A True-Blue Texas Twosome

by Kim Mckade

  This case of nerves wasn’t a surprise, but it did rankle her to feel agitated. She hadn’t felt jittery like this since her first days as a reporter, when she’d felt the intense need to prove herself. She’d gotten over the nerves—though not the need to prove herself—as she worked her way up, and thought she’d earned some respect in the business.

  That was before an enraged viewer had shot her. Before her ex-husband had shown her the respect she thought she’d earned was a sham. Before she’d learned that everything she’d put her life into, her energy and heart, had been for nothing.

  The thought of Don put starch back in her spine. He might have taken everything else, but she’d be damned if she let him take this simple challenge from her.

  She leaned back against the desk and feigned confidence She’d learned in the trenches of investigative journalism that faked confidence was every bit as intimidating as the real thing.

  She’d been bombarded with questions about the shooting from her other classes. She preferred not to talk about it, but after the third class she realized she didn’t have much choice. She would have to face the issue head-on, get the questions and remarks out of the way. Then maybe she could get on with the business of teaching. Sooner or later, the students would get used to her and wouldn’t see her as “the reporter who got shot on television.”

  As soon as she’d introduced herself as an alumna of Aloma High, she tackled the inevitable.

  “As some of you may have already heard, until about a year ago, I worked as a reporter for Channel 27 in Dallas. Following the verdict of a trial I had been covering for the station, a riot broke out in downtown Dallas. We covered the riot live, and in the midst of all the pandemonium, a man with a gun grabbed me.” Corinne stated the facts as coldly and plainly as possible, hoping that if she avoided any secrecy, the mystique would wear off sooner.

  “He wanted to get the man who’d been convicted released, which, of course, was not possible. The gun went off, and the bullet struck me here—” she pointed at her jawline, then moved her finger down to her chin “—and came out here.”

  “The police killed that guy, didn’t they?” a girl in the front row asked.

  The girl—Corinne was pretty sure her name was Monica—knew good and well the police had killed the man who shot her. The scene was played over and over again on every station in the country. Even doing her best to avoid it, Corinne had seen it herself several times. “Yes, the police shot him immediately after he shot me. He was killed instantly.”

  “My mom said they had to wire your jaw back together.”

  “That’s true The doctors did a good job of patching me up.”

  “Did you get any of his blood on you?”

  Corinne had to stand up to see the boy slumped in the back row. It was Jeremy Huckaby, the troublemaker Becca warned her about.

  Funny, he didn’t look that dangerous. He was thin, with lank black hair that hung down in his eyes and ragged clothes that hung loosely from his body. He didn’t look very clean, but he certainly wasn’t intimidating.

  Several of the kids laughed nervously, and a few groaned. “You’re gross,” a girl said

  Corinne gave the boy a bland look and didn’t answer That was enough for now, she thought. “If you have any serious questions, I’ll be happy to answer them now. Then we can get on to more interesting things. Such as what’s in your textbooks.”

  Most of the students wore bored expressions, she noticed with relief. Seniors were much too cool to be interested in a teacher’s life.

  She grabbed her book and told them to turn to a poem on page twelve.

  The students exchanged glances of disbelief before they opened their books. Apparently they hadn’t expected that she would make them work on the first day of school.

  She’d lectured all day, and her throat was sore. But she wanted to get started off on the right foot. She didn’t want the students to think she was going to be an easy teacher simply because she was a sub. They discussed a few poems, with her doing most of the discussing, until there were only about five minutes left.

  “Okay. For tomorrow, I want you to write a two-page essay. The subject is your choice. It’s due at the beginning of class tomorrow.”

  Monica raised her hand. “Miss Maxwell?”

  “Yes, Monica?”

  “We don’t usually have homework on the first day of school.”

  Her comment was met with several murmurs of agreement. Evidently the new teacher needed to learn how things were done around here.

  “Then we’ll be pioneers. Years from now students will talk about this class and how it blazed new trails in the learning world, set precedents for future generations to aspire to.”

  Blank stares met her.

  “We’re going to work in here today,” she clarified.

  That announcement was met with grumbles and the slaps of notebooks onto desks, new packages of writing paper being ripped open.

  “What do we write about?”

  “Any subject you desire.”

  Desire was an unfortunate choice of words, Corinne realized as soon as it was out of her mouth.

  “Any subject I desire?” Josh Baxter asked, and was rewarded with the anticipated snickers and hoots.

  Becca had warned her about him. He’s the quintessential class clown, Corinne. Whatever you do, never laugh at him. If you do, you might as well kiss the control of your class goodbye.

  “Is it okay if I write about how much I desire Cindy Wells?” he asked, an exaggerated expression of wide-eyed innocence on his face.

  “You certainly may,” Corinne answered, determined to keep the upper hand. “As long as you keep in mind that your parents are free to read these papers at any time.”

  The object of Josh’s desire had definite feelings about his choice of topics. “Write about something else,” Cindy said with a toss of her flaming red hair.

  Josh was undeterred by her attitude or the teasing of his classmates.

  “I don’t get it.”

