by R. R. Banks
"Hello, Gwendolyn," Mr. Jefferson said as I stepped into his office. "How is your first day back been?"
"It's been going pretty well," I said, feeling slightly uneasy. "Have you heard anything about the new student that I was supposed to have?"
The tall, almost skeletally thin principal looked up at me from the desk where he was sifting through papers. I would never understand how a man as seemingly flighty and disorganized as he was had risen through the ranks to become a principal of a high school. He was kind and compassionate, almost to a fault, but there was never a time when I saw him that he didn't seem at least slightly flustered, and as though his thoughts were a few steps behind or a few steps ahead what was actually happening in that moment.
"New student?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "Jason Baxter? He was supposed to be in my homeroom and in History. He hasn't been in either one of them today. I thought that he was supposed to start when the year started up again."
Mr. Jefferson looked at me as if he was trying to process what I was saying, then drew in a breath as though almost startled by remembering the new student.
"Oh, yes. Jason Baxter. We've been looking forward to welcoming him. He wasn't in either class?"
"No," I said, shaking my head. "Have you seen him in the office today?"
"No," Mr. Jefferson said. "I had intended to meet with him this morning, but time got away from me. I think that he and his father met with Mrs. Applegate, though. You should ask her."
I nodded.
"Thank you," I said.
I walked out of the principal's office and headed toward the office of the vice principal just down the hallway. She, too, was sitting behind her desk, which was not as chaotic as Mr. Jefferson's. Mrs. Applegate's desk was streamlined and calm. Not for the first time, I wondered why she was still in the vice principal position and he was the principal. I figured that it was because her role often entailed more actual interaction with the students and the parents which benefited from her organization and control, while he performed much like a figurehead of the school and charmed people with his charismatic and unassuming personality.
"Good afternoon, Gwendolyn," she said when she noticed me at her door.
"Hi," I said. "I just wanted to check in with you about the new student Jason Baxter."
"Yes," she said. "I had a brief meeting with him and his father this morning before classes started. Is there a problem?"
"I hope not," I said. "It's just that he is on the roster for two of my classes and I haven't seen him today. I just wanted to check to make sure that he hadn't been moved out of my classes."
The vice principal looked up at me with concern in her eyes.
"You haven't seen him?" she asked.
"No," I said, starting to feel frustrated having to repeat myself. "He was supposed to be in my homeroom and in my History class last period and he did not arrive for either one of them."
She stood and came around the desk.
"Have you talked to any of the other teachers?"
"No. When he was missing from homeroom this morning I assumed that it was because it was his first day and he was getting used to the school. I came here directly after the second class that he missed."
She nodded, looking toward the still-open door of her office.
"I'll page the teachers for his other classes and check to see if he was in either of them."
A few minutes later the other teachers had confirmed that Jason Baxter had not shown up for any of his classes that day. I was feeling myself slide between fear that something had happened to him and frustration at the thought that he was an angry teenager who might have tried to run back to his hometown. Mrs. Applegate told me that she would handle the situation and encouraged me to go use the last few remaining minutes of my lunch to get something to eat, but I couldn't think about anything other than this student being missing. I wandered the nearly empty hallways and thought that I had scoured the entire school when I noticed a door leading to the outside was being propped open by a rubber wedge. This school had not been overlooked by the nearly fanatical policy changes that have been put into place in response to the violence that had erupted in schools in recent years, as was evidenced by the sign on the door that declared it off limits during normal school hours and insisted the door always remain closed. I walked toward the door with the intention of removing the wedge when I noticed that someone was sitting just outside. I pulled my light blue sweater closer around myself in response to the cold air that was rushing in through the open door and peered out at the student.
The young man sat on the sidewalk with his back against the brick wall of the school and his knees pulled up to his chest. He was wearing black jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt that he had pulled down over his forehead, so I could barely see his face. His hands were clasped in front of him and I saw that he was wearing black fingerless gloves and the skin that was exposed looked dried as though chapped by the wind.
"Shouldn't you be in class?" I asked.
He didn't bother to look up at me, but I saw him shake his head slightly.
"Maybe," he said. "But not here."
"What do you mean?"
"I should be in class at my old school."
A realization suddenly hit me.
"Jason? Jason Baxter?"
He glanced up at me and I saw a distinct expression of disdain in his eyes.
"Who wants to know?" He asked.
People actually said that?
"I do," I said. "I'm Ms. Martin. I'm your homeroom teacher and your History teacher. You haven't been in either class today."
He scoffed and turned again to look back out over the parking lot.
"I know."
"Why haven't you?"
"Because I didn't want to."
"So, you decided instead that you were just going to come sit out here in the cold and stare out over a nearly empty parking lot?"
He shrugged.
"If you didn't want to be in class, why didn't you go somewhere? Why did you just sit here?"
