by Jeff Shelby
“ Tell me.”
“ It's nothing, Mom.”
I thought for half a second, then reached down for my purse and pulled out a five dollar bill. “I'll buy if you tell me why that's funny.”
Bailey snatched the money from my hand. “Sold! ” she sai d again. She stuffed the money into her jeans pocket and turned to face me. “ Okay, so you know how he teaches computers?”
“ Yeah?” I nodded.
“He knows nothing about them . ,” she announced. She raised her eyebrows. “ Like, seriously nothing.”
I thought about what I'd witnessed in class. That Her statement didn't seem too far off the mark.
I looked at Em for confirmation and . S s he nodded.
Bailey put her hands on the edge of the desk and leaned down. She smelled like watermelon I could smell her peach-scented bo dy lotion and her watermelon-flavored gum . She was like a walking fruit salad. “ And h H e stays late so he can take classes. Online computer classes. So he can teach us.” She laughed again. “Good thing his personal computer wasn't stolen.”
I frowned at them. “Come on. Seriously?”
Bailey looked glanced at Em , who reluctantly nodded . again.
“It's true,” Em ily said. “A bunch of people have gone to his room after school to get help or use the printers and stuff. He gets them set up – or tries to, anyway – and then goes back to his laptop. A couple kids hav e seen what's on his screen while he's sitting there. whatever and they can see his screen. He's taking like basic computer classes. Which might explain why he knows absolutely nothing about computers.”
“He's super nice,” Bailey added , almost as an afterthought . “But seriously . M , m y cat knows more about computers than Mr. Riggler.”
I leaned back in my chair , trying to process what the girls had just told me . How was that even possible? How could he have gotten a job teaching computers if he barely knew anything about them? He ha ' d definitely seemed out of his element when I'd been in his room, but I 'd thought it might be because of the stress of the missing computers. Maybe he'd been too rattled by the theft to focus properly. And his ignorance of social media could have been chalked up to...well, being old. He could have been a genius at programming and operating systems but woefully ignorant of the web sites and apps kids were using.
I took a deep breath. I just found it hard to fathom that he was taking online classes and doing it at the school.
“He's probably in there now,” Bailey said. “If you don't believe us.”
“ I don't know what I believe,” I told them. “But thanks for sharing.”
“Don't tell him it came from us,” Emily said quickly. , panic spreading in her eyes.
“No?” I asked. “I was gonna go say , 'Hey Emily and Bailey just told me something really interesting' and see what he says.”
“Mom!”
Bailey grabbed her by the arm. “She's kidding, Em. Jeez. It's like you don't even know your mom.” She waved at me. “Thanks for the money! See ya, Mrs. S.!”
I wondered how my uptight daughter could be such good friends with a kid who had a very near polar opposite personality, but I thought it was good for her to hang around with someone who seemed so care - free most of the time. Plus, Bailey was just a good kid.
I thought about what the girls had told me. But I had to wonder if the were both right about Mr. Riggler. I had seen a lot of goofy things at Prism, but that a guy who knew nothing about computers running the lab and teaching computer classes seemed too much of a stretch to buy. just seemed too much of a stretch to buy. I didn't see how a guy who didn't know a thing about computers would fi If Miles Riggler really was as computer illiterate as the girls claimed, how had he found himself in a position teaching them? And who on earth would have hired him to fill that role? nd himself in a position to teach about them. Why would he even want to do that?
It just seemed like a bit of a reach. There were plenty of rumors circulating around t he school, I reminded myself. I remembered what Emily had told me about the stolen computers and the theories running amok among the student body. Even Mr, Riggler himself had warned me about the dangers of the school rumor mill, when I'd innocently asked about staff coming in on weekends.
But the girls seemed pretty positive about what they'd seen and heard. And I'd seen him fumbling through his classes .
I wondered if he was still in his room.
I stood up.
It looked like I was going to be staying after school and decided to go see what I could learn. a little longer.
