the balance of my life.”

  “He’s a golfer?”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s a regular outdoorsman,” she says with more than a hint of contempt.

  “You really don’t like this guy, do you?”

  “I really don’t. And you know, I try really hard to like people, but he just rubs me the wrong way.”

  “If he’s as good-looking as he used to be, he could rub me the right way,” I say, grinning.

  “He’s not. Now stop saying stuff like that before I vomit.”

  “Just keep in mind what you always tell me,” I say. “Things are never as bad as they seem.”

  “Well, that was before Tate moved home,” she says. She looks at the folders again. “I wish you wouldn’t do this, Ace. I wish you would just go to summer school and get certified to teach another subject.”

  “Like what?” I ask. “P.E.?” Maybe I could wear my sweatpants every day.

  “Or psychology. Mrs. Webster is retiring and we’re adding another block of classes in the fall, so there will be two openings in that department.” She looks at me with those big brown eyes. “Subbing is such a big step down for someone who used to teach here.”

  “Don’t snub the sub,” I say, and she rolls her eyes.

  “I’m concerned,” Chloe says.

  “About what?”

  “That doing this might not be the best way to get your job back from Cameron Becker.”

  “Chloe,” I say, “not only have I weaseled my way back into the good graces of the school board by taking a position that no one in her right mind would accept, but I could also use the cash. You might have noticed we’re having a bit of a cold spell and running the heat is not cheap. Besides, no one knows why I’m really here.”

  “Your motive will be crystal clear to anyone with half a brain.”

  “No, it won’t,” I tell her. “Just tell me who I’m working with and what hallway I’m in and I’ll be on my merry little way.”

  “You’ll be working with Stacey Dewberry.”

  “Who is Stacey Dewberry?”

  “She’s your rotation partner for the rest of the year.”

&
nbsp; “Yeah, I got that part, but who is she?”

  “Oh,” Chloe says, and I can tell by the look on her face that there’s something she doesn’t want to tell me. “You’ll just have to meet her.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” Chloe lowers her voice to a whisper. “She’s very, uh, unique, and she’s had some trouble adjusting, I guess you might say, to the high school environment.”

  “Are you kidding me, Chloe? Is she a fruitcake? You better not stick me with a freakin’ fruitcake.” Chloe smiles that sweet, pitiful smile of hers. “Chloe?”

  “She could really use a friend like you, Ace,” she says. “And since you’re dead set on being here anyway, you might as well take this small opportunity to do something good for someone who desperately needs a break. The kids make fun of her and she tries too hard and even I think she’s too serious about her job. She’s had a rough time, Ace, but she still shows up every morning with a smile on her face, and it would be so nice if you could ease a little of her pain and help her fit in.” She smiles at me. “Please.”

  “Why can’t you just put me with Mrs. Jennings?” I moan.

  “First of all, you know she’s in your—I mean, Ms. Becker’s hallway.”

  “Can you not call it that? Call it Coach Hatter’s hallway if you must assign it to someone.”

  “Mrs. Jennings and Mrs. Sable are in C Hall and D Hall like they have been since before we started working here. I’m just helping out with A Hall and B Hall. That’s it. I don’t have anything to do with what goes on in all the other hallways, and even if I did, it would be horribly tacky to suggest a change like that with only nine weeks left in the school year.”

  “Fine,” I say. “Sorry.”

  “Thank you,” Chloe says. “You will be covering A Hall and B Hall with Ms. Dewberry and, just so you know, Cameron Becker has a very good friend in A Hall, so don’t say anything around him that you don’t want getting back to her.” She looks at me. “And don’t use that to your advantage.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Probably not,” she says slowly. “His name is Freddie Dublin and, like Ms. Becker, this is his first year teaching.”

  “What does he teach?”

  “Drama,” she says.

  “Okay,” I say, making a mental note to try to buddy up with him the first chance I get. “So, what happened to the person who had this job before me?”

  “I mentioned some issues…,” she says.

  “And?”

  “Well, the first person we hired asked to be transferred to another hallway because he claimed Stacey Dewberry was sexually harassing him. When I told him he’d have to file a report and we’d have to have a hearing before the school board, he told me he didn’t want to do that and then he quit. The second person asked to be transferred to another school, but that was because of Mr. Dublin, and the most recent, a girl who started in January, well, she just stopped showing up after a few weeks.” Chloe sighs. “And we’ve had a string of temporary subs in and out since mid-February, and it’s been a mess because, as you know from experience, everything works better when we have the same people on rotation all the time.”

  “Well, you can depend on me to see this job through until the bitter end,” I tell her. “And I promise not to start any trouble. I’ll stay away from Freddie Dublin or be so disgustingly nice to him that it’ll make us all sick.” I smile and so does Chloe. “So, please, bring in my new partner in crime. I’m sorry, what I meant to say was education.”

  Chloe shakes her head and walks over to the intercom where she presses a button and pages Ms. Stacey Dewberry. Five minutes later, there’s a knock on the conference room door. I sit up straight in my chair, curious about my new coworker.

  “Be nice, Ace,” Chloe whispers as she walks to the door. “And don’t judge her until you get to know her.”

  “Oh come on, Chloe,” I whisper. “She can’t be that bad.”

  Chloe opens the door. “How are you today, Ms. Dewberry?” she asks sweetly.

