“Ms. Wells. My hair’s turning gray waiting for your answer,” Dr. Lipton said.
I thought about going to Cornelia and saying, “In order to keep my job I will have to cheat on state testing. I’m sure that’s not what you had in mind when you made this deal.” Unfortunately, because I’d already lied to her once, she wouldn’t believe a word of it. I scarcely believed it myself.
“Fine,” I said, because I didn’t have a choice. “I’ll help you.”
“Don’t think I’m not grateful. You’ll be rewarded. I always take care of my own. Remember that.”
“That all?” I cringed at the idea of being one of Lipton’s “own.” It was like being in cahoots with a cobra.
“One more thing. There’s a rumor going around the school that you’re fraternizing with a fellow faculty member. Any truth to that?”
I squared my shoulders, prepared for a fight. “I read the teacher’s handbook from cover to cover, and there aren’t any policies against dating other teachers.”
“No need to get your back up. I don’t have a problem with you dating a colleague so long as you don’t take out a billboard. I just hope that going out with Mr. Rutherford won’t interfere with your job performance. Nice fellow, but I’ve never considered him to be a team player.”
Translation: Unlike me, Carl wouldn’t cheat and lie for Dr. Lipton.
“It won’t be a problem,” I said curtly.
I left Lipton’s office and nearly knocked skulls with Ms. Ware who, as predicted, was hovering outside.
“What did you tell him?” she whispered viciously.
“Ms. Ware,” Dr. Lipton said from inside his office. “May I have the pleasure of your company?”
Her pupils widened, and she looked genuinely scared. I almost felt sorry for her.
“You better not have told him.” She poked a lethal red fingernail dangerously close to my eyeball.
Then again, maybe she deserved whatever was coming to her.
The next morning I entered the front office, leery that Ms. Ware might be lying in wait with a stapler gun. When I peeked around the corner I saw, not a secretary bent on revenge, but a young, creamy-skinned blonde woman in a plaid jumper and white blouse standing behind the desk.
“Hello,” she said merrily. “Welcome to Harriet Hall. Care for a kiss?”
“Excuse me?” I definitely wasn’t used to that type of greeting.
She thrust a glass bowl heaped with silver-foiled Hershey Kisses in my direction.
I ignored the candies and nervously glanced about the office. In a near whisper I said, “Where’s Ms. Ware?”
“Ms. Ware is no longer working at Harriet Hall,” said the woman. The braid down her back was as thick as a hank of rope. “I’m Jackie Blem, and I’m her replacement.”
“She’s not coming back?”
Seemed like it should have been harder to get rid of Ms. Ware. Kinda like Jason in Friday the 13th. I expected her to pop out of a closet wielding a nail file.
“I’m afraid not,” Jackie said, still holding the bowl of Kisses.
Relieved, I grabbed a handful and introduced myself.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Wells,” Jackie said with a dimpled smile. “Dr. Lipton asked me to give you a message. He’s moving you up to the third floor today. Some maintenance people from the board will help you transport your things.”
“The third floor? Are you sure?”
“That’s what he told me.”
The third floor, known affectionately as “the penthouse,” had been recently remodeled and every classroom was equipped with a bank of computers, an overhead projector, a DVD player, and a SMART board. A smaller but more tastefully decorated lounge was also located on the floor.
“Wait a minute. Who’s moving out?”
Jackie glanced down at a paper in front of her and scanned it with a plump finger. “The name is Sprague. She’s been transferred to the alternative school.”
Another shocker. Not only had Dr. Lipton gotten rid of Ms. Sprague, he’d exiled her to the county’s version of Guantanamo Bay. The alternative school was home to students who’d been kicked out of their neighborhood schools for serious infractions like teacher assault, drug dealing, and gang membership. Rumor had it the floors were painted red to disguise frequent bloodshed, and the building contained certain shadowy corners no staff member dared to enter alone. I couldn’t help but feel a bit badly for my ex-buddy teacher even though she’d brought it on herself.