TWENTY FIVE
Miles Riggler was hunched over his computer, his eyes staring intently at the computer and . h H e jumped when I knocked on his door.
“Oh,” he said, surprised. “You're back.”
“ Um, yeah,” I said, wandering I wandered in to the room, trying not to be look too suspicious. “I had another question for y ou ou before I leave for the day .”
He glanced at his screen, then back at me. then He back at me and rotated in his chair toward me. “Oh. Okay.”
I made my way to the back of the room , just acting like I under the guise that I was simply trying to move closer to him to have a conversation. He was between me and his screen, though, so I couldn't see . what he had been looking at.
“I , uh, was wondering about the date,” I said. It was the best reason I could come up with for barging back in on him. “What if we changed the date?”
“For the talent show?”
I shifted, trying to bring his screen into vi ew. Without him noticing, of course. “Yeah.”
His brow furrowed. “Can you do that?”
“ Well, maybe Maybe .”
He thought for a moment , glanced a quickly at his screen, then shrugged. . “That might work, I guess. What date were you thinking of?”
“Oh, I did do n't have an actual date in mind,” I said, trying not to overtly stare at his the screen. “I was just thinking that maybe if we changed the date you might be able to participate and . And that might be a good thing . To have you participate – to have you there .”
He chewed on his bottom lip. “Would it be on a Saturday night again?”
“Probably.”
He chewed a little harder. “Hmm. Well, I'm not sure if I can , then.”
“You have a regular Saturday night...conflict?” I asked, sitting down in the gingerly sitting down on the desk across from him.
His eyes flitted to the screen and back. “Yes. Something like that.”
“And you can't change it?”
He glanced at the screen his computer again. “Um, not probably not. I'm sorry. I could do any other night — ”
“Your session has timed out,” a robotic voice chimed from the computer , startling both of us . “Please re - enter your login to continue with your Basic Computing class and exercises.”
He spun back around in his seat , a panicked expression on his face, and furiously tapped at the keyboard and wiggled the attached mouse , . h is jaw set, staring at the screen. He groaned , then pushed the mouse away in disgust.
“I'm sorry,” I said, not feeling too very sorry at all . “Did I interrupt something?”
He chewed on his bottom lip again, then stood from his chair and jogged over to the classroom door. His light gray polo was tucked into his jeans and the back of his shirt was damp with sweat, He stuck his head in the hallway, checked both directions, then pulled the door closed. He took a deep breath and walked slowly back to the desk . , his eyes avoiding mine.
“Yes,” he finally said , answering my question . “But it's alright. It's alright. I can log back in.”
It was like he was talking to himself more than me.
“Okay,” I asked. I folded my arms across my chest. “Did that say Basic — ”
“Yes!” he snapped, then leaned back in the chair, like he'd surprised himself at the ferocity of his words. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the h
and latching onto his scalp, like it was trying to squeeze it. “ I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just under a lot of pressure right now.”
I nodded sympathetically. “I can tell.”
He pause d . “Yes, it said Basic Computing. It's ...it's a class I'm taking.”
The girls were had been right. I tried not let my eyes bulge out of my head. to keep my expres sion neutral.
His hand moved to his face and he rubbed his eyes. “Which is probably strange, given that I'm the computer teacher, right?” he said.
“ Well. Yes. A little. But it It 's none of my business .” ,” I offered.
Which It seemed like the most appropriate thing to say , even though I'd made it my business because I was so nosy.
“Please don't say anything,” he said, his facial features face tight with worry. “I would absolutely lose my job if anyone found out.”
“For taking a computer class?”
He shook his head. “No. For having to take a computer class.”
I cocked my head. “Why do you have to?”
H e is hand shifted to his ear and he tugged on his lobe. chewed on his lip again and he had both hands on top of his head, grabbing at his skull. “Because I know very little about computers . ,” he admitted.