  “Oh, I’m fine as frog hair, Mrs. Stacks,” Stacey Dewberry says with a big lopsided smile.

  “Won’t you join us?” Chloe asks, returning to her seat at the table.

  “Sure thing!” Stacey says with a bit too much gusto. I sit and stare, unable to say a word. I take in the outfit, piece by piece, as my new partner crosses the conference room and takes a seat at the table. She has on floral stirrup pants with a green V-neck sweater that’s layered over a hot pink turtleneck. There appear to be shoulder pads involved somewhere, probably in the sweater, which aren’t working for her unless she got up this morning wanting to look like a linebacker for the New Orleans Saints. She’s definitely more of a Fatty Patty than a Skinny Minnie, and her hair, which I have to force myself to stop staring at, is hot rolled and teased to the max. As she approaches the table, I fully expect her to whip out a boom box and ask me if I’m down with O.P.P. I’m slightly disappointed when she doesn’t. After she takes the seat across from me, I notice that she has very nice features, but I can’t really focus on the sea green eyes and Barbie doll nose because I’m so thoroughly distracted by that hair.

  “You must be Ms. Jones,” she says, jabbing a hand my way. I notice she has rings on every finger and one thumb.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, smiling way more than I should.

  Chloe immediately starts going over the schedule, after which Stacey informs me that she will be happy to show me around the teachers’ lounge. When Chloe mentions that I taught at Bugtussle High for almost six years, poor Stacey turns bright red and my heart aches over her embarrassment.

  “What did you teach?” she asks, not looking up.

  “Art,” I say.

  “Oh, so you want your old job back?” she says, making a full recovery.

  Chloe gives me a not-so-subtle I-told-you-so look while I say, “Oh, no, I’m just trying to make a little money on the side while I put in applications elsewhere. And I’m thinking about going to summer school and getting certified to teach psychology.” Chloe rolls her eyes.

  “I’m thinking about going to summer school, too,” Stacey Dewberry tells me, still smiling.

  “Ms. Dewberry is only one semester away from earning her bachelor’s degree,” Chloe gushes.

  “Oh really?” I say. “When did you start working on it?”

  “In 1993,” she replies. “But I dropped out in ’ninety-seven, halfway through my senior year.” She looks at the floor. “Bad experience with student teaching.”

  “Oh,” I say. I glance over at Chloe who is looking at Stacey Dewberry like she wants to give her a big, sappy hug. “Student teaching is tough,” I say, and Chloe nods.

  “Did you do it?” Stacey asks me.

  “No. I went for a bachelor’s in art history, then took a test to get my license,” I say. “Maybe you could do that instead of student teaching.” I look at Chloe, who frowns at me.

  “I tried that,” she says. “Took the test three times.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I say. Chloe is shaking her head at me now.

  “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing,” Stacey says, only “thing” and “wing” come out “thang” and “wang.” Chloe grimaces and I hold my breath for a second so I don’t giggle. Stacey continues. “I have to finish my degree first anyway, so I just consider the tests I already took to be some really expensive practice.” Chloe is smiling again. At Stacey. Not at me. “My transcript is under review right now by the University of Alabama because I don’t know if they’ll let me use the credits I earned back then or not.”

  “Well, they should,” Chloe says.

  “Yes,” I say. “They certainly should.”

  “If I don’t have to start all over from scratch, I’m moving to Tuscaloosa this summer and finishing that bad boy up. Finally gonna be a college graduate.” She grins. “Roll Tide!”

  “Roll Tide! Go Bama!” I say with a fist pump that draws another sharp look from Chloe. I deci
de to tone it down. “So, what do you want to teach?”

  “My certification will be in music, and I’d really like to work with the band.”

  “That sounds like a great plan,” I say, and then the bell rings to begin first period. I look at Chloe. “Man, I haven’t heard that sound in a while.”

  “I know,” Stacey says with a snort. “It totally took some getting used to for me, too.”

  I look at Chloe. She smiles and tells us both to have a good day. Stacey Dewberry and I leave the conference room and make our way through the crowded lobby to the double doors of A Hall.

  3

  Several students speak to me as I make my way down the hallway. Some teachers smile and wave; others pretend not to see me.

  “Who are you covering for today?” Stacey asks.

  “Mrs. Davis.”

  “She has pretty good classes, except fifth period is a little rowdy and—” She presses her lips together and looks at me, clearly uncertain about finishing her sentence. I raise my eyebrows and nod, inviting her to continue, and so she does. “I’ll tell you the truth, Ace—uh, Ms. Jones. Her third-period class is awful. Just awful. It’s all eleventh and twelfth graders, and the last time I was in there, they all started acting crazy! Plumb crazy, I tell ya! They were tripping and falling all over the place. It was terrible. They knocked over a bunch of desks and I had to call Mr. Byer on the intercom. He put a bunch of them in detention, so they all got mad at me. Like it was my fault they started acting like loony zoo animals.” She looks around, I assume, to make sure no one is eavesdropping on our conversation, and, sure enough, not a soul appears to be concerned about what the substitute teachers might be discussing. “And that first period is a first-class pain in the bamboozle,” she whispers.

  “Bamboozle?” She doesn’t answer, just points to her floral-clad rump. “Oh,” I say, nodding. I glance at her, careful to keep my eyes off that hair. “Whose room are you in?”

  “Mr. Tad’s,” she says with a smile. “He has small classes, so I’ll have an easy day.”