by Andrew Gates
Principle Hanson held his hands in the air. Jallah knew this would be fun to watch. The principle was not a confrontational man. He acted polite whenever possible. Clinton’s dad on the other hand was loud and boisterous. These two were as opposite as white and black.
But they’re still both fat, Jallah realized. The thought made him chuckle.
“Mr. Obsanjo, if you would please calm down in front of the students and we can take this matter-” Before the principle could say any more, Clinton’s dad cut back in.
“You pull this shit from me? You just have it dropped? You know I’m not alone in this!” he hollered. “I’ve got dozens of parents on my back, every one of them supporting me.”
The father’s voice was loud and commanding. He did not allow Principle Hanson to get a word in edgewise. Clinton seemed to appreciate his dad’s efforts, but the sign on his face showed that he knew this fight was pointless. Every now and then whenever his dad would say something Clinton liked, his expression would change from angry and frustrated to excited and proud, but only for an instant. Once the comment was over, his expression just reverted back to its original state.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Obsanjo, but that’s as much as I can say. The lawsuit is dropped, regardless of how many parents you have behind you,” Hanson replied.
“Dad, that’s what I told you!” Clinton added, addressing his father. “I told you that’s what he said.”
“I know Clinton, but he doesn’t have the power to do that. Don’t trust these teachers, boy. He has no authority to do that. There are laws. The station has laws!” Clinton’s dad raised his right arm abruptly and pointed towards the principle’s face as he said this. Even from the crowd, Jallah could see the fear this created in Principle Hanson’s eyes.
As all this action played out before him, Jallah almost forgot where he was. Suddenly he remembered the crowd again as he heard motion behind him. People were stepping aside for something but he did not turn around to see who or what it was. Then he heard panting, deep hard panting. It must be Louis, he thought to himself. Sure enough, Louis appeared behind him only a few seconds later. He had made his way through the crowd and finally caught up to Jallah in the middle.
“I told you he was pissed,” Louis said quietly to Jallah under his breath. “It looks like he has his dad now too! That’s new.”
Jallah did not respond. He did not want to create any noise which might prevent him from hearing what played out in front of them.
“What is this, ‘that’s as much as I can say’? You can’t do this at all! You’re just breaking laws and moving things around when it’s convenient for you!” the dad responded. “You can’t just throw out this lawsuit!”
“I’m sorry sir,” Principle Hanson replied, trying to fake calmness, “but that’s all I can say. The suit is dropped and it was not done by the school. I’m sorry. If you want to take it up with someone, you’ll have to talk to the court. It’s out of my hands and-”
“I know who to talk to. It’s that fucking teacher, Mrs. Veneeska or whatever!” he answered.
He must be talking about Ms. Vitneskja, Jallah thought. She was his history teacher. Jallah always found Ms. Vitneskja to be a very strange person. Not only was she quiet and quirky, but she also did things no other teacher did. One day he saw Ms. Vitneskja sprinting down the hallway as fast as she could. She ran so quickly she bumped into Margery and knocked her right onto the floor. Jallah had no idea why she had been running, but he found the entire sight pretty bizarre. I wonder if Margery saw me standing there when she got hit.
“She’s the cause of all of this!” The loud shouts from Clinton’s dad brought Jallah’s wandering mind right back into the scene again. He had not even realized he had zoned out.
“I assure you-” the principle said again. It seemed he could not even finish a sentence without interruption.
“You assure me what? Look Mr. Hanson, this Ms. Vitneskja, this new teacher comes out of nowhere and changes everything! You’re telling me she’s not involved? I talked to her, sir. I talked to her. I know her!” he replied aggressively.
The principle shook his head and put his hands together as if he were pleading.
“No, no, I didn’t say she wasn’t involved, but… but look it’s a difficult situation. I can’t explain it to you now, but the case is dropped. It’s over, that’s it. Now if you would like to discuss this further, I suggest we move away from the students so that-”
“So that what? So that you can shut me up? Say what you want to say right here in front of the students. I don’t care!” he replied.