After all my things had been moved, I sat in my comfy ergonomic chair, admiring my new environs and munching on candy corn. Sunlight streamed through clean windows that overlooked a row of Bradford pear trees. The walls smelled of fresh paint, and the overhead acoustical tiles soaked up any noise louder than a whisper. It was as different from my portable as a lean-to shack was to the Taj Mahal.
Dr. Lipton had kept his word; he took care of the people who were loyal to him. On the flip side, he was not a man you wanted to tangle with. Ms. Sprague and Ms. Ware had certainly discovered that.
Once my students arrived in the new classroom, I spent the better part of the day policing their actions, insisting they wash and spray their hands before touching the new equipment. I shooed them away from the SMART board, and threatened Indian burns to anyone who dared deface the desks.
After the final dismissal bell rang, Ms. Evans, third-floor chair, visited my room. “Welcome to our neighborhood.” She handed me a wicker basket heaped with goodies: a coffee mug, a box of Andes thin mints, Sharpies, Post-its and a gleaming, cherry-red Swingline stapler, the so-called Cadillac of staplers.
I picked up the stapler and stroked its sleek finish.
“That’s from me,” said Ms. Evans. She wore her honey-colored hair in a glossy bun; red apple earrings dangled from her earlobes. “I had an extra one, almost brand-new. Very low mileage.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you given any thought to your flag?”
“Excuse me?”
“All third-floor residents hang decorative flags outside their doors. I teach geometry so I have a flag with a parallelogram. You can choose whatever design you want. Ms. Klasky in room 301 hand-stitches the flags. We also have a door decorating contest at Christmas. It’s completely optional, of course, but we’ve had one hundred percent participation for three years running.”
“Count me in. For the door and the flag.”
I had no idea what image should appear on my flag. A couch potato? A wormy apple?
“I almost forgot.” She handed me a keychain with two newly minted keys. “Your keys to the lounge and the faculty restroom. Welcome to the third floor family.”
That evening Carl was in his kitchen pulverizing a chicken breast with a meat mallet, his biceps bulging with every hit.
“I wish you would have told me about Deena,” he said.
Smack.
“I’d have set that woman straight.”
Smack.
I was perched on a stool, ducking bits of raw chicken and wishing for a pair of safety glasses. Carl liked to cook but he was lousy at it. He burned most of his dishes and over-seasoned others.
“That’s why I didn’t tell you until now. I didn’t want it to be this big to-do. I had no idea Dr. Lipton would go so far as to transfer her.”
“I’m not blaming you. Your lesson plans are written proof she was unfair to you. She’s lucky she wasn’t fired.”
“I still feel bad about it,” I said, mainly because what happened to Ms. Sprague affected Carl. He told me she was making some noises about moving to Atlanta with Katherine.
“You shouldn’t think like that.” Carl held the mallet aloft as he prepared to give the meat another wallop. “Deena deserved everything she got.”
“Isn’t that chicken t
enderized yet?”
He laid the mallet on the cutting board. “There’s something else you should know. Deena had the colossal nerve to accuse you of being a terrible teacher.”
“She did?” I willed my facial muscles not to twitch.
“Crazy, huh?”
“What did she say exactly?”
Carl wiped his hands with a paper towel. “There are two types of teachers at Harriet Hall. The first have a true passion for teaching. Some people make fun of them, calling them apple-heads, but the bottom line is they take pride in what they do. The second kind are just marking time, counting the days until summer vacation. Deena says you’re the second kind.”
I didn’t respond. Mostly because I knew exactly how many school days there were until summer vacation. In fact, I went as far as to X out the passing dates on the calendar.
Carl grabbed my flute and took a sip. “Do you know what I told her?”
“What?” Not that I wanted to know the answer. I was ninety-five percent certain it was going to make me want to throw darts at my photograph or, at the very least, slap myself around a little.
