by Susan Finlay
“I’ve got a painting business,” a man said. “I’ll help, as long as you can get some of those lazy kids to help. I’m not doing it for them.”
“Thank you. Our goal is to get everyone involved—students, teachers, and parents; especially our students. Most of our staff have already volunteered to help. We’ll be proposing the plan to the students on Monday. We must get at least twenty-five percent of the students to volunteer, or we won’t go forward with the plan. That’s something we all agreed on. We plan to do this over a weekend, so it should not interfere with most work schedules. A few of the local pizza places have agreed to provide pizzas for lunch. The superintendent and I have agreed to provide soft drinks and hot dogs for everyone working. Perhaps some of you can volunteer to head up the food committee and we would love for some of you to bring a dish, cookies, chips or other food to share. We can make this fun.”
“If that’s true, you can count me in.” At least twenty more parents chimed in with their commitment.
“Thank you. That will be wonderful.” Claire wrapped up the meeting with a few timing details and initial assignments, then thanked everyone again for coming and for their support.
She drove home, thinking about the meeting and about Steve. He’d called her earlier in the day to say he was still out of town, but asked her out again for the following week when he would be back from his trip. For the first time in months, she wasn’t worrying about anything.
Over the weekend, Claire packed Marcus in the car and drove up to Rocky Mountain National Park. She’d been too busy lately to give him the kind of attention he needed. Since he’d recently indicated an interest in science, she figured he’d enjoy getting out and learning about nature. The thought of the stranger who’d been watching them was an added reason to get out of town for a while.
At the student assembly on Monday, approximately one-third of the students seemed enthusiastic about painting and fixing up the school from what Claire could tell. They would have a better idea of participation later in the week, as she’d given all teachers a sign-up sheet for homeroom classes. They would start getting students to sign up and commit to volunteering for the project beginning Tuesday morning.
After the assembly, Claire went to Mr. Owens’s classroom. She’d spoken to him about her talking to one of his math classes. She slipped into the room and waited in the back while the teacher finished speaking to his students.
By way of introduction, Mr. Owens said, “Ms. Constantine is here this morning to talk with you about something related to math, but don’t worry, you won’t be tested on it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Owens.” Claire walked to the front of the room. “Have any of you ever heard of Game Theory?”
No one responded, other than with shuffling of feet and books.
“Well, basically Game Theory is a mathematical analysis of any situation involving a conflict of interest, where the person analyzing is trying to find the optimal choices that, under given conditions, will lead to a desired outcome.”
Students were looking at her with a dazed look on their faces.
“Have any of you ever played checkers or poker or tick-tack-toe?”
Almost everyone nodded.
“All right, then. You have actually already had some exposure to Game Theory. I won’t bore you with the background of the theory, except to tell you it was first explored by a French mathematician. During World War II military strategists used game theory to help them win the war. After that, the theory was picked up by people in the social sciences.”
Six students in the back of the room began whispering. Three students near the front were texting on their mobile phones. Someone on the left side of the room let out a wolf whistle. Claire couldn’t tell where that came from. All she knew for sure was that she was losing the students’ interest fast.
Looking closely at the students, she recognized many of them. Some she had dealt with in her office for some problem or offense, some others were students who had been on suspension for drugs found in their cars during the police department’s search.
That gave her an idea. It might not be the wisest thing do, however, but it might get the idea across.
“Have any of you ever heard of the famous game known as the Prisoner's Dilemma?”
The whispering stopped, and the students turned to look at Claire. She’d captured their interest.
“In this game two players are partners in a crime. They have been captured by the police. The police have evidence to convict the two for auto theft, but not for their suspected robbery. Each suspect is placed in a separate cell away from one another. Each is offered the opportunity to confess to the crime.
“If one of them confesses to the robbery and the other does not, the deal was that the confessor would go free and the other would incur a ten year sentence in prison. If both confessed, then each would be given a reduced six year prison sentence.”
A few heads nodded. Students were sitting up now, clearly interested.
“If neither suspect confessed, they would both be convicted of car theft and receive a three year sentence.”
One student said “So they are better off promising each other to not confess.”
“Not really. You see, even though keeping silent offers the lowest dual sentence for both, for each individual criminal, their best outcome is to shoot for freedom and no prison sentence, and therefore to break any made promise and confess. Each criminal must assume that the other will be tempted by the chance of no prison sentence and will therefore confess. The solution is that the criminals will look after their own best interest, will confess, and take the police department’s deal.”
Several students nodded.
“There is a simple mathematical game theory logic for this behavior. Each criminal has two choices, either remain silent or confess. If criminal one confesses and two remains silent or confesses, criminal one receives either zero or six years in prison. But if criminal one remains silent, then criminal two remains silent or confesses, resulting in either three years or ten years in prison. This is also true for criminal two. The choice is either zero or six on the one hand, or three and ten on the other.”
