by Mary Rodgers
“Come on,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Clearly this is getting us nowhere. Let’s get out of here.”
We bolted for the car and jumped in, and I think we were both shocked by this bizarre crazy girly-giggling bonding. It was almost like we were kooky teenagers on the verge, and frankly the release felt good. I hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time—even if it was psychotic. Maybe I had been studying too darn much and needed to smell the roses, not just the Wite-Out.
“Everything okay?” Mr. Hudson asked a bit suspiciously.
“Oh, sure. Don’t mind us, we’re just collectively losing our mind,” Hadley said, and we practically had to bite our tongues to keep from laughing.
“So…where to?” Mr. Hudson asked as we pulled out.
“The high school. Let’s check in with Tatum’s boyfriend, Brad,” I said.
We pulled into the high school parking lot, and, as usual, it piqued my interest. I mean, all the students drove. Well, not everyone, but from my vantage point, most drove cars. Talk about exotic. I would love that freedom…. To be practically an adult like these high school students, to go on dates and to drive? Or better yet—to be practically college-bound and almost free? Bring it on!
We parked the car near the tennis courts and went to find Brad. Brad and Tatum were usually attached at the hip. They were so the perfect couple that it was very nearly nauseating. Then again…Tatum had said they weren’t getting along. Maybe everyone struggles and there is no perfect existence…although from my perspective, it sure looked like Tatum was having the movie life. Maybe there is no movie life.
Brad was working on his serves, thunderously and meticulously slamming balls dead center to his imaginary opponent. He was tan and gorgeous, the consummate athlete. It was like Brad lived in different lighting, he was so divine.
We approached gingerly…Brad looked intent. I realized everyone was waiting for me to introduce our case, and I was the one who knew Brad. But I wasn’t Hadley, I was Ms. Pitt. I elbowed Hadley to speak already.
“Uh, say, uh, Bob?” Hadley asked.
“Brad!” I whispered hotly.
“Brad?” she said again, and Brad turned. He was a total Greek god. He broke into a warm smile at the sight of me. How nice is that?
“Oh, hey, Hadley. How are ya?” Brad asked as he expertly dribbled his tennis ball in that very cool US Open way.
“Oh, don’t ask,” Hadley said, and she snuck a look at me. “Sorry to interrupt but it’s urgent. You wouldn’t happen to know where Tatum is, would you?”
“No. Why? Everything okay?” Now Brad stopped playing around with the tennis ball and seemed really concerned. Lord, he was dreamy….
“Yeah. Should be fine. She’s…well, I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough. Just wondered if you know where she is, that’s all. She was a little emotional before and I wanted to make sure she’s okay,” I said.
“Um…Who are you again?” Brad asked.
Oh, right. Brad has no idea who Ms. Pitt is! “I’m Ms. Pitt, her former teacher. And I’m sure you know more than anyone that it’s easy to adore a girl like Tatum.” I paused and looked right at Hadley and said quietly, “But then again, I adore all my students.”
Hadley grinned back, and I think I saw her eyes glisten a little.
“Should I be worried?” Brad asked like the ultimate boyfriend. How could anything be wrong between them?
“I’m sure she’ll be fine. Just want to track her down. Get back to your practice,” I said. “Have Tatum call me—uh, Hadley’s cell phone—if you hear from her, okay?”
Brad agreed and our unlikely trio moved on.
As we walked away from the tennis court, Mr. Hudson pulled me aside. Which is to say, he thought he pulled Ms. Pitt aside…
“Now, listen. You’re doing the noble thing being worried about another student like this. But I have to get you to your interview now,” Mr. Hudson said emphatically.
“Dude! No!” I said reflexively. “Which is to say…I can’t,” I said quietly. Hadley overheard this.
“Yes, it’s probably not the best idea for Ms. Pitt to be going to that interview in her current state,” Hadley said.
“Look, I believe in you. I know you’re going through stress or something…” Mr. Hudson said.
“I’m freaky, right?” I asked.
“A bit. But the bottom line is you’re the best person for the English chair position. You care about literature and how it can change lives. Instead of just about teaching for the tests, which is what they all want these days.”
