Javier tried to push the image of Frankenstein’s monster out of his head. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to have legs that didn’t work. It pained him just to look at Mr. Seneca, so he stared at the wheels on the TV cart instead.
The teacher’s voice commanded Javier to listen to him though. “Gentlemen, this class is called Media Broadcasting. In two days, we are going to start doing announcements on the new monitors. The system is called Guardian TV. Every morning, a pair of you will become the St. Peter’s version of anchormen, and the rest of you will run cameras, write scripts, and do all the grunt work to put on a program during homeroom period that better be good—real good, gentlemen.”
The sophomores Javier knew started to look at each other, and from the looks on their faces, he bet they were all thinking, Transfer. All weekend, he had been thinking about schedule changes too. Maybe he could learn to play drums and be in band first period. If his parents saw him doing some intricate pattern at half-time, wouldn’t they be impressed?
Javier glanced around. He bet none of them asked for this elective, but for some reason, they got stuck in it. All the guys had the wide-eyed look of experimental monkeys.
At that moment, Ram Fierro came into the classroom. He wasn’t a tall guy, but he made the most of his size and speed when he played football. His athletic success had made him popular, but so did his friendly reputation with the cheerleaders. “I’m sorry I’m late, Mr. Seneca, Sir.” He walked comfortably up to the teacher and extended his tardy slip. “I’m Ramiro Fierro, Sir. Everyone calls me Ram.”
Mr. Seneca balanced his weight on one crutch and took the tardy slip. “You won’t be late to my class on a regular basis, will you?”
“Today was weird. It won’t happen again. I know this is a very important class, Mr. Seneca, Sir.”
“Suck up!” somebody behind Javier half-coughed.
Ram frowned right at Javier, who lifted his hands palm-up in front of his chest as if to say, “Hey, it wasn’t me!”
After Ram took a spot in an empty chair, Mr. Seneca pulled out a sheet of paper and called out names again. As each guy raised a hand and said “That’s me, Sir,” he asked each boy what afterschool activities he participated in. Ram, two other seniors, and the three juniors were on the football team. Kenny played basketball but didn’t need to report to regular practice until next month. Steve and Landry were sophomores like Javier and Pat who didn’t do sports or play in the school band.
After Mr. Seneca told everyone about writing and presenting announcements, he took them to the back of the room and described the two video cameras, extra monitors, and the two laptop computers for the transmission from the media classroom to the new system. He issued everybody a thin book about writing for broadcast news. He explained his policy on handling the equipment and emphasized the monetary value of each piece. “You horse around with something and it breaks, gentlemen, you will buy the school a new one.” He gave out homework assignments just before the bell rang: “Start watching the news anchors every night and write out three fifteen-second announcements. That’s due tomorrow.”
Javier picked up his binder and slipped the media textbook inside it. He glanced up as Pat picked up his book and spiral and thought again about Feliz. He wondered how to bring up the girl without sounding stupid.
Pat didn’t even look Javier’s way. He just moved toward the door, following the other guys out. Javier picked up the pace to walk with him and was glad when Pat gave him a questioning look and started conversation.
“How do I know if something is fifteen seconds long?” Pat asked Javier as they walked out of the building.
“Stopwatch, stupid,” Kenny said loudly. “Maybe if you stayed in sports, Porky, you’d know what fifteen seconds means.”
Javier watched as Pat turned away and practically ran down the steps. He felt sorry for Pat, who was heading for more classes with Kenny García. At least Javier could get away from Kenny’s attitude and see his friends in English. This was one advantage to the honors courses he took. The prep courses for advanced placement filtered out the guys like Kenny who didn’t care about anything at school except for the sports program.
As Javier entered the main building, he pulled his schedule out and read an unfamiliar teacher’s name: “F. Maloney.” He pushed his way through the crowded hall near his second-period in Room Six. The woman he had seen yesterday in Mr. Seneca’s room was talking to Mrs. Elliott, the geometry teacher whose husband coached the soccer team. Every guy who passed them acted like a rubbernecker gawking at a highway accident. Any woman caused the guys to stop and stare. It was just the nature of the beast since girls weren’t the norm at St. Peter’s. But this new teacher looked younger than the other women, so the traffic jam was thicker than usual.