Mr. Hanson was clearly concerned about speaking here in front of all the kids. He kept turning his head, observing the audience that had gathered around him. Yet he never told any of the students to leave.
“Dad, maybe he’s right. What if we talk in his office?” Clinton asked, pulling on his dad’s sweaty black shirt.
His father turned and looked down at him.
“No, Clinton. We do this here.”
Jallah was starting to wonder where all the other teachers were. It seemed odd that Principle Hanson was dealing with this alone here in the middle of the hallway. Perhaps they were all busy, or just unaware of what was going on.
Louis snickered next to him.
“Look, now Clinton is mad at both of them,” he said quietly.
Jallah saw Clinton’s face. To his surprise, it seemed true. I guess he’s worried about causing a scene in front of all these people.
Suddenly Clinton’s dad stopped shouting and faced someone from the crowd. Principle Hanson turned too.
“Mr. Obsanjo, perhaps we can take this conversation elsewhere,” said Mr. Gonzalez’s voice from behind. Although Jallah had never spoken to him before, he knew that Mr. Gonzalez was a very serious man. When he said something, he meant it. His tone alone seemed to cripple Clinton’s father for a few seconds.
“Oh, Mr. Gonzalez! I… I did not expect to see you,” he greeted awkwardly. “Your principle is telling me the school has nothing to do with the lawsuit being dropped.”
Mr. Gonzalez pushed through the crowd of students calmly. When he finally reached the center, he turned and faced the kids.
“Why don’t you all get to your homerooms?” he said. “Ms. Vitneskja’s homeroom is open again today like it normally is.” At first none of the students responded. They simply stood there motionless. Then Mr. Gonzalez took a step closer to the crowd. “Get on guys, there’s nothing to see here,” he said. This time, the students got the message. One by one the crowd started to thin out, but Jallah stayed, curious to see what happened next.
Mr. Gonzalez turned back again to face the angry father.
“That’s right. Harrison is not responsible for what happened,” he answered simply.
“You expect me to believe that?” Clinton’s father responded. “You wanted this to get dropped the whole time. You were pushing for it! Of course someone in this school is behind it.”
Principle Hanson stepped in.
“Someone at the school was behind it, but it was not the school who dropped the suit. We don’t have that authority,” he clarified.
Jallah wondered how long he could stay and watch before Mr. Gonzalez kicked him out too. He calmly started inching backwards, but he never took his eyes away from the action.
“It’s Vitneskja isn’t it?” Clinton’s dad asked. “She’s the one causing all these problems. You should have never hired her in the first place!” This comment was clearly directed towards the principle.
“Mr. Obsanjo, your crowd is gone. You don’t have to make a scene anymore. Let’s finish this discussion in my office,” Mr. Gonzalez pleaded.
Clinton’s dad looked up and spotted Jallah, the only student left watching the debate.
“He’s still here!” he said, pointing.
Mr. Gonzalez turned towards him too.
“Please go to your homeroom right now. School will be starting shorty,” the teacher said to him.
Jallah nodded and ran away.
What a way to start the morning, he thought. It beats watching my brothers fight.
The retreating student did not know if Clinton had a sibling or not, but if not, that would help explain why he often seemed so uptight.
Jallah was the middle child of three boys and they were all very close. When they sat together at dinner, Jallah could discern exactly what his brothers were thinking at that moment. Every twitch, facial expression, pause or grin gave away a thought, idea or memory. He could read them and they could read him too. There was no question that his brothers understood him better than anyone else. People who had never experienced this could never know what it was like to be so connected to somebody. Maybe that’s what Clinton needs, Jallah thought, a brother.
Single child families were not as popular in the Atlantic Station as two child families, but Jallah knew many kids without a sibling. It was against the law for parents to have more than two. Space was small and there needed to be rules. Fortunately a lot of parents out there just wanted one or no children so it was still easy for families to get a special permit for a third child. Once the number got to four and higher though, that’s when it became tougher.Jallah started to think about Clinton surrounded by siblings. They were all shouting at each other, pushing students down in the halls and arguing with teachers. On second thought, maybe there should only be one of him. One Clinton is enough.