“I get it,” a male student Claire recognized as Johnny said. “So it’s about calculating odds. Is that it?”
“You’ve got it.”
“What happens if a suspect has no idea what his partner is going to do?”
“It’s always best to confess. The only way you can come out better is if neither of you confesses, which is taking a really big risk.”
Several students nodded.
Claire continued. “I’ve often heard students complain that math doesn’t apply to real-life, but it does. You’ll use basic math to manage your finances, figure out budgets, figure out percentages, etc. You can use more advanced math if you go on to study Game theory, which I briefly introduced you to. Game theory is the study of probability, a branch of mathematics focusing on the application of mathematical reasoning to competitive behavior. It’s used in economics, psychology, biology, political science, philosophy, logic, and computer science. Businessmen even use it in setting prices, say for bids on contracts.”
“Hey, it can probably help drug dealers who are competing with other dealers,” one student said.
Claire sighed. Yeah, they have the idea. I guess that’s something at least.
ON MONDAY EVENING when Claire went to pick up Marcus, Kate said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, but I can’t watch Marcus anymore.”
“What? Why not? Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“Is it because you have to watch him in your home? We could try back at my home if that’s the reason.” She didn’t like the idea, with the watcher getting bolder, but she hated to lose Kate and she would do whatever was necessary.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Claire gave Kate her final daycare payment and whisked Marcus into the car. What was she supposed to do on such short notice? She
was so preoccupied with her worries that she didn’t notice Marcus was crying until they were halfway home.
“It’s all right, Marcus. I know you’ll miss Nanny Kate, but it’ll be fine.”
In the rearview mirror she saw him raise his tear-streaked face. “She doesn’t like me, Mommy. She called me a freaky little bastard.”
What? Oh, bloody hell.
“Did she say why, Marcus?”
“She said I’m not like other kids.” His voice dropped to a whisper and Claire had to strain to hear him. “I ask too many questions.”
That could mean more than one thing. Maybe Kate was doing things that he questioned, that he suspected were wrong. Or it could mean that he pestered her with questions she didn’t know how to answer. That seemed most likely.
“What kind of questions?”
“You know, Mommy. Like why do some clouds make rain and some make snow? Or, why do some letters make more than one sound? ”
Yes, she did know. She’d been the same way when she was young. At age four, she’d been the youngest, smallest kid in class and the other kids had made fun of her because she was always either answering all the teacher’s questions or bombarding the teacher with more questions.
“I’m really sorry, my love. Unfortunately, people can be cruel, especially when they don’t understand you. You are different from most kids. Not freaky, but unique, sweetie. So am I. I understand you more than you could possibly know.” She fought back tears and paused a moment, hoping that she could speak without betraying her emotions. “Sooner or later you’ll have to get used to some people not understanding and being mean. Perhaps it’s time to enroll you in a preschool. That way, you can play with other kids and learn, too.”
His face lit up. “School? Yes.”
Great. Now she had to find an acceptable preschool, one that would accommodate a special little boy. God, she hoped she could find that—and quickly.
The following morning, Claire called Ron and told him she would be late to work and explained why. It took her half of the day, but she did find a preschool/daycare that she felt comfortable with and that would accept a new student. Marcus had been a bit shy at first, when the director introduced him to the other kids, but he quickly made friends with several boys. She interrupted their play for a minute to say goodbye. “I’ll pick you up after work, okay?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
A WEEK AND a half after Claire had announced the school facelift plan at the second parents’ meeting, final preparations for the big day were underway. Parents, students, and faculty would begin work at nine o’clock Saturday. That, of course, assumed everyone who signed up actually showed up and brought with them what they had agreed. Recognizing that was a pretty big assumption, Claire was keeping her fingers crossed in hopes that her fears wouldn’t come to pass. Steve wouldn’t be there. She wasn’t even sure if he knew about the remodeling project. She hadn’t seen him in two weeks and he hadn’t attended the second parent meeting. He had even cancelled their date for last week, saying he had to take time off from work and travel to Massachusetts to visit his mother who was in the hospital undergoing surgery.
Claire had left color schemes for classrooms up to the students and teachers to plan together, while she, Ron, and the others in the Admin office had picked the colors for offices, hallways, and the main lobby. Paint and hardware store owners had donated much of the paint, but Claire had bought the rest of the paint with her own money.
By Friday afternoon, she had obtained estimates for a new heater and had scheduled the installation of the new heating system for Wednesday of the following week. She’d also spoken over the phone with a parent who owned a lighting business about replacing several damaged lights in the building hallways. He said he’d be at the school Saturday, since he and his daughter, Jenny, planned to help with the painting. “I’ll ask Jenny to introduce us while we’re there,” he’d said, “and we can go over options.”
