The Consultant

by Sean Oliver

  “Um, no,” Deanna said. “Actually not sure what you mean. You were gonna re-decorate my room for me?” She was joking.

  “Well, yes. We were concerned it wouldn’t get done.”

  Deanna cocked her head at them. “Damn. If I knew, I would have stayed in bed.” She walked by them as they chuckled. She flicked on the lights as she entered her room and crossed to her empty desk. The surface was cleared, just as it was on that glorious last day in December—that day when everyone believed January might never come. She looked up and saw student desks and chairs were stacked in the corner of the room. The floors had been waxed and looked good.

  Ellie and Arlene were still there looking in.

  “You good?” Arlene asked.

  “Yes.” Deanna smiled and waved. Bye-bye. They smiled at her and left. Deanna didn’t really socialize with the cousins much. They weren’t even in her grade level, so it was a little pushy for them to have been considering doing anything to her room.

  And it was frigging 8:02 a.m. They were concerned that she wasn’t decorating her room two minutes after the start of the day? Please. Who cares if the holiday stuff stays up for a few more days? Snowmen are still relevant through February in New Jersey.

  Ugh—those desks and chairs. Deanna didn’t have the energy. She considered her mere willingness to show up that morning as sufficient sacrifice to ensure entrance to heaven someday. Hauling desks and chairs across her room was inconceivable. She stood at her desk, unwilling to drop into her chair. She knew once she did, she was diving into the remaining school days that she relished checking off the calendar. She didn’t even want to be in her room. She needed to ease back into this.

  She grabbed her purse and headed out into the hallway. Jared could do those damn desks for her and not complain. She didn’t say shit when he wanted her to get a little crazy and bend in ten new positions that his twisted mind cooked up. He could carry a few desks.

  She was on her way to the stairwell when she noticed the remarkable completeness of all the teachers’ classrooms she passed. Bulletin boards were already changed, clever phrases about the new year adorning them. The room just before the stairwell belonged to Mary Edison. Mary was nowhere near retirement age, but her matronly, hunched-over, cat-lady style could keep you guessing. Mary was mostly quiet and anything she did say was predictable teacher stuff. She was nice, and she bored the shit out of Deanna.

  Deanna looked into Mary’s room. All of her books were shelved, supplies neatly stacked on her desk.

  “Edison, did school start yesterday? Because my calendar said today.”

  Mary looked up from her desk and smiled. “No, you’re correct. January second.”

  “Look at this. You’re making me feel like a slacker.”

  “You’ll get there. One step at a time.” Mary went back to adding another series of core novels on a shelf. Deanna went up into the stairwell. There was no way Jared’s room was ready. Didn’t matter what time he went in that morning. He would’ve gotten knocked off task a dozen times and was probably buried in decorative paper border and tape.

  She pushed through the doors to the stairway beside Mary’s room. The stairwells seemed the most forgotten part of that building. There were some attempts at adding cheer, some student painted scenes on the walls at each landing. But they were old and chipped, the tempera paint failing to outlast the passing of hundreds of kids a day for years. The thick, industrial windows in the stairwells were cracked and gray with age. The handrails were given a new coat of paint every school year, but done with little care. Brush marks swiped the entire length of wall around the railing.

  She arrived at Jared’s door on the third floor. It was open and the lights were on, displaying an immaculate room. Desks were reorganized in groups with a laptop on each, all running a virus scan. His desk was clear, with just a laptop and his Steve Jobs action figure standing in a mug. But Jared, the rock star recluse liked by anyone he allowed to know him, wasn’t there.

  Deanna loved the mystery of Jared but was at times disappointed when what appeared to be something veiled was really just something empty. It didn’t happen often—Jared had a lot to offer. But he was a little backward, and was good at masquerading shyness as depth. He told her a half-dozen times that he stuttered as a kid, but she thought he was full of shit. She’d never heard anything close to a stutter.

  Some html code was displayed on his SMART board, probably an exercise for his homeroom. His computer science classroom was revving up, ready to go. Anyone walking by that room would say this dude was ready to kill it.

