by Rex Bolt
You could also, Pike was thinking, try to screw up Mr. Witherspoon outside of class somehow.
But how would you pull that off, exactly? That would take serious brain-power to even formulate, but the logic being, if Mr. Witherspoon was drawn away from school for a while--or even class--such as he had to fill in for the principal or something crazy, and therefore someone else had to take over his History class--then perhaps the new person doesn’t change the seating around . . . and of course Dave and Eva don’t connect that day.
Hmm. This was sounding way out there, and Pike finished up his lunch, not tasting much of it, and pretty dang discouraged.
There were 3 girls sitting across and a ways down the long table and Pike had absent-mindedly glanced over there a couple times, and finally there was some giggling and one of them came over.
Pike recognized the girl now, and was trying to place her but couldn’t quite and she seemed a bit disappointed that he didn’t remember her from History today.
“Sorry about that,” he said.
“You’re new and all,” she said, having introduced herself as Cherise, “which I get. I was new last year too.”
“Where from?” Pikc said.
“Kansas City,” she said, and Pike didn’t want to look like an idiot not knowing what state it was in, thinking isn’t it on the border of Missouri and Kansas? So he changed the subject, and what the heck, why not ask about class. “Any troublemakers in there?” he said.
Cherise didn’t address that but, looking over at her girlfriends she said, “We heard about you in basketball. That sure sounded like . . . really something.”
“You gotta be kidding,” Pike said.
“Do you play football too?”
“Well I did, my last school. I was decent. Or I should say, average. But I improved my senior year.”
“I thought you’re a sophomore,” Cherise said, looking genuinely confused.
“Yeah, well,” he said, “we . . . called it something different in California. The terminology.” Pike thinking, unreal, I blow it twice, in one answer. What happened to New Hampshire?
She said, “Oh. How do you use senior differently in California?”
And ah brother. Pike said, trying to make it up as he went, “It was a formation. On the field. In freshmen football . . . When we went to that formation, I did better . . . You’re starting to be a pain in the neck. How about that?”
But she was smiling and at least he was too. There hadn’t been much of that the last couple days. Cherise said, “So we’ll see you Friday night, right?”
“What’s Friday night?”
“You don’t know? It’s the Apple Game.”
Pike was putting together a few things. The basketball coach had mentioned something about the scrimmage Friday, and Pike had ignored it. Because so what, it wouldn’t apply to him, he’d be on the bench--plus, forget that anyway, he was hoping for sure to be out of here before then.
Dave of course, had placed the time frame as before the games started, so that wouldn’t necessarily mean this week, that he and Eva got together--if this was only a practice deal and not a real game--but it might.
Hamilton had something similar, a scrimmage against Wilson every year the first week, and it didn’t count for anything, and they played Wilson for real later, after the season started.
But Pike was registering that this warm-up-game business out here was a bigger deal, first if it was against Cotter’s main rival school, West Mercer--and especially if they had a name for it. And the name included the word Game.
“Anyways,” Cherise said, “it’s good to meet you.” Sort of waiting.
Pike leaned in a little closer and said, “Can I ask you something? Not for public consumption?” Cherise was turning just a bit red and said sure.
Pike knew, who was he fooling, that wouldn’t work, her keeping whatever it was quiet . . . but again you’re picturing Eva in Phoenix, 2 hours-plus now into her brutal situation. He said, “Is there any reason at all--that you can think of--where Mr. Witherspoon is going to change the seating arrangement?”
“Huh?” she said.
“I know. That’s a weird question. I was just checking if you were paying attention.”
“You’re funny,” she said. “But something tells me you really want to know. Why--in California you all sit wherever you want?”
Pike was thinking yeah, some classes we do, but that was beside the point.
He said, “Are there like, 2 kids that don’t get along? Sitting next to each other?” He’d actually watched for that today but didn’t notice anything.
“Sure,” she said, “there’s Gene and Jorge.”