Was I seriously asking him why he hadn't run away from school? I think that qualifies as contributing to the delinquency of a minor and am fairly certain that that's frowned upon in teachers.
"No car," he said. "Besides, I don't know where I am. I just moved here."
I nodded.
"I know. Come on, you need to come inside."
"Why?"
"Because it's still the middle of the school day and you're supposed to be in class."
"I told you, I don't want to."
"I don't really think that matters," I said. "Unless you've turned 18 recently, by law you have to be in school. You don't have the choice. And besides, three-quarters of the people in that building don't want to be here. If they have to be, you have to be. Come on."
I was genuinely surprised when he let out a labored sigh and climbed to his feet. I was fairly certain that most of his motivation to go inside balanced on the cold temperature and quickly worsening wind, but I decided to take a little credit for it anyway. Maybe later in the year we would look back at this as the defining moment of our mutually beneficial student-teacher relationship. Or I had just rewritten my life as an inspirational Women's Network movie.
As resistant as Jason had been when I found him outside, he became nothing short of defiant by the time we reached the office and I handed him over to Mr. Jefferson. I wasn't sure what the principal was going to do to handle the situation, but at this point, I was approximately thirty seconds away from the lunch bell ringing and I didn't want to risk my class sitting unsupervised in a classroom. I told Jason that I expected to see him the next day in homeroom and then hurried back to my classroom. The day had begun so optimistically, but now I felt suddenly drained and frustrated. My mood didn't improve through the afternoon and by the time the final bell rang, I was exhausted. I was walking down the main hallway toward the doors to the faculty parking lot when one of the other teachers scurried up to me.
"Hey, Gwendolyn," she said.
"Hi, Sarah," I said.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Just a long day," I said. "I think that the break kind of got the best of me."
She nodded.
"I know how that feels. But this is just your first year. You'll get used to it."
"I hope so. I just want to go home, take off these shoes, and relax for a while."
"Well, don't relax for too long, you don't want to forget to make the trifle."
I looked at her strangely.
"Trifle?" I asked.
Sarah's eyes widened and I realized that I had forgotten something.
"You have to make the trifle! That's supposed to be the centerpiece of the dessert table."
Her near-panic told me that whatever it was that I had forgotten was important.
"I'm sorry," I said. "What dessert table?"
Her eyes widened even further, and I worried that they might pop out.
"For the welcome party tonight! How can you have forgotten? We've been planning this for weeks."
I suddenly remembered what she was talking about and I groaned.
"Oh, that. I'm sorry, Sarah. I remember now."
In all fairness, it had mostly been her that had been planning this party for the last several weeks. She had taken up the cause of welcoming the town's new fire chief and roped me into helping arrange for a celebration at the community center that evening. I had promised to make my signature trifle for the dessert table and should have started the day before. The fact that none of it was made yet meant that I was going to have no time to relax when I got home from work. Instead, I was going to have to head straight into the kitchen and hope that I could put it together fast enough.
"Don't be late," Sara warned. "I need your help finishing the decorations."
I nodded, wondering how I had gotten myself so involved in this. Then I remembered that it was part of my push for more socialization that had occurred right before my miserable New Year's Eve date. I chastised myself for my reaction as I walked out of the school and toward my car. I had been excited about the prospect of the party and looked forward to helping Sarah get ready for it when we first started talking about it. I knew that the way that I was acting right now was just a reaction to the rough start with my new student and feeling like my aspirations to be the best teacher that I could be were being threatened. Actually, the way I was acting right now was just plain obnoxious and if I wasn't me I probably wouldn't like myself very much. With that thought in mind, I got behind the wheel of my car, pulled down my rearview mirror, and stared at myself. I plastered on a smile and kept it there until I started to feel some of the funk lifting from me. It was definitely a fake-it-til-you-make-it-situation, but it was working, and I was going to go with it.
The Reverend was waiting for me when I got back to the house and I took a few moments to cuddle with him and feed him a bowl of his favorite food before I got started on the trifle. He took a few mouthfuls and looked at me like he was forgiving me for my snippy mood recently. While the cake was baking, and the cream was chilling, I took a shower and then stood in front of my closet contemplating what I should wear to the party. I knew that it was just a community center gathering, but at the same time, it was an exciting evening for Silver Lake. The good old boy system had been alive and well for a long time in the town which meant that the fire department seemed largely like a hereditary monarchy. Things have gotten shook up in recent years, however, and with the welcoming of this new fire chief, it seemed that there might be a refreshing change coming. Besides, any time that there was some fresh blood in such a small town it was an exciting prospect, if for nothing more than the novelty of it all.
I had managed to heed Sarah's warning, but only just barely, scooting into the community center with just minutes to spare before the time that I told her I would arrive. I was balancing the finished trifle in one hand and unbuttoning my jacket with the other when she rushed up to me.