  Where is this shithead?

  FIVE

  JARED SAT ON a metal railing beside the deafening roar of a ten-ton, green monster. Its heat forced Jared down the railing a bit, to its tail end.

  “Yeah, this is really cookin’ now,” Willie said as he walked down toward Jared, further from the furnace. His dark, cracked hand reached out to receive the glass bottle Jared was holding out for him. “Thanks, my man.”

  He took it from Jared and pressed the whiskey to his lips. He tilted the bottle and the deep, golden wave slid across the bottleneck and through his lips. After the swig, he lowered his head, exhaled, and opened his eyes. Gooood mornin’.

  “You gotta get me a new stool in here, Willie.”

  “Looks like someone moved it during the Christmas break. I’ll get it all hooked up again. Gotta get our little break room straight, J.”

  He handed the bottle back to Jared, then wiped his hands across his dark blue custodial jumpsuit. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a green pack of smokes.

  The twenty-five years that separated the two men standing in the large, sweltering basement boiler room wasn’t really a barrier. Nor was color, pay scale, or job title.

  “I’m tired, J,” Willie said, putting a cigarette into his lips. He strolled over to the boiler. “Tired, tired, tired. Another Christmas come and gone.”

  “Come on. You got another twenty years left in you,” Jared said.

  “Wooo, Lord, no.” He held the tip of his cigarette against a thick, vertical boiler pipe. He stood and watched the tiny wafts of smoke that began to swirl up from the point of contact. He put the cigarette back to his lips and drew hard, bringing the smoky tip up to a hot orange. It added another burn mark to the massive unit, which sported a few dozen similar cigarette marks like eyes watching forbidden activities buried in a school basement.

  Jared wiped the rim of the bottle with his sleeve and took a swallow that warmed his throat.

  “Any transfers come in?” Willie asked.

  Jared was busy grimacing at the burn. Willie looked over and laughed at his face.

  “Easy there, tiger. Your day’s just startin’.” He walked to Jared and relieved him of the bottle.

  “There’s one that I know of,” Jared said, fighting for his voice. “My girl’s best friend, Trisha. Last-minute transfer out of P.S. 15.”

  “How’d that happen?” Willie held the bottle and looked over to Jared, squinting a bit.

  “Numbers. She was low on the totem pole.”

  “And Mr. George picked her up?”

  Jared shrugged. “Guess so.” They sat and let the steady growl of the furnace system sedate them. Willie smoked, staring beyond the massive machinery and out toward the large, chicken wire windows glowing with daylight. Dark water stains marked the base of each window frame and ran down the wall.

  “Your lady come back?” Willie asked.

  “She’s here,” Jared said. He looked over at Willie, still staring out the window.

  “No other place she’d rather be? Big district. She could land in some sweet school downtown.”

  “I asked her a bunch of times. This arrangement is easy for her, though.”

  Willie nodded. “When y’all doin’ it?”

  “July.” After Jared said it, Willie looked over.

  “You pick that date?”

  Jared shrugged. “That’s the date. Not really thinking
about it.” Willie watched him. Jared looked elsewhere.

  “Yeah. You wouldn’t.”

  “Living my life. Day at a time, big man. How’s your family? Mom okay?”

  “She hangin’ in there, man. That diabetes a monster. But she good, thank goodness. Tryin’ real hard to get her set up in that senior housing down off the park. Tough to get in.”

  “It’s all connections around here. If you’re friends with a councilman or a cop, give them a call.”

  “Well, she on a list. We’ll see what happens. I still got a few months to get her in.”

  “You’re a good man, Mr. Willie. No matter what they say about you, I’ll say, ‘That old man drinking his hooch in the school basement is a good man.’”

  “Grasshopper, if that’s the worst they can say about me, I done good.” He smiled broadly. “You ready for them kids?”

  “All set.”

  “Nice. You can kick it into chill mode for another fifteen minutes.”

  “Can I have your attention please,” the intercom blared. “All teachers please report to the auditorium for a staff meeting. Thank you.” Jared turned to Willie, who laughed at him.

