When the seat changes were made, the scramble was on. Walt and James went for the same book. Walt grabbed first, clutching the book close to his fine suede leather jacket. James tried to take the book but instead got hold of Walt’s jacket, pulling the button through the fabric. Walt hit James in the neck and a fight was on. There was bedlam.
Emma kept her eyes on the teacher, who had a look of wild excitement and a peculiar grin on his face. Emma touched Don. “Look at the teacher, look at the teacher,” she cried. Suddenly there was silence and everybody was looking at Mr. Kooner, having heard Emma.
Emma’s heart leaped with terror when Mr. Kooner braced his shoulders, put on a stern face, and looked in her direction.
“What did you say?” he asked.
Emma lowered her eyes and said nothing.
“What did she say, Mr. Armstrong?” Mr. Kooner asked Don.
“I don’t know, Mr. Kooner,” Don answered and wiggled in his seat.
Emma had the urge to speak up, but could not say a word.
“What did she say?” Mr. Kooner punctuated every word.
“I told y’. I don’t know.” Don was uncomfortable.
“Think you can remember in the V.P.’s office?”
Emma became alarmed. “I’ll tell you, Mr. Kooner,” she said shyly.
“No, I asked him. What did she say, Mr. Armstrong?”
Don looked at Emma and rolled his eyes and pouted his lips. “She said you like seein’ us fightin’.”
The tension was broken by loud laughter. Kooner seemed appeased, and the class settled down for the lesson that was almost immediately interrupted by the bell.
Emma touched Don’s sleeve as they entered the crowded hall. “I’m so sorry Mr. Kooner took it out on you, Don.” She could not bring herself to look at Don, she was so ashamed.
Don kept moving as he said, “That’s OK, but next time you better git your word in first.”
Emma pushed through the crowd, angry and humiliated. She hated herself for getting into trouble with Kooner. What if he did make them scramble; everybody else saw it as fun. Why couldn’t she? But it was just after midterm and they had finished work by only three authors. She felt she was wasting time.
Near the exit to the cafeteria, Brenda, Liz, and their little group were holding forth. As Emma approached she heard Liz say, “Ms. Saddity think she know so much, almost got Don put outta class. We can do without smarties like that.”
Emma burned with shame. She had expected Don to be angry at her, but she had hoped, at least, the others would have understood that it was Kooner who had taken it out on Don. She knew she must be careful. She was isolated enough. She didn’t need thirty-five students down on her. Maybe she should brave the scramble and win their goodwill, she thought, and joined the long cafeteria line in the rain.
By the time she reached the serving counter, her hunger had changed from a keen desire awakened by odors and imaginings of good things to a dull stomachache. Seeing what was left did little to arouse the earlier appetite. All the hot dogs were gone. Hamburger patties lay on the tray like small mounds of leather. The casserole of noodles and more noodles was now pasty and the salads were withered.
She settled for a hamburger and almost decided to pass up the relish when she saw mustard in the mayonnaise, onions in the pickle relish, and catsup spread all over. Managing to secure milk and a piece of cake, she looked around. There was no place to sit or stand in the crowded cafeteria. How would she manage with her umbrella and tray to get back into the building in the rain? She would have to do without the umbrella.
Wind gusts swept the rain in waves. She waited. The rain lessened. She made a dash for the building. Suddenly there was a flutter and flapping around her. She screamed, dropped the tray, her food scattering over the soggy grounds. Then she saw the scrawny sea gull winging away with her hamburger in his beak, his murky body quickly camouflaged in the gray, misty clouds and rain.
Boiling with rage, her first reaction was to retrieve what she could. She picked up the milk and saw the cake disintegrate. Suddenly she heard laughter and looked toward the building. The door was open and a crowd had gathered in the doorway, laughing at her.