  Corinne didn’t have to check the chart to know who was talking. Carl Buchanan, all-around jock. He was the captain of the football team and the biggest kid Corinne had ever seen. Carl’s father had been in high school when Corinne was in elementary school, but she still remembered the awe the rest of the students had of him. Carl was following closely in his father’s footsteps.

  “What don’t you get, Carl?”

  “What are we supposed to write about?”

  “Whatever you want to write about The subject is your choice. I just want to get an idea of what kind of writers you are, see where we stand in this class.”

  “So, what do I write about?”

  Corinne stared him down. She knew the boy wasn’t stupid, just trying to act that way. But he didn’t know who he was up against. Corinne had fought hard during her years of investigative journalism, and she knew how to win. She’d won an interview with a writer notorious for avoiding the press. She’d elbowed aside more than one reporter competing for the same story. She’d made a televangelist break down and confess to embezzling while the cameras were rolling. She could handle a high school punk.

  She didn’t get a chance to do it, though.

  “Why don’t you write about how you lost last year’s district championship game?” Jeremy said from the back of the room.

  The class oohed. Carl stood beside his chair.

  “Why don’t I write about how I’m going to rearrange your face?”

  Jeremy wasn’t intimidated. He sneered at Carl and made no move to get up. “Of course, it wouldn’t take two pages to talk about that game. ‘I ran the wrong way’ doesn’t take up much space.”

  Carl took two steps toward Jeremy, his fists raised.

  “Get up!”

  “Sit down!”

  The class froze at once, Carl included. Corinne had also learned that her voice could be surprisingly strong when she wanted it to be.

  “There will be no fighting in this classro
om, period. Now, I want complete silence while everyone works on their essays. These papers are due at the beginning of class tomorrow. There will not be another word uttered until the bell rings.”

  “But we don’t—”

  “Not another word.”

  Corinne’s voice was deadly calm. Carl glared at Jeremy one more time and dropped sullenly into his chair.

  Carl was probably planning what he was going to do to Jeremy as soon as the last bell rang. Corinne tried to think of some way to stop it, but she didn’t know how. The only thing she could control was what went on in her room.

  She stifled a sigh and sat down behind the desk She rotated her sore ankles where no one could see her and wondered how Jeremy was going to live through the pounding he was surely going to get. She hoped he was a fast runner.

  The bell rang and the room emptied in a matter of seconds, with everyone bloodthirsty for the impending fight.

  She went to Mr. Sammons’s office, hoping he would be able to do something to stop it. He wasn’t in his office, nor was he in the break room or the supply closet when she looked there. Not that it would do much good if she did find him, she thought as she walked back to her deserted classroom. He could get them off the schoolgrounds, but the boys would find a place to fight.

  She picked up the armload of books she was taking home and walked out to the parking lot. Toby stood beside her car, his hand clamped firmly on Carl Buchanan’s shoulder. They were both looking at her back tire.

  “Hi, Corinne. Looks like you’ve got a flat one there.”

  Corinne looked at the deflated tire. “I can’t believe this. I just bought those tires.”

  “That’s a shame. Carl here said he’d be happy to take this one down to Johnny’s service station and have it aired back up, check for leaks.”

  Carl cut his eyes over to Toby and frowned, but he didn’t disagree.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind, Carl?” Corinne asked. Back in Dallas, she’d have called the auto club and hailed a cab to take her home. In Aloma, there was no such option.

  “I don’t mind,” he said, his sullen tone stating clearly that he did indeed mind. “It’ll take a few minutes.” He took her keys and opened the trunk.

  “Mmm. How many minutes, do you think?”

  Carl shrugged. “I dunno. Forty-five, maybe an hour.”

  Corinne bit back a sigh. She was grateful for the boy’s help, even though she knew Toby was practically forcing him into it. But the thought of standing around in this unbearable August heat for another hour was disheartening. And she didn’t really want to go back to her classroom, either. She wanted to go home.

  “Buchanan, you take care of the tire and I’ll take Miss Maxwell home. We’ll bring her car home later.”

  “You don’t have to take me, Toby. I can walk.”

  “Sure you can, you’ve got two legs. But there’s no sense in you walking when I can drive you.”

  “It’s only a few blocks,” Corinne said lamely. Actually, it was six blocks, which wouldn’t have bothered her at all if her arches weren’t killing her and if she hadn’t already started sweating just standing in the heat.

  “I’m going by there anyway.”

  She didn’t want to make a scene in front of a student, but there was no way she was going to be alone with Toby Haskell again. “You really don’t have to—”

  “You said that already. I’m a public servant, you’re the public. I’m going to serve you.”

  He ignored the look she threw his way and climbed in the Jeep. With a cocky grin, he started it.

  Corinne stood between the two cars, undecided.

  Toby rolled down his window.

  “Come on, Corinne, let’s go.”

  The sound of the engine dropped as he clicked on the air conditioner. Even the sound of it was cool. But still, the last time she’d been alone with Toby...

  She started walking. “No thank you, Toby. It’s a nice day for a walk.”

  He kept the Jeep even with her and rolled down the passenger window. “You might as well get in,” he called.

  “No, thank you.” She tossed him a frozen smile over gritted teeth, and kept walking.