“Oh, Mr. Hudson,” Hadley whispered with a bit too much emotion. I don’t even think he heard her, which was lucky for all of us.
“Will you go to that interview, then? You’re going to do great,” Mr. Hudson asked. For a substitute teacher, he was pretty intense.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because you’re you,” Mr. Hudson responded.
I mean, seriously, how does a girl argue with that?
CHAPTER 12
The building where the school board met was sterile and drab, which seemed appropriate, as the school had such boring curriculums.
“This will end badly,” Hadley said ominously, shaking her head.
“Come on, now! You know as well as anyone that Ms. Pitt is the right person for the position!” Mr. Hudson offered cheerfully.
“Remember that whole business with Principal Wells wanting me to leave school so I could rest? And suggesting I reschedule this interview?” I pointed out. “Not a good sign. At all.”
“Oh, but what does Mr. Wells know? He raises pygmy hedgehogs.”
I burst into laughter. “Shut! Up!”
Mr. Hudson was a little confused by that response from Ms. Pitt. “Surely you’ve seen his pictures, too?”
That explained the gerbils on his wall. Hadley asked, “Why would he do that?”
“Exactly. Raising pygmy hedgehogs alone proves his instability.” Mr. Hudson chuckled. “Now go in there and wow ’em, Carol.”
Hadley indicated she wanted a moment outside. I nodded and we excused ourselves, telling Mr. Hudson we’d get back to him in a sec. Really, his belief in Ms. Pitt was endearing but let’s be realistic—I wasn’t up for this interview! Ms. Pitt would lose the position for sure with me at the helm.
“Look,” I said. “I know how much you want this chance but I do not want to blow it for you. I love books, sure, but heading the English department? On that, I have not done my homework. I blew one oral presentation today. Let’s not make the body count two.”
“Couldn’t agree with you more,” said Hadley.
“Okay, so we’ll go in there and reschedule. Say you’re not feeling well…. Mr. Wells can back you up on that one,” I said. We agreed it was a plan: We’d figure out how to switch back, and then Ms. Pitt could do her big interview in her own body and with her own mind. Only then she could nail it.
I made sure we had my cell phone in case Tatum called, and we headed into the interview. United, we checked in with a receptionist who looked like she’d last smiled in 1975. A real Debbie Downer type. “May I help you?” she asked in a nasally voice.
“I’m Hadley—” I blurted. “I mean…I’m Ms. Pitt and this is Hadley Fox,” I corrected, pointing to myself.
“We’re here for the English department chair interview,” said Hadley. “And we just need to talk to the committee to reschedule.”
Debbie Downer’s face scowled all the more at Hadley, which I didn’t think was humanly possible. “But…why are you here? Aren’t you a student?”
Hadley’s face got red. “I am. I’m here for…support.” There was a weird pause. “Go Ms. Pitt!” And that little rah-rah cheerleading move did not help the cause.
“And I’m not feeling well. Just ask Mr. Wells. I am so not up for this interview and I really need to reschedule. Totally for the best,” I said.
Debbie reached for her phone and whispered into it gravely. After a moment, she returned the phone t
o its cradle. Whatever news she just heard on the phone, it seemed serious, based on her solemn expression. “You can take a seat if you’d like. They’re not quite ready for you.”
We sat down in the waiting area on the tacky vinyl chairs. The only reading material was Auto Week. Pass. I wanted to just get this over with already…. We had to help Tatum and, more important, get our own bodies back.
Hadley stared up at the ceiling, biting her lip. Her brow was furrowed and she looked tortured.
“We’ll get out of the interview, I promise,” I said in an attempt to reassure her.
“I know. I was just so excited about this opportunity today,” she said.
“Can I ask you something?” I took a deep breath. “Aren’t you busy enough?” I asked. “I always see you at school running all over, chairing a zillion groups. Now you gotta go and run the entire English department, too?”
“I am involved. Maybe too involved, who knows? But…it means the world to me. I just don’t want this rescheduling request to jeopardize my chance. That would kill me,” she said gravely.