  “Not yet I can’t,” Jared said. Willie slapped him on the shoulder. Jared took the contraband and made the tight squeeze behind the rear end of the boiler and the wall. He slid out a loose cinder block. He placed the bottle in the opening in the wall, then slid the block back in its place, hiding the homemade alcove.

  Willie tapped out his cigarette on the wall. He took a metal yardstick from beside the furnace and used it to slide open a door to expose the fiery guts of the machine. He tossed the cigarette butt into the flames and slid the door closed again. He turned and led Jared up the six-step, metal staircase to the hallway door.

  “That right there is my favorite period of the day,” Jared said on his way out into the basement hallway. The sound of children was beginning to fill the basement corridor as the breakfast period began. The cafeteria at the end of the hallway would sling pre-packaged pancakes or cereal boxes to any students coming in early.

  “Hi Mr. Willie,” Ruby said as she passed the men exiting the boiler room.

  “Hey there, young lady,” Willie said. “Hang on, you got something in your wheel.” Ruby was in fourth grade and got around with the aid of a metal walker on wheels. She had limited use of her shortened, malformed legs and navigated the school with the help of a one-on-one aide. But before school hours, Ruby was on her own for breakfast.

  Willie knelt down and pulled a wrapper from the wheel of her walker.

  “Ruby, this one’s loose,” he said, tapping at the right-side wheel. “You notice that when you walk?”

  “Yes. It’s been rolling that way.”

  “Okay, sweetheart. Will you hang on right here for a minute? Let Mr. Willie grab a screwdriver from my room.”

  “I don’t want to miss breakfast.”

  “You won’t, young lady,” the custodian said. “Mr. Willie gonna grab you a special one. Pack of cookies, too. How’s that?”

  “Deal.” She threw him a thumbs-up.

  “J-Man, let me handle this. I’ll catch you later.”

  “Okay, just don’t share any of our special breakfast with Ruby,” Jared said as Willie walked off, laughing. Jared stood and took a deep breath before heading off to the first staff meeting of what should prove the most memorable year in Jared’s life.

  Ruby looked up at him.

  “What was your special breakfast?” she asked.

  “Juice,” Jared said.

  SIX

  YOU COULD HEAR the air in the auditorium, it was that quiet. The scene was almost startling. Deanna froze at the sight when she entered through the rear doors—dozens of staff members sitting in the auditorium seats, facing forward, just waiting in total stillness for the meeting to start. Even Calhoun wasn’t standing in the aisle, jawing about the date of her publication committee’s meeting? Eddie Sloane and Darrell Smith sitting still? The two sixth-grade teachers often threw Legos at each other across the third-floor hallway into their respective classrooms. And they were sitting there, just waiting?

  A couple of expressionless faces turned and just looked to Deanna, except for Trisha who was waving her arm. Deanna nodded and headed over to the seat she’d saved for her, moving down the aisle toward her while everyone else stayed focused on the podium on the stage. No one even turned and looked at her ass.

  What is going on?

  She slid into the aisle and dropped into the seat beside Trisha.

  “What is up with this?” Deanna whispered.

  “With what?” Trisha asked.

  “The funeral in here.” Even her whisper seemed to echo off all the walls. “Hi, Kris,” she said to the fourth-grade teacher sitting to her right. Kristen Dolan just flashed a big smile, mouthed a silent hi, then turned back to the stage. Jesus, Kris was usually good for a sarcastic quip at any school event. But she sat like a soldier.

  “Everyone is being so good,” Trisha said. “I just assumed that’s how it was here.”

  “No, this is new,” Deanna said. “Something must be wrong. Someone died. Let me look around for the old people.” She scanned the faces in the room—all stone and expectant. The auditorium sported loose, creaky seats. Paint chips reached down from the ceiling, some dangling, threatening. On the stage, the dusty maroon curtain was drawn.

  “God, Trisha. If I’m here in ten years when I’m forty, you can kill me. I’ll tell Jared you have permission.” Trisha shook her head and stifled a giggle. “No, really. I’ll sign something and you can give it to the police.”