  “Suit yourself,” he called. “So long as you know, I’m going to follow you the whole way. And someone will probably see us. Within fifteen minutes the new teacher will be the talk of the town.”

  Corinne cut him a scathing look and kept walking, her heels sinking slightly into the hot tar of the road. Perspiration beaded and ran down the small of her back.

  “A little thing like this could turn into a big scandal in just a few hours. What kind of story do you think all those ladies will come up with, trying to figure out why I was following you home at—” he glanced down at the speedometer “—three miles an hour.”

  Corinne refused to be intimidated. For half a block. With an angry moan, she jerked the passenger door open and tossed her books onto the seat. “You’re a jerk,” she said as she sat down.

  Toby grinned and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The Jeep rocketed forward.

  “Whoa,” Corinne said, regaining her balance and searching for her seat belt.

  “Sorry,” Toby muttered as he rounded a corner. “I just have to round up the other member of this little feud.”

  Corinne had no idea what he was talking about until she saw Jeremy slinking down the alley behind the old movie theatre, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

  Toby headed the Jeep into the alley behind him. Jeremy whirled around. Fear flickered across the boy’s face before he had a chance to mask it. The fear was quickly replaced with annoyance when he saw it was them and not Carl.

  Toby stopped the Jeep and opened the door, then stood with one foot on the floorboard “You need a ride to see your probation officer, Huckaby?” He didn’t give the boy a chance to answer. “Good deal, get in.”

  Jeremy muttered something and turned away, but Toby’s voice stopped him. “I said, get in.”

  This time Jeremy’s mutter was audible, but he turned back and walked to the Jeep. Corinne stifled a smile and nodded politely to Jeremy when he flounced into the back seat and swiped hair out of his eyes

  “I was afraid you might forget you had a meeting this afternoon, Huckaby. Good to see you’re staying on track.” Toby flashed a grin into the rearview mirror and then laughed goodnaturedly at the sour look on Jeremy’s face. Jeremy remained silent and looked out the window.

  Toby drove to the courthouse and parked the Jeep by a side door. “Go through that door and down the hall on your left. It’s the second door on the right.”

  Jeremy remained silent as he got out. He walked up the sidewalk, his hands again in his pockets and his shoulders slumped. Toby left the Jeep in Park and watched him.

  Jeremy’s steps slowed the closer he got to the door. He glanced back surreptitiously to see if they were still there. Toby grinned and waved. “I’ll be waiting here when you get out,” he called.

  Corinne didn’t have to be a lip reader to understand the words Jeremy used before he finally gave up and entered the building. Toby just smiled and shook his head. He waited a few more minutes before he put the Jeep into reverse.

  “For a second, I thought I was going to have to drag the boy in there.”

  “I did, too. He’s safer in there than he is out here, though. Carl Buchanan is ready to flay him alive.”

  “I know. I drove by the school and the entire student body was heading for the alley. My natural law-enforcement instinct kicked in,” he said with a devilish dimpled grin, “probably because they looked so bloodthirsty. One of the kids told me Jeremy was mouthing off again and Buchanan was going to kill him.”

  Corinne wasn’t surprised that one of the students felt it was okay to confide in Toby. To them he was more of a friend than an authority figure. He was one of them—a feeling Corinne was sure Toby had cultivated. He’d always wanted to be as well-liked and respected as his father had been.

  Toby drove the car wi
th the ease of someone who drove often, and within minutes they were on her street. Corinne searched the floorboard for the shoes she didn’t remember taking off.

  “So, I collared Carl and convinced him he should help me with the tire first.”

  “That was convenient, wasn’t it? That my tire just happened to be flat right when you needed it to be.” She glanced sideways at Toby.

  “Yeah, convenient.” He cut his gaze over at her and she saw the muscles in his face working to hide a smile. “But I would have found something else, if I had to.”

  Corinne studied him for a moment, trying to decide if that was a guilty grin on his face or just a plain old grin. With Toby, it was hard to tell.

  “You know, you’ve already got the worst reputation of any teacher in the history of Aloma. Homework on the very first day, Corinne? What kind of monster are you?”

  Corinne laughed. That was the bad thing about Toby. He was fun to be around. It made her forget the need to be cautious.

  “Jeremy made some remark about Carl losing last year’s championship game.”

  Toby winced. “That kid must have a death wish. If there’s one thing you don’t joke about around here, it’s football.”

  “I remember. Football is the number one priority in life. The only reason he’d say something like that is if he really did want to get into a fight. He knew how Carl was going to react, and surely he knew there was no way he was going to best that ox in a fight.”

  “He’s been that way ever since that mess last winter with his dad. You heard about that?”

  Corinne nodded. “I heard. He’s headed for trouble, one way or another. It’s written all over his face.”

  “Maybe not,” Toby said, pulling up in front of her house.

  “I hope you’re right. But I think he’s destined to spend major time in some kind of correctional facility.”

  “You’re just a jaded old reporter. You don’t see any good in the world.”

  Corinne started to make some kind of retort, but decided not to bother. It was true. “You’re right about that. But if you’d seen the things I’ve seen, you’d be jaded, too.”