Frank and his family were among the first to arrive early Saturday, after Claire and Ron. Frank’s wife Gloria was an attractive blonde with flaxen blond hair halfway down her back. She was a bit heavy, but not much, maybe fifteen pounds overweight. Amy was a slender, pretty fourteen-year-old with waist-length blonde hair. Kyle was a football-playing sixteen-year-old, and a charmer with light curly brown hair and an adorable smile. Both kids sported their father’s blue-gray eyes.
“What grades are you in?” Claire asked.
“I’m a freshman,” Amy said, “and he’s a junior.”
“Where do you go to school?”
“Wilkins High School,” Kyle said, “but I’m beginning to wish I went here.”
They talked and laughed for a while until others arrived. Soon the building was a madhouse, bustling with activity. Claire was delighted. She had been expecting three-hundred-fifty people total, but by ten o’clock, she suspected there was closer to five-hundred-fifty. Ron was in charge of directing and assigning tasks to avoid total chaos. Claire was responsible for answering questions and resolving any problems that might arise.
While Claire was painting in the faculty lounge, she heard a familiar voice talking to Frank. She looked up and saw Steve in the doorway. He and Frank were joking around. When they finished, Steve approached her and smiled.
She looked around. No one was watching them, and she said, “I thought you were still out of town. I’m really glad you could make it. I’ve missed you.”
“I wouldn’t miss this for anything. Frank told me about it. What can I do to help? Oh, and by the way, I’ve missed you, too.”
“Grab a paint brush or a roller, your choice.”
An hour later when Ron made an announcement over the intercom that pizza, hot dogs, sodas, and other foods had arrived, compliments of local pizza restaurants, the faculty, and parent donations, there was a mad rush for the cafeteria.
After lunch Jenny introduced her father to Claire. He’d brought with him several options for replacement lights. Claire made her choices, and he promised he’d have replacements installed next Tuesday.
It was a costly improvement she’d have to pay for out of her own pocket, but the employees and students had earned a reward. Claire was grateful she could afford it. Having improved lighting in the school halls would be worth its weight in gold. Fewer dark hiding places meant less crime. At least she hoped so.
By the end of the day, the whole school was a cheerier place. Although it was too cold really enjoy being outdoors, volunteers did manage to trim back the bushes, making them less conducive to hiding. They also shoveled and raked in several yards of mulch that had been delivered the previous day. Everyone was tired, but pride showed in all their faces as they appraised their work. It looked good, inside and out. Claire felt an overwhelming pride, too, not only in the work, but also in these people who were laughing and enjoying themselves.
After almost everyone had gone, Claire and Steve stayed to move bags of trash left behind to the school trash bin. As they walked through the building, Claire had a better chance to really take in and assess all the changes to the building. The main entrance was immaculate and bathed in light. The walls would hold the fresh paint smell for a while, but even without the smell no one could miss the abrupt change from its prior dingy gray to the now bright creamy yellow.
Incredible. Even the lockers in the long hallway visible in the distance shined from their fresh coat of tan paint coordinating with the original gold-flecked tan linoleum floors, scrubbed cleaned and waxed to a glistening sheen. Large plants set in brightly colored adobe clay pots had been donated by a local nursery and arranged in strategic places, giving lively splashes of red and orange and blue and green.
Doors to the various offices and classrooms were painted a warm, burnt orange as a splash of bright color, while the trim around the doors and windows was painted the same calming tan as the lockers. The stairs still had their original walnut risers and concrete treads, but the old, black wrought iron railings were now painted the same
tan color as the lockers.
The overall effect was warm and welcoming.
After locking up, Steve and Claire left and walked around the side of the building toward the faculty car park adjacent to a side street lined with old two-story houses and tall oak trees whose roots had over the years lifted up the sidewalk in many places.
“Where are you parked?” Claire asked.
“Down the road on this street.” He pointed straight ahead. “I’m about a block down. That’s what happens when you get here late. Both parking lots were full. I’ll walk with you to your car, though.”
“That’s all right. You don’t have to do that. It’s been a long day and we’re both tired. No sense walking more than you have to.”
“Okay. I’ll call you later. I’d give you a kiss before I leave, but it’s probably not a good idea. Could be some students lingering around.”
“True. Good night. Thanks for all your help.” She waved and turned to the right and walked across the car park. When she reached her car and took out her keys, she felt someone standing next to her. Steve must have changed his mind. She turned to speak to him and gasped. The man with wavy blond hair was standing two feet from her. She backed up and bumped up against her car.
Was he going to kill her? She glanced right and left. Could she make a break for safety?
“Don’t bother running,” he said. “I was on my high school track team and my college’s track team. You won’t outrun me.”
She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Why have you been following me? Who are you?”
“I’m doing my job, which is to find out about you.”
“Who hired you, and why?”
“That’s privileged information.”
“Not good enough,” she shouted. “You made me drive recklessly when you were chasing me, and if it weren’t for that police officer who pulled me over, you probably would have caused an accident.”
“Not my fault you’re a lousy driver.”
“I’m not. Anyone would drive too fast if they were being chased. Don’t try to put the blame on me.”