“But…why is it so important to you?”
She turned to me and stared at me earnestly with—unbelievably—my eyes. And I know myself. I meant business. “Because of Miss Mulligan.”
Huh? “Miss Mulligan?”
“My eighth-grade English teacher. She opened up more for me than any other person I’ve ever met,” she said.
“What was so special about her?” Now I had to know.
She took a breath. “Growing up, I always felt my parents liked their TV shows and newspapers more than they liked me. Which isn’t a good way to feel. I was invisible, an intrusion in my own house…. But Miss Mulligan sure didn’t make me feel that way. She listened to me and made me feel valued and important. You know—like a person! She gave me great books to read—phenomenal stuff like Whitman and Franny & Zooey—and then she wanted to know about my opinion. My opinion! She told me I was smart and I believed her.”
I was amazed by her honesty. I also struggled to see Ms. Pitt as a teenager…. To me, she’d always been hippie-drippy Ms. Pitt and was probably born thirty-three years old. I was shocked to hear she had a life before teaching and that it wasn’t all peaches and cream.
“Anyway, I vowed that if someday I could be a Miss Mulligan for someone, I would have done my job.” She smiled to herself and I grinned back.
“I know you’re a Miss Mulligan to my sister,” I said. She looked at me with transparent longing, and I could tell she wanted me to say that I felt the same way about her. But I’ve always been a terrible liar, and the truth was, I didn’t have the same feelings about Ms. Pitt that Tatum did.
“Well…I tried to be a Miss Mulligan for Tatum. At least that was always my intention when I set up those tutoring sessions for her,” she said.
“Whoa, whoa—what?!” I asked. This was the first I’d ever heard about tutoring sessions. I saw Hadley’s face redden and knew she instantly wanted to take that back.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she said.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Tatum needed a tutor?”
“Oh, dear, I hope I didn’t betray her confidence. But I could have sworn she said you knew about it….”
I shook my head no.
“I know she was embarrassed. And it wasn’t anything, really. Her comprehension skills were lacking, and I found her someone who could help, that’s all.”
“That’s not ‘just all.’ I know English is her best subject….”
She smiled. “It was after the tutoring….”
I let this sink in. “So…isn’t that enough, then?” I asked gently. “To know you make this sort of an impact?”
She thought about it for a moment—and let me tell you, it’s strange to see yourself thinking when you yourself aren’t even thinking! She continued, “It’s just this…if I could head the English department, I would have much more control over the curriculum and steer the course load in a more enlightened route. This town can be so closed-minded, and I want to open their horizons just a crack.”
I knew now was my time to let her know I did think she was a great teacher. And after today, I had to admit, it was way easier to recognize. “Well, you’ve got my vote,” I said, and we grinned at each other.
“You can head in now,” Debbie Downer said.
We entered the room and found Mr. Wells at the head of the table along with an assorted group of predictable suspects. Everyone on the committee looked like they’d climbed out of a Sears catalog from 1988—not exactly the most with-it-looking crowd. And Mr. Wells was not happy to see us enter. In fact, no one seemed very enthused by our entrance…. I had no doubt Mr. Wells had been poisoning the board’s take on Ms. Pitt after today’s craziness.
But all I could see when I looked at Mr. Wells now were his pygmy hedgehogs. Could a hobby be any more weird? And also, aren’t hedgehogs small enough? Do you have to make them smaller?
“Now, Ms. Pitt, I had hoped you would get some rest after today’s outburst,” he said drily. “And why did you bring a student? Though we do wish all students could be more like Hadley Fox.” He smiled.
Okay, even though he’s a creepy principal who breeds hedgehogs, wishing students were more like me is still really good to hear, right?
“Oh, I can wait outside—” Hadley said.
“It’s okay. We—I—just need to reschedule this interview and we’ll both be on our way,” I said. “And sorry about before, Mr. Wells. Today’s been…well, odd doesn’t begin to describe it. I haven’t been feeling like myself,” I said.
“To say the least,” whispered Hadley, and we both stifled a giggle—stress does that to you.
