* * *
It wouldn’t really be fair to say that school was the same every day, but it would be close to the mark. Depending on what time of the year it was, Paul either found himself sneaking in the back of the school through the band room door, starting his day in second period, or beginning it like everyone else, jostling his way in the front door with the rest of the poor unfortunates who were supposed to be his peers, doomed to another seven hours of monotonous classroom diatribe. Although he had a strong dislike for all things high school, he didn’t fight against being there and always arrived as soon as he was able. He recognized the need to earn his diploma and was resigned to sticking it out, even though just about anywhere else would have been a preferable place to spend five days a week.
As far as grades were concerned, he was neither a good student nor a bad student. He had a remarkable gift of memory, but he didn’t advertise it because he didn’t want the attention. He could recall nearly anything he saw or heard, and aced almost every test thrown in front of him as a result. This was balanced out by the fact that he rarely did homework because he resented being given work on things he already knew. At one point in his freshman year, he had tried to explain his perspective to one of his teachers but that had only earned him detention, so he’d learned to keep his mouth shut and simply do what it took to get by.
As far as trouble, he kept out of it for the most part, but didn’t avoid it either. If he found the kind of trouble that looked fun, he joined in.
He really didn’t fit any mold. That was probably why his two best friends were a girl and the school rebel-slash-dork.
Because it was that time of year, today was a sneak-in-the-band-room-door day. He was already late for school by an entire hour, which was normal when daylight savings was “on.”
On the door, he saw that Stephanie had come through for him yet again. A pink post-it note was stuck on the outside next to the handle, the same signal they’d used since the ninth grade. It let him know that she’d made a change to the attendance roles in first period and he was in the clear. There was almost never a day that she failed him, which was how he was able to get through to his senior year of high school spending only ‘some’ of his time in detention.
Slipping in, he made his way through the maze of bass drums, tympanis, kettle drums, and all the other percussion instruments that always seemed to be in a different place every time he went through the band room. He didn’t notice the grim-faced assistant principal, Mr. Paine, until he was almost on top of him.
“Good morning to you, Mr. Bennett,” said Mr. Paine drily.
Mr. Paine was a cross between the principal from Back to the Future and Agent Smith from The Matrix; he was always stern and always intense, and as such most students took him very seriously—but he was still an assistant principal and that made it difficult to take him completely serious all the time. He was a tall, skinny man with a mostly bald head and a pair of thick, black-framed glasses that made his eyes look slightly smaller than they really were. It gave them an accusatory squint, as if he were suspicious of every student that crossed his path. You never really knew for sure where you stood with Paine, but the safest bet was to assume that he was displeased. If he wasn’t … it was like a get-out-of-jail-free card for the day.
“Good morning, Mr. Paine,” Paul said in a carefully neutral tone, meeting the administrator’s squint respectfully.
Paul was neither a rebel nor a butt-kiss. He was somewhere in the middle. He had respect for the job that people like Mr. Paine had to do, but because Paul spent most days in a state of mind-numbing fatigue, he probably came off as indifferent. People like Mr. Paine demanded respect, and wanted that respect to be obvious from those they demanded it from. Undoubtedly, Paul’s neutral tone was being taken the wrong way. The truth was, it wasn’t that Paul didn’t care that he was busted – he just didn’t know how else to react. And he wouldn’t try to fake it even if he did.
Mr. Paine spoke slowly and articulately, enunciating every word so as to accentuate the importance of his message.
“I’ve been watching you, Mr. Bennett. I’ve been watching you for quite some time now. I’ve watched you stroll in this back door—late—every single day for the past nine days. And although the fact that you’re late every day doesn’t surprise me in the slightest, given your history here, there are two things that truly amaze me.” He stared intently into Paul’s eyes as he spoke, dragging out the last three words. “The first is that I can count on you to show up every day, like clockwork, within a few minutes of the day before. Astounding. Usually my chronically tardy students show up whenever the mood strikes them, if at all. But not you. And the second thing, the second thing is even more amazing. Somehow, your first period teacher has forgotten to record the fact that you are not present for class almost every single day.” Paine once again spoke the last three words very slowly and very distinctly.
Paul stood mute, waiting for Mr. Paine to finish his speech. He didn’t hang his head. He tiredly looked Mr. Paine in the eye and took the verbal lashing without flinching. It didn’t matter that Paul couldn’t help that he was unable wake until dawn; he knew anything he said would be seen as belligerent, and only further add to whatever punishment Mr. Paine chose to mete out. Isn’t that what the criminals in gangster movies always said? If you get pinched and the cops start in on you, don’t say anything. Just keep your mouth closed. Maybe he wasn’t quite to criminal status yet, but right then, at that moment, he felt like quite the rule-breaker and kept his mouth shut. The guys from Goodfellas would’ve been damn proud.
“And so, Mr. Bennett, this leads me to two conclusions. One: that because you show up at the same time every day, you have something you feel is more important than school to attend to. Are you on drugs?” Asked so quickly, it was a rhetorical question and Paul knew it, so he continued to keep his silence. “And two: you have found a way to doctor the attendance records, which is an even worse offense than tardiness.”
Paine stood, arms folded, waiting for a reply. Maybe he was even hoping for one, but he didn’t get it because Paul didn’t have one that Paine would believe. The two of them stood like that for a solid sixty seconds without speaking a word. Paul didn’t look down, shuffle his feet, or even swallow. He just stared back as Paine stared at him.
This was Paul’s strength, his zone. Steven called it ‘creeper eyes’ when Paul looked back, clear-eyed, without speaking, and it unnerved Stephanie to the point that she felt there was ‘something wrong with him’ when he did it. But Paul never spoke just for the sake of speaking, because he disliked those who did. He didn’t see anything wrong with spaces of silence—in fact, he enjoyed sharing time more with people when they didn’t constantly blabber.
Finally, the awkwardness must have been too much for Paine. He narrowed his eyes, shook his head, and told Paul to follow him to his office.
Watchers of the Night Page 3
