“You should’ve punched him in the mouth,” Luther said. “That’s what I would’ve done.”
Billy Ray’s eyes narrowed. “When the time’s right.” He swiped at his pants some more. “I would’ve done it now, but then he’d probably tell everybody that the only reason I was able to beat him up was because the ground was too slippery and he lost his ballence, or something stupid like that, the chicken. But this ain’t over. It ain’t over by a long shot.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
A black, Ford F-150 pickup truck pulled into the Rosemont School parking lot, taking up two spaces. The door on the driver’s side sported a large, white decal with the words CANSLER CUSTOM HOMEBUILDING & REMODELING in red letters. The front left side of the truck was bashed in with the fender and the hood pushed up. The dent gave the truck the appearance of a bulldog with a vicious snarl.
Billy Ray Cansler’s father stepped out. He wore black denim jeans, a matching black denim jacket, and a black, Panama, straw cowboy hat.
He took a final drag of his cigarette before tossing it in the snow and stamping it out with his boot.
Mr. Rathburn watched him through the window blinds.
“He’s here.”
“I’ll get Ms. Peña.” Ms. Martínez walked out of the conference room and summoned Izzy’s mother, who had been sitting on a bench in the hallway for about ten minutes.
A few moments later there was a knock on the conference room door. Mr. Rathburn greeted Mr. Cansler, then invited him to join the TEAM 3 teachers and Izzy’s mother at the table.
Keeping his hat on, Mr. Cansler took a seat next to Mrs. Frymire.
Mr. Rathburn opened a manila folder and pulled out a handful of files that included statements made by some of the teachers.
“Apparently, there’s been some trouble brewing for quite a while between Billy Ray and Israel,” he said in a serious tone. “I don’t know who started it, and to be quite frank with you, it doesn’t matter to me who did.”
“I can tell you who started it!” Ms. Peña cried. “Billy Ray and some other boys have been picking on my son and his friends for a long time. They threatened to hurt Izzy, and finally they did!”
Mr. Cansler’s face hardened. “Is that what your boy told you, ma’am? Did he also tell you that he’s been calling Billy Ray names? Purposely riling him, humiliating him in front of everybody? He and that other Mexican boy, the boxer, have been trying to get Billy Ray to fight ‘em. Now I’ve always told my son, ‘Don’t go looking for a fight, but if you find yourself in one, then you got every right to defend yourself.’”
“But your son wasn’t defending himself!” Ms. Peña sputtered. “He and his friends attacked Izzy. They almost killed him!”
Mr. Cansler waved off her accusation with a flicker of his hand. “Don’t exaggerate, ma’am. It was a snowball fight. All kids have ‘em. Your boy’s the one who climbed up that building and slipped off. You ain’t gonna lay that blame on Billy Ray.”
“Your son knocked him off!”
“He slipped! He shouldn’t have been up there in the first place!”
“Hold it! Time out.” Mr. Rathburn formed a T with his hands. “Mr. Cansler, Ms. Peña, let’s try to maintain some dignity here, shall we? I did not bring you two so you could have a shouting match.” He paused to give them a chance to cool down. “Like I was saying, it doesn’t matter to me who started it. The point is that it’s got to stop.”
He shuffled the papers in his hands. “Now, Mr. Cansler, this is not the first time I’ve had to talk with you regarding Billy Ray’s behavior. You’ll recall, last November, your son was suspended for fighting.”
“He didn’t start that fight! Them boys he sometimes hangs around with, they started it. Billy Ray just happened to be there. But when he got slugged, what was he supposed to do? Like I said before, he has every right…”
“Then in January,” Mr. Rathburn interrupted, “he was given an in-house suspension for popping firecrackers in the bathroom.”
“He was just fooling around with some leftover firecrackers from New Year’s Day. Don’t tell me you never popped firecrackers when you was a boy.”
“Not in the school bathrooms, sir,” Mr. Rathburn said under his breath. He glanced through the rest of the files. “Then there was the stink bomb in the cafeteria, the dead rat … ”
He sat the papers down and clasped his hands together. He gazed at Izzy’s mother with sympathetic eyes. “Ms. Peña, I sincerely regret what happened to your son. I truly do. But, since the incident happened away from school, there’s not much I can do about it.”