“ How are you the computer teacher if you don't know much about computers?”
“ It's a long story.”
I glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. “I have time.”
“ Let's just say Prism needed a computer teacher and I needed a job.”
“ And you applied and they just...hired you? With no experience?” I frowned. “Don't you need like a license or something?”
“ I have one,” he said. “I'm licensed to teach art.”
“ Art?”
He nodded. “I did my student teaching a couple of years ago but then...” His voice trailed off.
“ Then...?” I prompted.
He cleared his throat. “I decided to open my own business instead.”
So Miles Riggler went from student teaching art to running his own business to teaching computers. “What kind of business?” I asked.
Before I got this job, I owned a company called Bozos and Balloons. His cheeks flushed. “An entertainment company.”
For one horrified moment, I wondered if he'd been a male stripper. Or an escort.
“ I was a clown,” he said flatly, as if he'd known immediately where my imagination had gone. It was my turn to blush. “I dressed up as a clown and made bal loon animals. Birthday parties, carnivals, restaurants sometimes. It was called Bozos and Balloons.”
But that sort of went down the tubes .”
“ Your company went out of business?”
He let out a long sigh and his hands slid from his head to his thighs. “Yeah, sort of. I just sort of had to quit it.”
I wasn't following. “So other people are running it now?” “Well, that sounds fun.” I smiled. “Making kids happy.”
“ There's always someone who cries. Always. ” He made a face. “It was the worst part of the job.”
“ Is that why you left?”
He Riggler shook his head. “It was a one man operation. I was the one man. I used to dress up as a clown for parties and things like that and make balloon animals. Work at restaurants on the weekend, carnivals, that sort of thing.” He paused. “Bozos and Balloons.”
“ Okay,” I said. “No. I didn't want to leave. I...I was forced out.”
I wondered what kind of evil clowns he worked with. “But I thought you owned the company,” I said, frowning.
“ I did. It was a one-man show.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “There was this kid over in Wanut Haven who wanted a clown for his birthday. But he wanted one that ro de a unicycle.”
“ But then I did something really stupid,” he said, clearly frowning at the memory. “I tried to ride a unicycle.”
“A unicycle?”
He nodded. “Yeah . His mom called to see if I was available and if I could ride a unicycle. I told her yes because I needed the work. So I went and bought a unicycle, , this kid over in Walnut Haven wanted a clown that rode a unicycle. So when his mom called to see if I was available and if I could ride a unicycle, I told her yes because I needed the work. So I went and bought a unicycle, kind of taught myself how to ride it. It was hard. Not like riding a bike at all.”
Probably because it was short one wheel . , I thought.
“Anyway, I went to the kid's party and it was going pretty great,” he explained. “I was whipping out animals left and right and the parents were all tipping me and , for once, no one was scared afraid of me.”
“ Scared of you? Why would they have been scared of you?”
“ At most parties, there's at least one person who is afraid of clowns,” he said. “They usually cry and freak out and it sort of ruins the whole deal.”
“ Ah. Right.” I tried to picture the man in front of me dressed as a clown. Even with my overactive imagination, I was having a hard time doing it.
“So anyway, it's going pretty good. Everyone's happy. ” His shoulders sagged. “ But then the kid wanted me to ride the unicycle for him.” H e shook his head is shou lders sagged . “I started out okay, but then I hit a manhole cover in the cul-de-sac.”
I winced. “And you fell?”
“No, I just sort of lost my control,” he answered. “I ran into a curb and got thrown from the bike and landed on the birthday kid. Squashed him and p opped the four-foot Mic key Mouse balloon creation I'd made him. ” He held up his left hand. “ And I broke my wrist.”
“ Oh, wow,” I said. “I'm sorry.” It was a horrible story and I felt awful that I had to bite back a smile at the visual of Miles Riggler demolishing a life-size Mickey Mouse balloon w hile careening around on a unicycle.