Javier saw Mr. Quintanilla moving against the current of students like a big ocean liner. He growled at students to tuck in their shirts, keep moving, stop talking in halls, and kept repeating, “Get to class! NOW!”
A sudden itch on the bottoms of his feet caught Javier’s attention about the same time he realized the new lady teacher was walking toward the same room where he intended to go. She had to be Maloney; she would be his English teacher.
Javier saw Mr. Q within eyeshot. He knew the Dean was a stickler for old-fashioned rules, so Javier stopped right at the door to let the lady teacher enter first.
Immediately, he felt half a dozen hits in the back from the guys behind him who weren’t ready to stop so suddenly. He dug his heels into floor, using his body to push back against the tide. Like a punching bag, he was slugged with elbows, shoulders, and books.
The Maloney woman moved right past without even a “thank you” or nod in his direction. She stood just inside the door and gestured at the boys. “Take a seat, gentlemen. We have a lot to cover this morning.”
As usual, no seats were left but the front desks, so Javier didn’t have much choice but to take one. He sat down to stare at the whiteboard in front of the room, Ms. Maloney was printed in swirling letters with a black marker.
The second-period bell rang. Ms. Maloney walked over and closed the door firmly. As she came to the center of the room to speak, Javier saw Ignacio’s sweaty face peeking through the diamond-shaped window on the door. The brass knob turned, and the wooden door opened.
Ms. Maloney half-turned toward the sound. “You are late to my class, Sir. Get a tardy slip from the front office.”
“But, Miss—” Ignacio took a couple of steps inside the room. “The band hall—”
“Don’t challenge me. I told you—” She didn’t have to say anymore.
A large tanned hand had come through the door, grabbed Ignacio by the back collar of his uniform shirt, and yanked him back into the hall. It had to be Mr. Q. The door closed with a firm thud, and the new English teacher turned back as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Her brown eyes scanned the room. Her lips straightened into a serious line. “If you are sitting in this class, you are preparing for the advanced placement courses as juniors and seniors. I take that preparation very seriously.”
Javier studied her face, wondering how old she was. The teacher’s thick hair was like a black triangle framing her head. She wore a silver cross on a woven necklace. The blue dress she wore had no sleeves, and her arms were thin but not skinny. The dress stopped just above her knees, and he thought her legs were shaped well for a woman.
“I was born here in San Antonio and grew up not far from this school. I attended college in Nevada and received my advanced degrees in Austin. I’ve taught many levels of English, gentlemen, but I prefer the pre-AP classes. To me, the foundation is the key element in creating a solid structure.” She moved back to the desk and picked up a paper on her desk. “I’m going to take attendance now.”
She had gotten to the “P” names when Ignacio, Andy, and two other band members came in with tardy slips. After they handed them to her, she said, “See me after class, gentlemen.”
> She spent the next forty-five minutes going over lists of rules for classroom conduct, handing out a class syllabus and reading through it word for word. She also gave her first writing assignment: “Tell me who your friends are, so that I will know who you are.”
After the bell rang, Javier waited outside the classroom for Ignacio and Andy to finish their talk with Ms. Maloney so they could all walk to history class together.
Ignacio wiped a hand over his sweaty forehead when he saw Javier. “I don’t think I’ve got a butt left. I’ve been chewed out today by so many people. Started with my dad in the car, Mr. Henley, Mr. Q., and now this freaky English teacher.”
“That woman’s something else,” Andy said, as they all picked up the pace and walked outside to Mr. Seneca’s building. “Didn’t anyone explain to the new teacher about the band guys? Last year, teachers usually gave us a break about tardy slips.”
Javier squinted into the sunshine of the outdoors. “What did Mr. Q. say about it?”