Ms. Peña blinked incredulously. “What? Izzy had to go to the hospital! He’s had to miss school, and I’ve had to take time off from work to take care of him, and you sit there and tell me you can’t do anything about it?”
“He slipped!” Mr. Cansler interjected. “The metal beam he climbed up on was icy and he slipped. Why is that so hard for you to understand, ma’am?”
“Your son’s a bully!”
Mr. Cansler crossed his arms defiantly and turned his head. “Let’s wrap this up, boss,” he told Mr. Rathburn. “I got more important things to do today. Some moron, who probably got his driver’s license at the school for the blind and can’t drive for spit, plowed into my pickup yesterday. I gotta see about getting it fixed.”
Ms. Martínez raised her hand. “Mr. Rathburn, it seems that at every rehearsal, Billy Ray taunts Izzy. As far as I can tell, the comments Izzy has made have only been said in self-defense. Perhaps we need to pull Billy Ray out of the Alamo program.”
Mr. Rathburn nodded. “That seems appropriate. At least it’s a step in the right direction. Everybody in agreement with that?”
Mrs. Frymire and Mrs. Pruitt promptly beamed telepathic messages to each other.
“Excuse me, Mr. Rathburn,” Mrs. Frymire said. “I think there are other ways we can resolve this without having to resort to pulling anyone out of the program.”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Pruitt joined in. “We’ll make sure to keep a closer watch on the boys.”
Ms. Martínez flinched. She hadn’t really expected the women to support her, but she didn’t think they would contradict her in front of the parents. Mr. Watts sat in his chair, mute. He stared uncomfortably at the tabletop.
Mr. Cansler aimed a finger at the principal’s face. “Understand this, boss. I agreed to build the Alamo façade for free. Ordinarily, I charge plenty of money to do that sort of work. But I ain’t building nothing if Billy Ray’s kicked off the show. You get me?”
“Well, if that bully stays in the program, I’m not gonna let Izzy be in it,” Ms. Peña fumed. “And you can forget about me making your costumes!”
Mr. Cansler sneered. “Well, that’s your prerogative, ma’am.”
Mr. Rathburn turned a cold eye on him. He did not care for that man at all. Ms. Peña was right. Billy Ray was a bully, and it wasn’t hard to tell where he picked up his habits.
If he could, he would transfer Billy Ray to an alternative school — the sort of place specifically set up for handling troublemakers. But district policy did not authorize him to do so. Not for an incident that happened off campus.
He stuffed the files back into the folder. “I’m going to fill out a report of our meeting this morning,” he told the parents. “Each of you will receive a copy.” Then he gave Mr. Cansler a stern warning. “If I have any more trouble with Billy Ray this year, I assure you, sir, that I will take stronger measures — much stronger measures — in dealing with him.” He stood and smiled diplomatically. He gave the parents a cursory “thank you” for taking the time to attend the meeting.
“That’s it?” an infuriated Ms. Peña spewed. “Izzy gets hurt, I have to take him to the hospital, and this is all you’re gonna do about it? That’s not right!” Her eyes watered up.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Peña.” Mr. Rathburn stretched out his hand, but she refused to shake it. She bolted out of the conference room crying, “That’s n
ot right! That’s not right!”
After the parents left, the teachers continued their discussion in the hallway.
“I told you Billy Ray was too unpredictable,” Ms. Martínez said.
“We are not taking him out of the show, Sandy!” Mrs. Pruitt said gruffly. “Anyway, you heard what happened. Billy Ray didn’t really do anything wrong. It was a snowball fight that got out of control.”
Ms. Martínez’s eyes widened. “Izzy’s suffered a concussion. He has fifteen stitches on his head. And you’re telling me that Billy Ray didn’t do anything wrong?”
She could feel her heart palpitating with increased speed. Why was it that no matter how hard she tried, she could not get along with her coworkers?
“I’m not defending Billy Ray,” Mrs. Frymire said, trying to sound impartial. “We know him all too well. But you have to admit that Izzy was the one who instigated this. We heard him teasing Billy Ray, insulting him, calling him a bald-headed baboon in front of everyone.”
“Actually, he called him a buck-toothed, bald-headed orangutan,” Mr. Watts corrected her.