"Thank goodness! You finally made it!"
"I'm not even late," I pointed out.
"Well, things are going downhill fast. The balloons are the wrong color. The crepe paper isn't twisting properly. And the jello mold didn't set enough so now it's leaking all over the platter."
I wasn't entirely sure what a tizzy was, but I felt fairly certain that if there was anyone who had ever had one, it was her. Sarah seemed absolutely at the edge and I reached out with my free hand to pat her on the shoulder.
"It's going to be alright," I told her. "What color are the balloons?"
"Powder blue," she said.
I looked at her strangely.
"I thought that you wanted blue," I said.
"Baby blue!" Sarah wailed.
I patted her shoulder again.
"I think it's going to be alright," I repeated. "As for the jello mold, didn't you say that you were making a fire truck?"
"Yes," she said.
"Then we'll just tell everybody that the hose is leaking."
She didn't look completely convinced, but I didn't give her a chance to respond. I skirted around her and headed toward the dessert table where I deposited the trifle in the center. Then I turned and surveyed the rest of the room, trying to identify where I could be most helpful running interference between Sarah and the other people who might not know the level of perfectionist party planner crazy that was about to hit them.
Chapter Five
Garrett
I looked into the large mirror hanging on the wall for what felt like the thousandth time that evening and ran my fingers back through my hair. I chastised myself for the nervousness that I was feeling and the fact that it had reduced me to essentially an anxious teenage boy getting ready for his first date. Of course, I hadn't felt that way when I actually was a teenage boy, but that seemed to make this even worse. I was usually completely sure of myself.
In fact, I was downright cocky.
Something about Silver Lake, though, seemed to take that confidence out of me and leave me questioning myself at every turn. I didn't like it and I could only hope that its influence would dissipate over time as I got more used to being back there and to the people. In order for that to happen, I was going to have to get through the event that night that was inspiring the anxiety and sense of dread that had settled into my belly.
I checked my phone and realized that I only had a few minutes before I needed to leave if I was going to get to the community center in time for the party that was being held in my honor. I had heard of small towns rolling out the welcome wagon for new families, but I never thought it was an actual thing. Apparently, though, Silver Lake took this very seriously and was determined to make me feel as welcome as possible, while also giving me the grand tour of as many people from the town as was possible in one evening. It was that part that was making my palms sweat and my mind spin with what seemed like a never-ending series of worst-case scenarios. I knew in the logical part of my mind that I was being ridiculous at best and a massive pansy at worst. The chances that there was anyone still living in the town who was there when I lived there when I was younger were slim. Even if there were still people who lived here or family members of those people, I knew that they wouldn't recognize me. My last name wasn't the same that it had been when I lived here. That had been changed when my family shattered, and each individual shard was forced into a new existence. That would keep them from being able to judge me based on my family.
Knowing that, though, didn't stop me from worrying about a showdown with elderly townsfolk wanting to run me out again. The importance of the role of fire chief in a small town like this didn't escape me, and I didn't want to do anything that might compromise my reputation before I even had a chance to build it.
It was that same feeling that was motivating me to go to the party rather than concocting a mystery illness that would allow me to bow out of it gracefully. As much as I worried about the people of the town and how they might react
if they knew who I had been, I also felt the distance between then and now. I knew that I wasn't the same person and was living a different life. I came to this community not feeling as though I was coming "back" or returning home, and I wanted to continue that. I wanted to meet the people and do as much as I could to become a part of them. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had the opportunity to really establish roots, and I wanted to make the most of it.
Even if I thought there was a strong possibility that the majority of the town shutting down at nine might drive me to the brink of insanity.
There was a part of me that felt like maybe I could make up for everything in my past. I knew that it wasn't my fault. I had nothing to do with it. Yet I still carried the stain of my family inside of me and sometimes when people looked at me I thought that they could see it. That had influenced me, molded me, and crafted me into the person I was. I had fought to make the most of myself and to let that influence be a good thing for me and for my son. Now I could make atonement.
I leaned forward on the bathroom counter, pressing my hands down onto the cool marble and staring into my own eyes in the mirror in front of me. There were times, more often than I would like to admit when those eyes didn't even look like my own. Instead, they were my father's. They stared back at me with the same darkness and sent the same chill through my spine that they had that last night when I saw him. That was the night when those eyes turned to my mother and instead of just looking at her with disdain, they looked at her with hatred. I didn't know then that he shouldn't have been in the house that night. I didn't know that there was a piece of paper in my mother's bedroom that said he wasn't allowed to be near either of us. I didn't even know what a divorce was or that it meant that they were no longer together, and my father didn't live with us anymore. I had just figured that he was away for work or that he was visiting someone else over the last several weeks.