He nodded. “Yeah. “ The kid was okay, but he was crying and his parents were mad at me and I think I might've been crying, too, because of my wrist. So I had to get my stuff and leave.” He frowned. “But my wrist was in I ended up being in a cast for three months, which made it impossible to make balloon animals. So I had to shut down Bozos and Balloons. . ”
It sounded like a traumatizing experience. It also sounded like an episode of “America's Funniest Home Videos.” “That's terrible,” I said.
“ So Anyway, I had to find a new job,” he continued. “I applied to be a server at Taco Bill's and to be a driver for Pizza Farm for some jobs, service industry kind of stuff, but I wasn't getting anything.”
“ You didn't want to tea ch art?” I asked.
“ No , I did . But no schools were hiring.” , He looked at me. “ A friend of mine told me about Prism needing teachers so I checked out their openings. They were hiring for a computer teacher. but I didn't get either. I was getting kind of desperate. So then I saw this ad that Prism needed a computer teacher.” ” He folded his arms across his chest. “ But I thought it was for the spring semester. It was so close to the start of school. I thought I could apply, talk my way into the job, then learn computers during the fall and be ready to go in the spring.” His shoulders sagged again. “So I came in for the interview and I...I guess I interviewed okay.”
“Don't take this the wrong way,” I said, bewildered. “But weren't you asked questions about computers? Or about your job history? ”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. But I just sort of fudged my answers. I really wanted needed the job.” He swallowed. “And then I got the call that I was hired. And that I had to start the following week. It wasn't for spring. It was for fall.” He paused. “I wasn't ready.”
I watched him stare at his lap. He was clearly a guy who was overwhelmed the moment. I knew that people lied all of the time on their resumes in order to get jobs, but I just couldn't believe that he'd fibbed well enough to slide into a teaching position. He was either a terrific liar or the interview process had been more than a little flawed.
“But I didn't want to lose the job,” he said.
“I needed it. I wanted it. So I said yes. And I immediately enrolled in some online classes so I could learn fast.” His cheeks reddened. “But I know I'm behind the curve. I'm going as fast as I can.” He looked at me. “The thing on Saturday nights? It's a Microsoft class that I take online and you have to be online for the both the lecture and the exam. I can't not be on there.”
At least he had a good reason. “I understand.”
He sighed. “No, you don't. Not all of it.” He paused. “All that time off work, I ran up some bills. I'm still paying them off. And because I'm a first year teacher, I'm not making a ton of money. So I've had to cut a few corners and try to save some money. One of the things that I've saved money on is not having Internet at my apartment. I just couldn't afford it so I don't have it.”
I could understand cutting the costs. “So how do you get online for your classes?”
He pointed at his computer. “I do it here.”
“But what about the Saturday thing?”
He pointed at it again. “I do it here.”
“I thought people weren't allowed here on the weekends,” I said.
“They aren't,” he said. “I had to ask permission from Mrs. Bingledorf.”
“So you told her that you were taking an online class?”
“Yeah,” he said, his cheeks going red again. “ For But I told her it was for my master's. And I told her that my Internet connection was spotty at home and that it was far easier to work here and that it also allowed me create projects for the kids to work on when they came in on Monday.” He took a deep breath. “You don't have to say it. I'm a terrible person for doing all of this.”
I didn't think Miles Riggler was a terrible person. I thought he'd panicked when he lost his source of income – like anyone would – and probably made some bad decisions. I thought his intentions were good, even if the outcome had gotten a little messed up.
“So that's why I can't do the show,” he said. “And I have to find someplace else to go to take the class and exam that night because I can't let people see me on here doing this.” H e looked at me with puppy dog eyes is expression tu rned mournful . “I understand if you have to tell on me, but I'd really appreciate it if you didn't. I have no right to ask that, but I'm asking anyway. My wrist is permanently messed up. My career with balloon animals is over.” He paused, rubbing the damaged wrist. “This is all I have.”