As the day went on, Jallah could not get Clinton’s outburst out of his mind. The boy seemed so upset, so frustrated and over what? Jallah did not know. His dad seemed even more upset. He said something about Ms. Vitneskja, he remembered. Something about her and a lawsuit.
Ms. Vitneskja was up to odd things lately. Just yesterday all the students were prohibited from visiting her homeroom. Principle Hanson went around to all the students and told them to meet somewhere else. Later, two armed guards came and stood outside her room for most of the morning. Students crowded around her classroom door just to get a view of the men in uniform. Jallah was one of the lucky ones who got to see them in person. Those who did not get a chance to see the guards saw pictures of them later that night uploaded to the Meganet.
Is she a criminal? Jallah wondered. Guards usually watched over criminals.
With guards in school one day and a parent publicly fighting with the principle the next, these last two days were the most exciting days of school Jallah could remember. And apparently it all has to do with Ms. Vitneskja.
Jallah’s third class of the day was history with Ms. Vitneskja. As he walked into the room, he wondered if any of his questions would be answered.
Jallah spotted Margery as he walked in. He smiled as he looked at her, though he doubted she saw him. She looked very pretty today in a pink shirt and a white hairband. He could not see what she was wearing on her legs but he imagined it must have been something pretty. She always looks pretty.
Ms. Vitneskja’s classroom was not as well decorated as many of the others. While most teachers covered the walls of their rooms in posters, framed images or decorations, Ms. Vitneskja’s walls were covered in nothing more than grey paint. Jallah guessed she must not have been a very creative person to have left the room so untouched. Either that or she’s lazy, he thought. Jallah noticed she had been dressing very lazily lately. Often she wore nothing more than a pullover and some pants as if she had woken up that day and put on the first two things she saw. In fact, there were usually students in the class who wore nicer clothes than her. Jallah looked up at her now. She was wearing a brown sweater with yellow stains on it, he guessed from some sort of cheese. On the bottom she wore loose white pants, like something one would find in the fitness center. Her light hair was beginning to show in her roots like a virus infecting the darker color. Jallah wondered if she even noticed.
Jallah liked Ms. Vitneskja better before, back when she used to dress with more care. He did not know why, but for some reason he enjoyed looking at her with her in a colorful blouse and a tight black skirt. Something about the way she looked in those first few days made him feel good. Now her face seemed weird and fleshy and her body undefined. Not like Margery, he thought. Margery is always pretty. Jallah turned to look at her one more time.
The class was starting to fill up and the students took their normal seats. When the class time finally started, Ms. Vitneskja walked over to the door and shut it. Jallah noticed right away that there was a student missing, an empty seat in the back of the room.
“Where is Clinton?” Ms. Vitneskja asked as she walked back to her desk. Obviously she noticed his absence too.
For a moment the room was quiet but then Jaycn blurted out the answer.
“He got in trouble. He was yelling at Mr. Hanson and then his dad came and yelled at him too,” he answered. Jaycn was a dark-skinned kid like Jallah, but dumber and more talkative.
Ms. Vitneskja almost seemed relieved by this news. A faint grin appeared on her face but it soon disappeared almost as fast as it had come.
“Clinton’s dad yelled at him?”
“No, he yelled at Mr. Hanson. They both did, but the dad was yelling more. They’re both in trouble now.”
Suddenly there was a commotion in the room. Students leaned over, whispering to other students. He heard the other kids asking questions about Jaycn’s story.
“Quiet, quiet,” the teacher said to her students, trying to calm them down.
“Wait, I don’t get it. What happened?” asked Palm, another dumb kid.