“I told her she was suffering from a nasty case of sour grapes and that you were one of the most devoted teachers I’d ever known.”
I simply could not smile and pretend I was Teacher of the Year. It was like begging to be lightning bolt bait.
“Carl,” I said. “It’s very sweet of you to defend me, but the truth is, you’ve never seen me teach before.”
Nor did I ever want him to. I was probably the worst teacher at Harriet Hall. Yet I was passing myself off to him as a good teacher.
“Don’t sell yourself short, babe.” He kissed my cheek. “I’ve seen the way your students wait outside your door before class. It’s like they can’t wait to get in. Not even the kids in my classes do that. You’ve got a gift, admit it.”
I felt sick to my stomach, listening to him heap undeserved praise on me. Hopefully he would never find out the truth.
Fifteen
That week I learned I wasn’t the only person with a new beau or, as my students said, “boo.” Joelle was also keeping company with a brand-new guy. She’d been seeing him for over a month, and that was the reason I hadn’t heard more than a couple of peeps from her.
Her new man was Trey Winston, a member of Rose Hill’s old guard and owner of Winston Insurance and Realty. He’d asked Joelle out to dinner at the Club a few weeks ago, and they’d been canoodling ever since. Now she was ready to go public with the romance and had planned a dinner party. Naturally yours truly was on the guest list.
I eagerly accepted her invitation. It was a good night for me; Carl had his daughter Katherine for the weekend. He and I never saw each other whenever he had daddy duties. Plus I really missed my old friend, and was curious about her new squeeze.
On the night of her dinner party, Joelle answered the door, and I barely recognized her. She looked as if she’d lost at least ten pounds and was garbed in skinny slacks and a waist-skimming cashmere top. Her bright red hair was dyed a more sedate burgundy, and she’d wrangled it into a towering bun. New diamond earrings winked from her earlobes. Joelle didn’t have extra money for splurges. Trey must be giving her the rush.
“Sorry,” I said. “Wrong house.”
She grabbed my arm and pulled me inside. “Get in here.”
“You look amazing,” I said.
“Thank you.” She twirled in front of me. “Twelve pounds down and counting. Master Cleanse.”
I imitated her twirl. “Five pounds up and counting. Almond chicken.”
When Carl’s cooking experiments backfired we ordered Chinese take-out.
“And where are your animal prints? There’s not a spot or stripe in sight.”
“You haven’t seen my underwear. Trey says that’s where animal prints belong. He’s a little bit on the conservative side.”
I sniffed the air. “What are you cooking? Your famous shrimp and grits, I hope.”
“Nah. Trey’s not a fan of Southern cooking. We’re having grilled salmon. I should warn you,” she said, lowering her voice. “Baby Bowen’s here.”
I shrunk away from Joelle. “What is she doing here? Y’all aren’t friends.”
“I didn’t know she was coming,” Joelle whispered as she looked over her shoulder. “She’s the date of this guy named Donnie who works under Trey.”
“Is she being civil?”
“Sucking up more than a Hoover upright. I’m loving it.”
“I should leave.”
Joelle dragged me further inside. “She knows you were on your way. It’ll be fine.”
I entered the sparsely furnished living room (Joelle could only afford to buy a piece here and there) and as soon as Baby saw me she acted perfectly nice, saying, “Well, hello there, Toni Lee. Long time no see.” Her blue eyes, however, looked cold and suspicious. I could hardly blame her.
Along with Baby, there was also a spare male, a colleague of Trey’s. His name was Kirk, and he was obviously there for my amusement. I’d yet to tell Joelle about my relationship with Carl, mainly because it had only recently gotten serious. I wanted to have a long, leisurely visit with her and tell her all the details of my new love affair. But between her crazy hospital hours and my job and Teacher Corp classes, we hadn’t been able to get together in weeks.