  “I think it’s nice,” she said. “They’re waiting for your principal.”

  “No. This is frigging weird.” She swiveled her head around looking for Jared. He wasn’t in his room earlier and now she didn’t see him in the auditorium. His texts were short, rushed at best. Deanna realized she should have just stayed in bed.

  Principal George Anastas took the stage and paused noticeably at the tone of the room. He bellied up to the podium, his round, short frame necessitating some adjusting of the microphone height. His dark beard was at war with grays and he was well shiny on top, but that all belied the enthusiasm and, at times, playfulness that he flushed through the building.

  When he had to be boss, he was direct. But underneath every discussion, no matter the degree of severity, lay understanding and a light at the end of the tunnel. His staff felt safe and supported—rare in Carson, where the failing district did nothing to prevent teachers from feeling they were the cause of the societal ills that preceded them, and would outlast them.

  Principal George finished leveling the mic to his mouth. He looked out.

  “Did I just lose a contest by speaking into this?” A smattering of laughter. Life. The door at the back of the auditorium opened and momentarily stole the focus from Anastas. Jared traipsed in and held up a hand in apology. Deanna followed him with her eyes all the way to his seat. Probably could have made it on time. But that’s Jared—always sending a message of some sort. Brilliant computer monkey; social cripple.

  “Your boy made it,” Trisha whispered.

  “He’s such an asshole,” Deanna said. She kept her face pointed at him and waited for him to find her. He did. He did a little, two-finger salute on his brow, flashing a wink, too. She just rolled her eyes and looked back to Fat George.

  “Yesterday I attended a principals’ meeting at central office,” he began. “Our state test scores, though improving, are still painfully low. We know this already and we will need to make strides of great length before anyone over there gets off my back. Off your backs. They’ve taken the position that if there’s any growth at all, then we’ve shown that growth is possible. If growth is possible, then we should be able to scale that. And if we cannot, after having shown that growth is possible, then…” He pointed at the room full of teachers.

  “Who do you think will shoulder that blame?” he continued. “Because, believe m
e, with all this state-aid controversy and taxpayers refusing to understand exactly what we do here—there will be blame. A big, fat dish of it.”

  Deanna turned to Trisha. “Always thinking about food.” Trisha snorted.

  “To try and help stem that tide of blame, we will be starting some intensive professional development trainings here,” the principal continued. “As you probably read in my email yesterday, we will be bringing back Mr. Elias Albrecht for trainings, beginning this week.” Some sporadic applause began throughout the auditorium.

  “Wow,” Deanna said to Trisha. “Rock star, that Elias Applebee is.” They giggled, but the clapping caught fire, more hands, and a more vigorous pace. Within seconds it seemed the entire auditorium was engaged. Trisha shrugged and clapped along, laughing.

  “What the heck,” she said. “Join in.”

  “Woo hoo,” Deanna hooted. Trisha was turning red from laughter. In Deanna’s peripheral vision, she began to see people standing around her. Then in front of her. “Trisha, holy shit!” They both doubled over laughing. “Who the fuck is this guy? Does he sell weed?”

  The standing ovation continued. George Anastas clapped along, seemingly out of politeness. He stepped back to the microphone, but would get no chance to speak. The deafening applause was continuing.

  “Come on, get up!” Deanna hollered to Trisha over the thundering. She dragged Trisha to her feet. She could barely stand from hysterical laughter. “Yeah! Applebee!” With that Trisha collapsed back into her seat fighting to breathe through her howling.

  Deanna was noticing that some of the teachers were smiling, clearly happy at this news. But others had stark determination. Tom Munoz, a third-floor teacher in the room across from Jared, looked as though he’d break the bones in his hands from pounding them together. The expression on his face was also suggesting broken bones. He was almost snarling, his face tensing.

  Though Trisha was still laughing, Deanna was looking around in awe. Everything about this day was a funhouse experience—had to be a dream. She was still in bed, for sure.