“Actually, the opportunity to reschedule an interview is no longer available,” Mr. Wells said.
Wait, what? No longer available? I was indignant: “But you said we could!”
“We?”
“I mean…I. You said I could,” I explained.
“Situations change. The only opportunity for the school board to gather is today…. So if you cannot accommodate us, I’m afraid to say we cannot accommodate you.” Mr. Wells was enjoying this. “Now then, we have several more interviews to conduct but thank you for your consideration.”
Mr. Wells was so insanely dismissive! I got the distinct feeling he enjoyed watching Ms. Pitt deflate.
You know in the movie Dirty Dancing when Patrick Swayze says, “Nobody puts Baby in the corner”? Well, I was having a similar Momma Bear reaction regarding Ms. Pitt. No one puts Ms. Pitt in the corner! I wasn’t about to let her earnest intentions go unnoticed. If this was her one shot at getting the chance to chair the English department, then I was going to make sure she won. I stepped forward to address the board.
“Fine. Then it’s go-time. Let’s do it now,” I said.
“Now? We can’t do it NOW!” Hadley said, eyes ablaze with horror.
Mr. Wells looked up, shocked. “I thought you made it clear you weren’t up to the task today.”
I took a defiant step forward, placed a hand on Ms. Pitt’s hip, and I narrowed my (her) eyes. The pose was remotely pro-wrestler macho.
“Bring it,” I said calmly.
The board members looked at one another, at once horrified AND confused. “Bring it?” someone mouthed to the person next to her.
“Well…she’s already here, isn’t she?” asked another mouse-ish looking woman.
Mr. Wells responded with ninja calm: “All right, then…”
Hadley looked at me with panicked eyes, imploring me not to go it alone. But it was too late. I knew how badly she wanted this.
And for the first time, I understood how much Ms. Pitt deserved it.
I grabbed Hadley’s arm and looked into my eyes, trying to get through to Ms. Pitt. I whispered, “Now or never. We have to try.”
We locked eyes and I felt us connect.
“I won’t let you down.” We shared a smile and knew that we trusted each othe
r.
“Any day now, Ms. Pitt…” Mr. Wells said, exasperated. It was obvious he thought Ms. Pitt was down for the count. “And this is a private interview, Hadley. You may step outside.” His eyes indicated the door.
Left with no choice, Hadley had to slink out. United in our quest, we spontaneously did a little fist-bump. A few school board members laughed nervously.
Before leaving, Hadley placed the cell phone squarely in my hand. “In case Tatum—” she whispered.
I nodded. Hadley left, and, closing the door behind her, she looked forlorn, like someone being led down a wooden plank. I turned to face the board with all the strength I could muster.
“Now, Ms. Pitt, I’m Carl Papp, school district super-intendant. I think we should just jump right in,” Carl said, peering over his Coke-bottle glasses.
Maybe it was the stress, I have no idea, but I heard the word jump and thought it might break the ice and be hilarious if I jumped into the air. You know, as a general indication that we were “jumping in.” I leaped up into the air and knew before my feet planted on the ground that that was an illogical and very stupid thing to do.
“That was…‘jumping in,’” I tried to explain.
“I see…” Carl said, looking over some papers before him, shaking his head slightly. Mr. Wells was stewing.
“Let me come out and ask the obvious. Why do you want to chair the English department?” asked a heavyset woman with badly frosted hair.
“Oh. That’s easy. Because I love love love my students. And when I say love, it’s real love, real devotion—not like when some people say, ‘Oh, I love Brady Beyersdorf or I love Keith Randle’…but deep down you’re thinking—yeah, right, but in two months you’ll be on to someone else….”
Confused eyes stared back at me. What was their deal? Wasn’t my logic convincing? Then I remembered: I needed to sound more like a teacher.
“Seriously, I am all about my students. I give everything to them,” I explained further.
“Is that a good thing?” Mr. Wells asked slyly.
You should know about having no life. You’re the one raising pygmy hedgehogs, I wanted to say but bit my tongue. He so bugged me.