“Oh.”
“Why?”
“No reason. But, they were there today? . . . and, they normally sit near each other?”
“Yes they do. Gene is not a nice person . . . I mean I take that back, he was nicer last year. Anyways, he’s been on suspension.”
If you had to guess you’d say Cherise had a little interest in this Gene, but whatever. Pike said, “And when does he, like come off suspension? Any idea?”
Cherise was on top of it. “Well he got suspended Thursday. Ours are a week.” Gee, ours, she really was familiar with this. Pike flashed on his own couple of them at Hamilton, they were shorter. Little stricter out here.
But . . . this was starting to maybe shape up, wasn’t it?
Gene comes back from suspension, gets into it again with Jorge, disrupting class. Mr. Witherspoon, who has been enjoying a peaceful week without conflict, decides enough is enough with this crap--and switches everyone’s seats around, to at least stick Gene and Jorge in opposite ends of the room.
And of course Thursday being tomorrow. So if everyone came to class on Friday and got new seating assignments, that would still put it before the games started . . . wouldn’t it.
Or even, Pike was thinking now, a bit more alarmed with the impending time frame--Mr. Witherspoon could say heck with this--and on Thursday itself, tomorrow--right when Gene and Jorge act out again--not fool around and switch the whole shebang up right then.
Cherise was still hovering, watching Pike go through his chain of thought. When he seemed to be re-focused, she said, “Anyhow. We just wanted to say hi. And let you know, we’ll be there Friday night.”
The way she was carrying on about that, it was likely word got around of Pike dunking on the kid in the tryout. Which was kind of amusing, since Pike really was not very good at the sport. But when a 6-foot, white, high school guy dunks the ball, he supposed it tended to liven up the conversation a little bit.
Chapter 9
Pike came up with a plan--admittedly a shaky one--but at 3 when the bell rang instead of heading to basketball practice he paid another visit to to the office.
Fortunately there was no sign of the drill-sergeant intern gal, and the older gentleman was there, and he said to Pike, “I must say young man, we’re seeing quite a bit of you so far. Not that we mind. But what can I do for you this time?”
Pike wasn’t sure of the plan, and scanned the office to get a handle on it. He said, “I got to thinking, sir, after yesterday, where it looked like you were training someone . . . Could you do that for me too? I mean . . . could I help out around here?”
The gentleman chuckled. “Now that’s not any everyday student request.”
“Oh,” Pike said, “What are some?”
“It doesn’t matter,” the guy said. “Vivian, from yesterday, mind you--she has a part-time paid position with us.”
“Well she’s good at it,” Pike lied. “But how about it? Is there anything you can give me, keep me busy a couple hours a week . . . like filing or something?”
Pike didn’t know what filing was exactly. He heard his mom use the expression a few times, when she was taking temp jobs when he was a kid, so he assumed it was typical office work.
The older guy scratched his head, not because he was thinking that hard, but probably because something it
ched. He said, “Well, if you insist . . . I suppose we could use some help with year-end fundraiser.”
“What,” Pike said, “the school doesn’t have enough money?” This was a valid question. Things seemed so well run out here, compared to California. The school was immaculate, inside and out, the basketball practice uniform they gave him was brand new, and if the couple experiments they did so far in Biology were any indication, there was no shortage of high-quality supplies.
“We do and we don’t,” the gentleman said, and Pike figured you better leave it at that, before the guy forgets he’s going to give him something to do.
A few minutes later Pike was squared away at a computer behind the main counter, and yeah, the annual fund-raiser business was a huge deal . . . it wasn’t just a Saturday night event, or a phone-a-thon, it went on in some form for the last two weeks of the semester, and it included events organized in town as well.
So what the gentleman needed Pike to help with--and by now Pike was calling him Mr. Canby--was thin out and then merge a bunch of databases together, of all past alumni going back 40 years--and Pike learned that this was the new Cotter High School location, but there’d been an original one on Clark Street before that, the other side of the railroad yard. Mr. Canby in fact was explaining that the old school building is still there, but it’s been broken up into different operations, and the old auto shop wing is now a boat repair place.