“He said we needed to get our sorry selves to class on time or we’d be in detention after three tardies. He was no help at all. We got to talk to Mr. Henley,” Ignacio said, hustling up the steps beside them.
Walking inside Mr. Seneca’s room, once again Javier was surprised by the silence, despite the fact that at least twenty guys sat at the desks. The teacher on metal crutches in the front of the classroom intimidated everybody. Javier wondered if word got around that the guys didn’t act up because of it, would all the teachers want a pair of crutches to maintain control?
Ignacio led the way to three empty seats in the middle row. As the last one, Javier got the desk in the front with Andy and Ignacio sitting behind him.
Mr. Seneca nodded at Javier with a hint of a smile on his face. It disappeared as quickly as it showed. The bell rang, and Mr. Seneca slowly moved a few steps until his position was directly in front of Javier.
“Javier,” he said quietly, “wheel that teacher’s chair over here so I can sit down later.”
Ignoring a kissing sound behind him, Javier stood up and walked over to the teacher’s desk. The black leather chair looked comfortable with padded arms and a cushioned seat. It rolled easily on thick rubber wheels. Javier pulled it back from the desk and then effortlessly wheeled it toward the teacher. “Here?” he asked, leaving the chair within arms’ reach for Mr. Seneca.
“Good, thanks.”
After Javier sat down, the teacher stepped closer to the first row and said, “I am Mr. Seneca, and this is World History class. When I was your age, I thought history was dull and boring, but I had a teacher in college that made me realize that I am history. You are history, gentlemen, and if we don’t pay attention to history, we are going to blow ourselves right off the planet.” He paused to glare at Pat Berlanga, who had squeezed himself behind the second table in the second row. His chin rested on his hand. It was Pat’s favorite position for napping. “Mr. Berlanga, do you think I sound melodramatic?”
Pat lowered his hand and glanced around like he wasn’t certain where he was.
“Mr. Berlanga, do you know what ‘melodramatic’ means?”
Pat shrugged. “Uh, not really … uh, Sir.”
Mr. Seneca shook his head. His eyes turned up to the ceiling. “Give me patience down here.”
Everyone chuckled a little. Javier felt relief when Mr. Seneca’s serious mask relaxed through the mouth. “Mr. Berlanga, you have me for two classes. Make a note to increase your vocabulary this year.”
Pat nodded and shifted his bottom around like he had a rash.
Javier glanced down at his desk. He wondered if either one of them could meet Mr. Seneca’s expectations. He hadn’t been afraid to get up for show-and-tell in elementary school. He wasn’t afraid to answer in class, and with group projects, he didn’t mind when the other guys asked him to step up and speak first. But could he pull it all together when there was a camera rolling? How did he get so lucky to get the new elective?
At the same time, Javier wondered what it might be like to be part of a “school first”—to be one of the first guys to work the new equipment and get on school TV. Of course, that could also make him the first guy to mess up in front of the whole school too. What did Mr. Seneca tell Kenny? Everyone in the school watching, just waiting for you to mess up, make just one little mistake so they can tease you about it all day long. Javier’s head filled up and replayed various mess-ups in weird daydreams.
“And what’s your opinion, Mr. Ávila?”
Javier gripped the sides of the table. Mr. Seneca stood directly in front of him. Javier realized he had no idea what the teacher had been saying for the past few minutes.
Javier stared at Mr. Seneca as an imaginary drum roll sounded. Slowly, he said, “I’m not sure, Sir. It’s one of those things with no easy answer.”
Mr. Seneca stared down Javier, who tried not to flinch. He knew the teacher was trying to decide if Javier spoke honestly or was trying to save his butt because he wasn’t paying attention. He grunted at Javier. As Mr. Seneca moved his crutches and walked away, Javier felt like he had just escaped a firing squad.
“What about the rest of you? Do you think nations are destined to repeat the same mistakes without a serious study of history?”
As a few guys raised their hands and made comments, Javier regretted his earlier response. He would have enjoyed answering that question. As a rule, he liked history classes. From then on, he made a better effort to pay attention.