All the shame, guilt, and degradation she had felt that day seemed to crowd in on her, pelting her like the rain. This violence that was done in the name of “fun” was overwhelming. She flung the tray and the soggy remnants away and screamed at the crowd, “I hate this place. I hate you and everything here.” Her voice cracked with tears as she screamed, “You are all a bunch of stupid idiots.” She knew it did no good. They couldn’t even hear her for she was drowned out by the laughter and the rain.
Sixteen
Emma’s clothes were still damp and her senses outraged by the time her mother picked her up. “I hate this place,” she said, settling in the car. “I wish I never had to come back, ever.”
“What happened, Emma?”
“I can’t stand that Mr. Kooner.”
“Now we’re not going through that. You have only one semester and you’ll no longer need Mr. Kooner.”
“But, Mama, you don’t know what he’s doing to us.” After she had told her mother about the incidents, knowing her mother would be outraged, she said, “We ought to do something about this.”
“We’ll see to it that you get a book.”
“But, Mama, everybody has a right to a book. Mr. Kooner should see to that. I bet no teacher at Marlborough could get away with that.”
“Now, maybe you can see why we wanted you at Marlborough.”
“But Ma—”
“You take care of Emma, OK? You’ll get your book, get your work, and you leave the rest to the principal, or somebody else. Books for everybody is not your concern.”
How could she show up with a book? The others in the class would certainly laugh at her. She was having trouble enough. And what would Mr. Kooner say? However, she knew it would do no good to try convincing her mother that something else must be done.
That evening she tried to put her mind on her homework, but she could not concentrate. Kooner, Eoil Can, and those people in the doorway laughing kept coming back to make her miserable. There must be someone at that school, other than Allan, that she could go to for help. Maybe Mr. Wheeler. What could he do? He was too new to make waves. The principal was the person to tell. But how could she tell the principal something like that? Surely he must know already. Maybe she should tell her daddy. He just might go and talk to Mr. Kooner. If only she knew what to do.
Get hold, she told herself. Go along and it will soon be over. Maybe she would scramble, but she would never eat in that cafeteria again. She would take her lunch and find a place away from them all. They would not have her to laugh at again. She could see the fingers pointing, hear the laughter, feel the cold rain. The humiliation overwhelmed her. She gave up trying to study and went to bed. Still restless, she got up and wrote to Gary: There’s a white tiger loose, controlling my American Lit. class. He has us tearing one another apart just for a book. Nobody seems to care enough to stand with me and say a soft “no.” But enough of that. It’s prom time! How about coming down for that event? Can you say a strong “yes” to that? Please do.
The next morning the sky was a deep blue, the air cold and clear. Mountains, usually hidden by smog, loomed in the distance like sleeping dinosaurs. A perfect day, Emma thought. If only she were heading someplace other than Manning.
She and her mother did not talk. Why didn’t her mother understand? Emma looked at the book on her lap and the anger returned. She recalled the scene with her mother that morning.
“I don’t want to take that book. I can just hear them when I show with a book from the library.”
“What do you care what they say? You’re there to learn, not to please them.”
“We can only keep this book for two weeks, then what’ll we do?”
“By then we’ll have bought a book.”
“I’m not going to take it.”
&nbs
p; “You are, and that’s that. I don’t want to hear any more about books and Mr. Kooner.”
No use talking to her, Emma thought. She shifted the book, knowing she would never show up in class with it unless everyone else had a book, too.
She said good-bye to her mother without having reconciled. More despair: Allan was not waiting in the usual place. His habits had changed greatly since the social worker’s visit. He seemed absorbed in other things now. He was often late, even for class. He seemed not to listen any more, nor to care about anything. If only he were the old Allan, able to give her advice.
The grounds were quiet. A few puddles were left rippling in the wind. A blade of grass here and there held a raindrop that sparkled like a diamond—orange and blue streaks from a brilliant white light. Emma wanted to touch them, but knew one touch and all that sparkle would disappear.
The custodian moved down the walk with a long-handled broom, making short, swift sweeps. His khaki pants and shirt gleamed with starch, his black bow tie neatly in place. His shoes were highly polished. Does he have kids? Emma wondered. Did he live with them? Bet he does. Maybe she should talk to him about Kooner. She had a great urge to go over and interrupt his sweeping, but the urge quickly faded.