It was clear the guy loved to talk about the school history, and it was interesting--but you had a job to do so Pike faked listening and faked looking around the databases, and got right down to it.
Luckily Mr. Canby was on the counter side of the computer and couldn’t see the screen. It didn’t take long to come up with Mr. Witherspoon’s email address.
After a few minutes Mr. Canby went to help someone who popped into the office, and then he was busy with some other stuff, and Pike began composing the email. It took a few stops and starts and adjustments, and he had to try to remember all the rules of grammar that he’d conveniently forgotten, but the finished draft read:
Memo to Faculty
From: The Administration
Dated: Wednesday November 5th, 2014
Dear Faculty Members,
Please be advised that due to a breakdown of Microsoft Capability in our Cotter internal computer network, we ask that all class seating arrangements be permanent for the duration of the semester.
Please know that we are aware of and will be addressing the issue in time for the winter/spring term.
We apologize for any inconvenience and we thank you for your continued dedication to Cotter High School.
Hmm. Pike was thinking, if there’s a bigger bunch of BS floating around in the state of Idaho today he’d like to see it . . . but meanwhile, he entered one email address at the top of the message--Mr. Witherspoon’s--thought about it for another second, and then boom, hit Send.
At this point he thought could hustle over to basketball practice, and be late, but at least show up and not be totally in the doghouse. But Mr. Canby was such a nice guy that you wanted to show him the respect of doing what you said, so Pike spent another hour-and-a-half trying to actually sort the alumni databases by category, and it was more complicated than you would think.
Mr. Canby offered him a ride, and Pike said sure, and then remembered he was supposed to be living in the Super 8, so he had Mr. Canby drop him there, which was closer to the college campus than Cotter High School was but still a trek, but the timing was good when Pike made it there, meaning the dinner cafeteria was in full swing and he was starved . . . and of course his one-week pass hadn’t expired yet so the price was still right, and for good measure he took some extra food back to the room.
Tonight a lot of doors were open as headed down the hall. It turned out Wednesday was the unofficial social night on campus and people floated around. When he got to his room, his door was open too, and his roommate--Jeff--was mingling in there with about 6 other people, which included some righteously attractive females.
Pike figured why not insert yourself in the mix, that-- nothing personal--but this could be a lot more interesting than talking to that sophomore girl today at lunch.
Chapter 10
One reason these travel experiences kept you off balance was because sometimes things didn’t play out even remotely close to how you anticipated--while other times, it was like everything was right on cue.
Thursday was one of those. Nothing abnormal the first three periods (only that Pike was a little tired, on account of the Wednesday night dorm social activities lasting a bit late, but that was fine).
In 4th period History, yep, you had Gene back from suspension, kind of a sleazy looking kid who if you had to guess, was the instigator in the apparently ongoing disagreement between himself and Jorge.
Gene said something to Jorge right away when he sat down, and Pike couldn’t quite hear what it was, but it didn’t matter--and Jorge was clearly one of those kids who wasn’t going to back down, and said something back.
Plenty of edge to both comments.
Mr.Witherspoon cleared his throat, staring at them both, and said for everyone to please open the textbook to page 116.
This lasted for about 3o seconds, until Gene said something to Jorge again.
You felt bad for Mr. Witherspoon. In the old days, the way Pike understood it, teachers had more control because they could get a bit physical with kids if they needed to. We’re not talking beat-up anyone, but Pike could picture a Mr. Witherspoon, in the old days--and as an ex-Marine too--taking a moment to calmly walk over to Gene and then grab him by the jacket and run his sorry rear end out into the hallway and tell him to not move the rest of the period. Or else.
And the Genes of the world probably would stay there, and be afraid to move. They’d respect that.