“I saw the whole thing!” Jaycn said. He stood up from his chair. “Clinton was so mad. He was yelling at Mr. Hanson. He said ‘this isn’t fair!’ and then after a few minutes his dad showed up too! Everybody saw it and there was a whole crowd in the hallway. Everybody was watching it! And his dad freaked out in front of everybody!”
“What did he say?” asked Tanya.
Jallah was surprised to see how many people had not heard this story yet.
“He talked about you!” Jaycn said, pointing to Ms. Vitneskja. “It was something you did that made him mad, but he sounds crazy.”
Once she was mentioned in the story, Ms. Vitneskja no longer seemed interested in perpetuating this conversation. She put her left hand up in the air.
“Alright guys, let’s calm down. I don’t think now is the right time to share this story,” she said.
Palm spoke up anyway.
“But wait, I want to know… what happened? How did he get in trouble?”
“I saw the whole thing,” Jaycn said again. “I can tell you! Sarego and Jallah were there too. Was anyone else there?” He searched around the room.
Clearly Ms. Vitneskja’s attempt at controlling the class had failed. This type of thing happened from time to time. Ms. Vitneskja was not a particularly aggressive person and therefore easy to manipulate. Jallah often felt bad when this happened but never did anything to fight it.
“Well, what happened?” Palm asked again.
“Jallah saw better than I did!” Jaycn said, putting Jallah on the spot. “He was right up front! He saw the whole thing!”
Jallah did not often talk in class and did not like being singled out like this. He felt all the eyes on him. I have to speak, he realized.
“I didn’t see the whole thing. I only got there after his dad was already there.”
“But still, what happened?” Palm asked.
Jallah looked over at Ms. Vitneskja, who seemed to have given up on maintaining order. She sat behind her desk, nervously watching the room like a security guard watching a sketchy person exit the green zone. She casually nodded back to him.
“Fine, Jallah. You can tell it. But please don’t say anything bad about your fellow students and once you’re done telling the story, let’s get back to the lesson. We have a lot to learn today,” she said, finally giving the students their permission to learn what happened.
Jallah nodded back to her and turned inward towards the class. He told them everything he had seen. He told them abo
ut fat Louis running through the halls, about the crowd, about Clinton and his father and about Mr. Gonzalez arriving at the end to help the principle. He tried to include as much dialog as he could remember, but he guessed he had recited some of the words incorrectly. All the while, his fellow students listened intently. When he finally finished the story, all the kids started asking questions at once, trying to learn as much detail as they could. But Jallah did not answer. Ms. Vitneskja said it was time to learn after all.
“Thank you, Jallah. Let’s all pay attention now. Jallah does not want to answer any questions, and that’s good. We have a lot to learn, remember?” she said. Although her words were plain and boring, the tone in her voice suggested that this story pleased her in some way. That subtle grin made an appearance again, this time lasting a bit longer.
That day Jallah could hardly concentrate on the lesson. They were learning about some sort of ancient culture. He could not remember which one though. They were all the same to him. Egyptians lived a long time ago on the surface. They did not have electricity and they had weird customs. Greeks lived a long time ago on the surface. They did not have electricity and they had weird customs. Aztecs lived a long time ago on the surface. They did not have electricity and they had weird customs. The story was the same no matter which way Ms. Vitneskja told it. Instead, Jallah’s thoughts were on Clinton. He wondered what he was doing right now. Was he in trouble for his outburst? Why was he upset in the first place?
And of course, when he was not thinking about Clinton or attempting to pay attention to the lesson, his mind would drift towards Margery. He liked to watch the way she raised her hand almost anytime the teacher asked a question. It seemed there was nothing she did not know.
And she’s so pretty too. Her blonde hair hung down past her face. He watched as she brushed it out of the way, revealing her nice white smile.
About halfway through the class, Jallah finally came to the conclusion that he should do something with Margery. He did not know what. Maybe he would go to her home. Maybe they would go shopping or visit the cinema. He had no plan, but he knew he wanted to do something. Simply walking by her locker was getting him nowhere. It was time to take action.