Four police cars gunned by without sirens. What had happened? She wished Allan would come. The crowd gathered slowly.
James hurried up the steps. “Hi. How’s Ms. Walsh today?”
“OK. Where’re you rushing?”
“To council.”
“Say, wait a minute.” She suddenly had an idea. “You think the council could do something about Kooner?”
“What’s wrong with Kooner?”
“The scramble—our not having enough books.” She was surprised at the question.
“Oh, that.” James laughed. “I doubt it. Why don’t you come talk to ’em this morning and see?”
Only eleven of the twenty members were in the council hall. Even Ms. Dohling, their sponsor, had not arrived. James introduced Emma to the president, Cynthia White, who was a tall, dark, heavy girl. The left side of her face, neck, and her left arm were scarred. Cindy, as the others called her, appeared self-assured, pleasant, articulate. She was head girl in her class, elected by the student body to the council.
Emma told why she had come. They all were attentive. “Yeah,” Cindy said, “that’s Mr. Kooner, all right. Unfortunately, student council can’t deal with teachers. We can only do little things like raise money, handle some minor student things, and advise students who to see when they’re in trouble.”
“That’s something for parents to handle,” one girl said.
“That’s a problem for Mr. Freeman, our dear principal,” James said.
“Fine. If he were ever here.” Cindy looked at Emma and smiled. “I’m gonna tell you like it is. All we can do is suggest that you live with Mr. Kooner, or have your parents come and take care of it.”
Emma left feeling she had gotten nowhere. She should use the book her mother had gotten from the library and forget it. She hurried to her first class to beat the second bell.
The morning went by without her having seen Allan, and too soon the dreaded sixth period arrived. Should she cut class, go to the library? She had to have a pass to go to the library during class periods. Where could she go? She wished she could go home. If only there was a way on and off campus without a pass. The bell rang. She had to make up her mind. She would face Kooner, but she would not take that book.
The room was empty. Was Kooner absent? Her anticipation of a substitute teacher was short-lived. Mr. Kooner entered and the silence between them was ominous. Should she wait outside for the others to arrive?
Just then James came in with his usual banter. “Say, Mr. Kooner, I was thinking about being one of them speakers at graduation. ‘Where Do We Go From Here?’ Now I could talk awhile on that subject.”
“Really,” Kooner said, laughing. “I never thought of you as one of the few around here that looks beyond the moment.”
The stinging comment mixed with laughter angered Emma and she decided that she would enter the competition and turn her paper in to Mr. Kooner.
The second bell brought in others, laughing and joking; latecomers sauntered in as usual as if they were ahead of time. What made them come? Emma wondered. Strange, no one was ever absent from this class. Would it have made a difference? Would the scramble have ended if that odd person had stayed away? Could it be the scramble that made them come? What was that excitement that drove them on while she sat humiliated? The unreal laughter, that strange force that made them delight in hurting; why didn’t they turn on Kooner and protect each other?
Her mind ran to graduation. Who would be valedictorian at Marlborough? Her chances to have been were excellent. She thought of Dee and Cheryl, of Marvin. They all would be graduating. She wished she was back at her old school, away from Kooner. Then she thought, forget Marlborough. For better or worse, Manning is my school.
The scramble was over and the teacher was standing beside her. His voice startled her.
“Pick up that paper around this desk. I cannot work in this clutter.”
She looked up, but did not move.
“I’m talking to you, Ms. Walsh.”
Her first impulse was to pick up the paper. “I didn’t put that paper there.” The words surprised her. There was silence.
“Whether you did or not, pick it up.”
“I put that paper there.” Liz, who was sitting just behind Emma, moved to pick up the paper.
“No. Ms. Walsh will do it.”
Emma stiffened with anger. Pick up the paper and don’t tangle with the man, she told herself; but she could not bring herself to bend to do it. The silence thickened.