Ms. Martínez glared at him.
“Hey, I’m just trying to keep the facts straight.”
Ms. Martínez made a final plea. “John Ahne can take Billy Ray’s place. I’m sure he knows the part. If not, it shouldn’t take him long to memorize it.”
Mrs. Pruitt smiled sarcastically. “Then who’ll build the Alamo for us, Sandy? You?”
Mrs. Frymire folded her arms. “Billy Ray’s staying in the play, and that’s final. We’re putting on the show in less than three weeks, and we’re not changing a thing.” She fixed an angry stare on Ms. Martínez. “Which reminds me, Mrs. Hornbuckle told me that you’re trying to kick Agatha out of the play. Is that true?”
Ms. Martínez scowled. “No! But Agatha’s failing, and she needs to come to my class for after-school tutoring.”
Mrs. Frymire regarded her critically. “That still doesn’t give you the authority to kick students out of the play.”
“I didn’t … ” Ms. Martínez threw her hands up in resignation. “Fine. Do whatever you want. But leave me out of it.” She stalked away, her heels striking the tile floor like ball peen hammers. And find someone else to teach the dances!”
Mr. Watts ran after her. “Sandy, wait up.”
As they watched them leave, Mrs. Pruitt sniffed haughtily. “That girl thinks she’s all that and a bag of chips.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Lunchtime was the usual scene of organized chaos. Two enormous lines of loud, talkative students, impatiently waiting to be fed, snaked along the cafeteria walls. The food servers, in assembly-like fashion, kept the lines moving, feverishly doling out globs of mashed potatoes, sliced carrots, and little brown meat patties.
Raquel Flores stood outside the cafeteria doors and watched Marco make his way into the serving area near the front of a line.
As soon as Marco paid and sat down, Raquel entered the cafeteria. She sneaked a glance at Marco’s table. Felipe and Orlando were sitting with him.
Once or twice, he looked up at her, but their eyes didn’t meet.
“Hi, Raquel,” a voice called from behind.
“Oh. Hi, Myra.”
“Boy, I thought Mrs. Ledbetter was never going to let me leave the band room. What’s for lunch? I’m starving.”
“I don’t know.” Raquel looked across the room. She saw Judy Welch sitting near a window. Raquel considered joining her but quickly changed her mind. Judy was sitting with Billy Ray Cansler and Luther Bowers. Ugh.
“Mrs. Ledbetter thinks I can be first-chair clarinet if I practice enough, but I’m not really sure I want to continue playing the clarinet” Myra said. “I’d like to switch to the trumpet, but my mom won’t let me. She says she spent a lot of money for my clarinet and that I can’t keep changing my mind. So I guess I’m stuck playing the clarinet for now. But maybe later, when I get to high school and the clarinet’s paid for, I can switch to the trumpet. What do you think?”
Raquel didn’t answer. It didn’t matter. Myra had plenty to say for the both of them.
“The reason Mrs. Ledbetter kept me a little late today was because I’ve been using a number two reed, and she thinks I would get a better sound if I used a two-and-ahalf reed. I didn’t think it would make that much of a difference, but I went ahead and tried one. And guess what? It was a great improvement. I get a much better sound out of a two-and-a-half reed than I did with my two reed.”
Would you shut up? Raquel wanted to say. She tried her best to ignore her, but Myra, whose voice she had once described to Marco as sounding like air slowly being released from a balloon, wasn’t taking the hint.
“You know the other day when Ms. Martínez was talking about ‘The Wizard of Oz’?” Myra droned on. “Well, I really do have the DVD. And it’s not just the regular DVD, either. It’s a special Collector’s Edition. It’s got lots of cool, behind-the-scenes stuff, including a clip of the jitterbug dance that was cut from the film. The producers felt that leaving the dance number in the movie might date it.”
Thankfully, the line had shrunk. Raquel entered the serving area. “Good morning,” she greeted the servers. “Everything looks so delicious today.”
Normally, she didn’t give the servers the time of day, but she needed to try something, anything, to silence the chatterbox.
The servers, unaccustomed to such a friendly reception, merely grunted as they piled scoops of food onto her tray.