Mr. Seneca spoke at length about his world travels as the son of military officers. After college, he had enlisted in the Marines and had served in Japan, Africa, and the Middle East.
He made the class laugh with a couple of stories about American stereotypes in foreign countries, when like a sudden cloud covering the sun, his facial expression darkened. His mouth turned down slightly. “Some of you are probably thinking I am on crutches because of a military accident, right?” A few guys nodded, but Mr. Seneca shook his head. “I’m on crutches because I made a stupid mistake, boys. I got distracted and crashed my truck about three years ago.” His crutches tapped the floor in a quick series of thuds. “Can’t blame this mistake on somebody else, and when the buck stops right inside your back pocket, you learn pretty fast that life means nothing unless you pay attention.”
Javier resisted the urge to move in his chair. He didn’t want others to see the discomfort he felt hearing the teacher’s tragic story.
Mr. Seneca drew a breath before he continued. “Want to know the most important lesson I learned? Some of the best things happen when circumstances are at their worst. Spending all those months in a rehab hospital, I learned how to repair computers and went online to get my master’s degree in history. I also learned to play basketball in a wheelchair. What new things have you learned the past three years, huh?”
He looked over the entire room. “After what I’ve been through, I won’t take excuses from you, especially since every one of you has two moving legs and a working brain. You try something in this class, and I’ll know it. I may not be able to run after you, but I can assign enough history research that will keep you in the library seven nights a week.”
Mr. Seneca stood right beside the chair. With a hint of exhaustion crossing his features, he gave a grunt and maneuvered his body and his crutches to sit down. Javier felt like somebody should jump up and help, but Mr. Seneca knew exactly how to balance himself and use his arms to sink into the chair. He leaned the crutches on the TV cart behind him.
No one said a word.
Javier just watched him, uncertain and embarrassed. He assumed Mr. Seneca would waste time telling more stories, but the man had the energy to distribute textbooks, explain the first unit of study, and give out the first three reading assignments. He also described the first research project that was due in three weeks.
Javier felt exhausted by the end of third-period but knew he couldn’t complain without sounding lame—what a terrible word choice with Mr. Seneca’s
disability! He wondered how he could be around this teacher twice in one day and not say something totally insulting. The word, transfer, echoed in his head again. How hard can it be to keep a drumbeat? I’d be with my friends. I could have some fun.
As the bell rang to end history class, Javier turned around in his chair, ready to ask Andy if there were any beginners in the drumline.
That’s when Mr. Seneca called out a command that easily rose above the noise. “Javier Ávila, Patricio Berlanga, I want to talk to you. Right now. Up here, up front.”
CHAPTER THREE
Javier’s friends quickly said, “Gotta go!” Ignacio and Andy slipped around the desks and hustled out of the room like a fire drill had started.
At least Javier wasn’t totally alone. To help him feel a bit less nervous as they approached Mr. Seneca in the front of the room, Javier focused his gaze on Pat.
“I made an executive decision,” the teacher said. He gestured from one boy to the other. “You two will be the first newscast team on Guardian TV Wednesday morning.”
Oh, crap! Javier thought, but to his teacher he said, “Okay.” He didn’t move, as if he was already on camera and caught in a spotlight he didn’t want or need.
Pat swayed back and forth on his feet. “Why can’t the seniors go first?”
“I don’t teach seniors, but you two I see twice a day, and neither one of you has to run to football practice after school. You two are good to go.”
“Javier is the smart guy,” Pat replied. “I’m not good at this stuff.”
Mr. Seneca frowned. “How do you know you’re not good at this stuff? Have you even tried? Well, have you?” When Pat said nothing, he repeated louder, “Have you?”
Pat looked like he had swallowed a wasp. He just shook his head again.
Mr. Seneca sighed and settled back into his leather chair. “Gentlemen, this isn’t national TV. It’s a closed-circuit broadcast for school announcements. We’ll meet after school today and go over the fundamentals.”
The F Factor Page 3