“I’m waiting.”
Her back straightened, Emma lifted her head and turned her face away and stared straight ahead. The silence was now foreboding.
“All right, Ms. Walsh. You may leave the room. Don’t come back until you have a permit slip.”
“That’s cold,” somebody muttered.
Emma quickly left the room. The anger swelled in her throat, tears blinded her. Why couldn’t she pick up that paper? What would she say to the vice-principal?
“Hey.” Allan rushed after her, keeping his voice almost in a whisper. “Wait up. Where you going?”
She turned around, but could not say a word as the tears flowed.
“What’s the matter, Em?” he asked, alarmed.
She struggled to control the tears. Finally she said, “Oh, Allan, I’m angry, angry, angry. I could destroy that man. He put me out of class because I wouldn’t pick up paper.”
“You should be happy.”
“Please, Allan. I’ll have to see the V.P. before I can get back in there.”
“For not picking up paper?” Allan laughed. “The V.P. will think he’s off his wig, sending you in for that. Here they put you out for smoking dope, for a holdup, assault. You’ll get a permit, don’t worry.”
Her worry doubled when she discovered that the girl’s vice-principal and the boy’s vice-principal were away at a special meeting. She would have to see the principal. She waited and listened as a group of boys caught smoking weed tried to implicate one who swore he had walked into the boy’s toilet just before the teacher who reported the incident.
“Aw, Ted, you know y’ wuz.” A voice was followed by a snicker.
“I wasn’t. Smell my breath, Mr. Freeman. I don’t smoke nothing.”
That must be Ted pleading, Emma thought. Laughter came from the inner office.
“I don’t want to hear any more until I see you with your parents.” The booming voice startled Emma. “Out!”
“But, Mr. Freeman,” Ted cried.
“Out, I said. Bring your parents.”
Four boys came out, three snickering, pointing fingers at Ted, cracking up. Ted was scowling, boiling with rage, yet helpless against their trickery.
Emma remembered the day in the rain with Eoil Can
and felt anguished. What if she were told to bring her mother? Her hands began to perspire; she couldn’t sit still, so great was the urge to escape.
Suddenly she had an idea: Put Kooner down. Tell the principal about the scramble. Her spirit lifted, but despair returned when the tall, robust, ruddy-complexioned man asked her to come into the office. She had heard that Mr. Freeman was an ex-marine, ex-football coach, who was stern. Everybody was glad he wasn’t around often.
“What can I do for you, young lady?” he asked matter-of-factly.
“I need a permit slip to return to Mr. Kooner’s class.”
“Just like that: You want a permit slip.…”
“I have to … Well, you see, he asked me to pick up some paper … but it wasn’t just that. He makes us scramble for books and I … I just can’t do it.”
The laughter surprised Emma. “All those big boys in there; a good-looking girl like you shouldn’t have to scramble. Let them scramble for you!”
She couldn’t believe it. She had the permit in her hand and the word that Mr. Kooner was one of the finest teachers in the school. Something was wrong. She was wrong. She could hear her mother complaining: Emma, you’re always making a mountain out of a molehill. Still she knew that the humiliation, anger, and anguish she felt doing the scramble was real. There had to be someone who would understand. She would call her father.
Seventeen
The waiter set a huge iced bowl of shrimp in the center of the table, placed menus, and retreated. The cocktail waitress quickly followed.
Emma’s father looked up. “A double martini for the lady …”
“Ladies?” the waitress asked, looking from Jody to Emma.
“Oh, no, she’s not eighteen.” He glanced at Emma.
“I will be soon,” Emma retorted, a scowl in her voice.
“Wine for me. Emma, Seven-Up?”
Emma refused the Seven-Up and took nothing to drink before dinner. She squirmed as the old insecurity she felt with her father returned. Here she was almost eighteen, feeling as incapable as a six-year-old. If only she knew how to cope with Kooner, she wouldn’t be at this table.
Because We Are Page 10