Joelle introduced me to Trey. He was over six feet tall and towered over Joelle. Beyond that he had thinning, colorless hair, a weak chin, and a mushy midsection. When Joelle stood beside him she glowed like a nightlight, and that’s all that mattered.
Dinner at Joelle’s house was usually a riotous affair. Relatives, from great aunts to second cousins twice removed, would come rattling out of the woodwork. The sideboard splintered under the weight of at least a dozen steaming Southern dishes: collards, pole beans, and sweet potato casserole. Earthenware dishes were passed around family style and heaped on colorful, mismatched plates. Everything was washed down with a river of sweetened iced tea.
Tonight was a much more formal affair, with stiff linen napkins, tapered candles, peonies, composed plates, and chilled bottles of Chardonnay. Everything was so white I felt like I might get snow blindness.
At dinner we discussed the stock market, golf, and the opening of a new branch office of Trey’s company in Atlanta. Baby’s boyfriend Donnie told a couple of jokes so raunchy I wanted to spray the room with air freshener afterwards.
I nursed one glass of wine to show Baby I was perfectly capable of getting through an evening without getting wasted. Joelle, who was usually such a chatterbox, barely said a word.
During a disappointing dessert of lime sorbet and angel food cake—I’d been hoping for Joelle’s famous blackberry cobbler—Baby leaned forward, big breasts straining against her sweater. “Toni Lee, I haven’t see you around in a while. Where have you been hiding yourself?”
“Toni Lee’s a teacher now,” Joelle said.
“Teaching?” Baby said. “Teaching what?
“Life Skills,” I said. “I’m a special ed teacher at Harriet Hall.”
Baby tittered politely. “Now, Toni Lee. What are you really doing?”
“Seriously,” I said.
“I don’t understand.” Baby twisted a strand of her strawberry blonde hair around her finger. “Is this to fulfill some kind of community service requirement?”
“No. It’s my job.”
“That’s the project school, isn’t it?” Trey was cutting his cake into small, precise pieces. Although he was in his early thirties, poor fellow was already developing jowls. “I bet you see a lot of kids wearing two-hundred dollar tennis shoes.”
“I saw this woman in the Kroger the other day,” Baby said. “She was talking on an iPhone but she paid for her groceries with food stamps. What’s wro
ng with that picture?”
Donnie nodded in agreement. He had a receding hairline, watery gray eyes, and skin coarse as cement, probably from a bad case of adolescent acne. “People on public assistance know how to work the system. It’s shocking.”
I glanced at Joelle. As a delivery room nurse, she saw indigent people nearly every day, and was always sympathetic to their plights. Normally she’d be hammering these people’s hides to the wall. I knew she was trying to impress Trey, but I assumed she’d still make some gentle objections. But no, she was staring dreamily into her sorbet, clearly unconcerned by the elitist comments flying around her ears.
“That’s not the way it is,” I said.
“That so?” Trey gave me a patronizing smile.
“People on public assistance are hardly a bunch of fat cats,” I said. “At least the ones I know. Some of my students have pretty bad teeth and come to school dirty because they don’t have hot water or a place to wash their clothes. I haven’t seen a lot of pricey tennis shoes or fancy cars either. If they’re working the system, it doesn’t seem like they’re doing a good job.”
I glanced at Joelle for support. “Right, Joelle?
She looked up from her sorbet, startled. “Sorry. I wasn’t really listening. More coffee anyone?”
“I’ll have more coffee,” Baby said. She glanced at me. “And maybe we could talk about something a little less depressing?”
Kirk, who’d barely said a word all evening, smiled at me and said, “I admire your courage working at a school like that. Can’t be an easy job.”
“Thank you,” I said softly. In the candlelight he looked like a younger Hugh Grant with brown hair that continually flopped over his forehead.
After dinner Trey, Donnie, and Kirk went out on Joelle’s deck to smoke cigars. Baby excused herself to go to the powder room, and I stacked the china plates and took them into the kitchen.
Girl Meets Class Page 12