“Did you know that Judy Garland wasn’t the original choice to play Dorothy in ‘The Wizard of Oz’?” Myra said. She wrapped some loose strands of her wiry, blond hair around her ears. “It was Shirley Temple. I think Shirley Temple would’ve made an even better Dorothy, don’t you? Anyway, there was a contract dispute or something, so the studio decided to go with Judy Garland. Also, did you know that in the book, The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy had silver slippers, not ruby ones? I guess the moviemakers thought red would look better than silver on the screen.”
Raquel paid for her food. She looked for a place to sit, but there were no empty chairs at any of her friends’ tables.
Marco glanced up at her, and for a second they locked eyes. Raquel quickly turned away. Then, with almost no emotion in her voice, she asked Myra, “Would you like to sit with me?”
A wide, happy smile spread across Myra’s face. “Sure!”
They found a table with two empty seats. After they sat down, Myra continued cranking out every piece of “Wizard of Oz” trivia she knew. That was fine. Raquel didn’t care. As long as she didn’t have to sit with Marco Díaz.
That sellout.
That’s what she called him. A sellout. Plus a few choice cuss words in Spanish.
“You know that actor, Buddy Ebsen, who played Jed Clampett on the old ‘Beverly Hillbillies’ TV show?” Myra asked. “Did you know he was the original choice to play the Tin Man? Well, after they applied the makeup on him, he had a terrible reaction to the silver paint. It made him so sick he wound up in the hospital. That’s why he had to give up his part in the movie.”
Raquel watched Marco and his friends get up from their table. They dropped their trays off in the dishwashing area and went outside.
Raquel rose and grabbed her tray. “See you, Myra. I’ve got to go.”
“Are you finished already?” Myra, who hadn’t even touched her food, was disappointed her audience was leaving.
“Yeah. See you.”
Raquel rushed off before the walking, talking, “Wizard of Oz” encyclopedia could say anything else.
She dumped her tray off, dashed out of the cafeteria, and headed down the hallway to the bathroom. Luckily, it was empty. Raquel entered a stall and sat on the toilet.
Her palms were clammy. Streaks of sweat trickled down her armpits, though the bathroom wasn’t particularly hot. Her insides felt as if a ghostly hand had clutched her intestines and was refusing to let go.
When she went to the Alamo rehearsal ye
sterday, her intention was to apologize to Marco. She was even going to ask him to give her back the teddy bear. She would act so grateful to have it. Even if the bear did creep her out. Then she would invite him to walk home with her.
But things didn’t work out that way.
As she watched Marco onstage in a scene with Moe Craddock, she became concerned about him. Marco looked exhausted. He sounded as if he was sick or something.
When the rehearsal was over, she asked him, “You feeling okay?”
“Sure, why?”
“You don’t look well. And the way you were coughing while you were onstage, you sounded terrible.”
Marco’s face turned red. “Look, Raquel, I don’t need for you to make fun of my acting. I’m doing the best I can. I’m not a professional, you know.”
She winced. “I wasn’t making fun of you, Marco. It’s just … ”
“It’s real easy to criticize others when you don’t have the guts to get up onstage, isn’t it!” he snapped. He’d had enough of Raquel’s constant whining. She didn’t like the play, she didn’t like his Valentine present and now she was making fun of his acting.
Raquel gritted her teeth. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
“I get it just fine, Raquel! You’re the one who doesn’t get it. You know the saying: ‘America, love it or leave it’? Well, if you don’t like the way things are done here, why don’t you go back to Mexico? I’m a proud Texan and a proud American!”
“No, I’ll tell you what you are!” Raquel fired back. “You’re a sellout!”
“What?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Just like those Tejanos at the Alamo. And Lorenzo de Zavala. You think you’re Jim Bowie who has to save Texas from us big bad Mexicans.” Her voice degenerated to a guttural rasp. “Well, take a close look at your skin, Marco. It’s as dark as mine.” Then she unleashed a flood of cuss words that silenced the entire auditorium.
Raquel used the bathroom. Then she washed her hands and face. As she stepped into the hall, she heard voices coming from the teacher’s workroom. The door was open, so she stole a peek. She saw Ms. Martínez talking to Mr. Watts. She looked as if she was crying.
Alamo Wars Page 10