Now of course everything was different. The students had all the rights and the teachers had to fit the obnoxious kids into the mix. The best a Mr. Witherspoon could do these days--which Pike hated to admit--was shuffle seats around to separate people.
Meanwhile, he prayed that a) Mr. Witherspoon even saw the email and b) that he took it seriously.
A minute later Gene popped off for the third time, and Pike couldn’t help himself. He said, pretty loud, “Yo, dude. Shut UP.”
Gene whipped around to see who this was, and Pike was a couple rows over and part-way back, and Gene started to get up, and Mr. Witherspoon to his credit did get in Gene’s face slightly, and told him it’s in his best interest to sit back down.
Then he pointed to Pike as well, and told him that outburst was unacceptable.
The rest of the class was into it by this point and they seemed let down when the tension did subside and they had to follow in the textbook again, and the rest of the period shifted back to normal.
Pike had experienced enough Genes to not be surprised to have the guy challenge him after class, and that’s what happened, outside in the hall the doofus saying, “Hey Punk, I’m talking to you,” and so on, and Pike walked away without making eye contact, hoping he wasn’t about to get clocked on the head from behind. Fortunately Gene must have found other interests--or targets--the rest of the day, and Pike didn’t have to interact with him further.
The big picture, it was conceivable that Mr. Witherspoon might have changed the seating right then, when Gene first mouthed off. Pike could understand this. You have an idiot gone for a week and you can actually teach, and then 2 minutes in, with the guy back, it goes south again.
Either that, or Mr. Witherspoon could have come into class tomorrow--and still might--with a revised cheating chart and move everyone then.
Pike’s instinct was the first one, that the teacher was exasperated and not going to fool around. Which is why he blurted out to the kid to shut up, as a back-up, in case the email wasn’t going to work.
Anyhow . . . if something was going to happen, at least one way or the other it was averted. For now.
The c
oach did take a jab at Pike and another kid who was absent yesterday, at basketball practice. He said in tomorrow night’s game--and now he too, had upped the language from scrimmage to game--the two of them would be last off the bench--if they got in the game at all.
Pike knew this drill from football. Coaches wanted to make an example out of you. He also couldn’t fault them--it wasn’t fair to a kid who’d been showing up all week to have you get into a game ahead of him.
One good thing, this kid Morrison from basketball had given him a couple rides home (not exactly home, but dropping him on 4th and Center which was close) and was again tonight, and with Uber trips and snacks and a few odds and ends Pike’s finances were getting real dicey, a grand total of $18 left, so every ride helped.
Thursday nights in the dorms were study night, as contrasted with Wednesday, which did get a little wild, though Pike was pretty sure the study part was overrated. But admittedly his dorm was pretty low key tonight, so you never know.
Jeff wasn’t there and Pike stretched out on the bed. He was wondering if he could chance it, and try to return to Phoenix tonight. Possibly--with a lot of luck--his job was over. And what we did have, with the Eva clock ticking away . . . Pike used his fingers . . . 3 and a half hours and counting. Tomorrow was Friday, and that would make it 4.
It was tempting to get the heck out of here, but you better make sure.
Chapter 11
Which was ridiculous, because that’s not how it works, nothing is even close to sure.
And at some point he’d have to read the 10 Rules more carefully--really read them this time, try to absorb the subtle stuff they were telling you, that was under the surface.
But not now.
Pike’s day Friday--his entire focus--centered around 4th period. If Mr. Witherspoon didn’t change the seating today, you had to feel decent--not in the clear but decent--about Dave and Eva not meeting the way Dave related it. If they did happen to get together later, then God Bless ‘em . . . but then you’d hoped things would be altered just enough so they wouldn’t have been on I-15 at the right moment that day two years later to pick him up hitchhiking when they were cutting a half-day of school and heading to the mall in Salt Lake . . . And he never would have met them, and Eva wouldn’t be fighting for her life right now.
