CHAPTER ELEVEN
Melvin proved to be correct about the juvenile detention center. Miss Fairbanks was denied entrance to see Brent Llewelyn, no matter how insistent she was that she was one of his dearest friends and that it would help him if he saw her.
"He's in detention for a reason, dearie," barked the tough-as-nails receptionist at Miss Fairbanks. "That kid's messed up. Try back in a week. If the doctor thinks he's sane enough, maybe you can see him then."
Miss Fairbanks glared at the receptionist, then marched swiftly out of the office. If all the people who worked here had an attitude like that, there was no hope for the kids that came here. At any rate, she had no intention of trying again in a week. She would be back every day until she got in to see him.
The evening passed peacefully while Miss Fairbanks read about war in Tolstoy's 'War and Peace.' And then it was Tuesday and Inner City Junior High School glumly accepted back all its despicable students. Miss Fairbanks was feeling considerably better than the day before, since her miserable students had cheered her up immensely. As the bell for first period rang, her class looked up at her expectantly, hoping beyond hope that she would once more have something fun and pleasant for them to do. They knew a fourth day in a row of fun was too much to hope for in this school, but hoped for it nonetheless. In fact, they held themselves back from their usual cruel, noisy behavior to give her a chance to talk. She opened her mouth, intending to tell them about the descriptive writings she wanted them to do (with some trepidation, since she knew they would complain), but in that instant Mr. Clyde's voice came over the intercom into her room.
"Miss Fairbanks, could you come to my office please?" said his voice in a scratchy, nasal tone. The scratchiness was because the intercom was old and didn't work well, while the nasalness was because he had a cold. "There's a call for you from the penitentiary."
Miss Fairbanks' heart froze as if it had been stabbed by an icicle. Her students however stared at her in awe. "The penn!" mouthed Armpit Arnold. "I never thought YOU would have connections with a place like that!"
Miss Fairbanks did not reply. In one, shattering second, her world had once more melted before her eyes. Practically all the good from the day before was blasted. She knew what the call was about. And it was not a call she wanted to take! In a daze, without even a word to her students, she stumbled out the door. She was oblivious to the rustling of curiosity behind her in the classroom, as everyone asked everyone else what it could be about. As she walked down the hall she started to shiver so badly it was hard to keep going.
Why did they have to call here? Why couldn't they just leave her alone? Did they think somehow they had something new to tell her? Did they think she was so stupid she had forgotten about him and had to be reminded, and that she didn't know that his time was up? Didn't they realize that if she'd wanted anything to do with him, she would have done it long ago? Hadn't they realized by now that she was the one that had caused him to do it, and that's why she couldn't face him?
With an ashen face, Miss Fairbanks stumbled into the main office. Both Mrs. Jensen and Principal Clyde looked at her with almost the same morbid curiosity as the students in her classroom. After all, calls from the state penitentiary were rare, even for this school! And for such a call to come through for Miss Fairbanks of all people seemed unthinkable!
But naturally, they were more polite than her students, and didn't question her. Instead, Principal Clyde apologized. "I still hope someday my budget request will be approved and we'll have a telephone installed for each teacher in their classroom," he said. "But for now, all telephone calls come only to this office, and then I have to alert the teacher by the intercom."
Miss Fairbanks hardly heard him. The healing that had taken place yesterday was completely shattered, and she knew the instant she picked up the phone the destruction would be total. It was uncertain whether she would be able to function after that. She might have another meltdown, like last Friday! Taking a call like this in her classroom where she would have had an even bigger and more curious audience would have been impossible.
For a second, Miss Fairbanks simply stared at the phone. Principal Clyde and Mrs. Jensen exchanged meaningful glances. They didn't know Miss Fairbanks well, but could tell this call was extremely troubling to her. Finally she reached out a trembling hand and picked up the receiver. Then in a sudden inspiration, she turned her head away from them and stooped down as if she was trying to listen carefully. In reality however, out of their view she tightly covered her ear with one hand while smothering the reception piece of the phone with the other hand which was holding the phone. She did NOT want to hear what her caller was going to tell her.
Miss Fairbanks stood like that for a moment, her hands still trembling. In spite of her handholds, she could still faintly hear a voice through the phone. Fortunately however, she could not tell what the voice was saying.
She decided that she had better say something or the person on the other end of the line would assume the phone had died and call back. "Yes," she said in a voice that sounded strained, even to her. "You don't say? Well, I don't know." She could hear the voice continuing to come over the phone, slightly raised in a questioning way this time, since her statements clearly showed that she hadn't understood a word they were saying. "Absolutely," she said again. The voice went on for a moment, rising once more as if it was asking another question. "No, I don't think so," said Miss Fairbanks nonsensically. Then without any further attempt at etiquette, she hung up. She hoped with all her heart that her bizarre answers would somehow satisfy them, so they wouldn't call back.
Turning, she saw Principal Clyde and Mrs. Jensen staring at her. The things she had said were obviously as baffling to them as they'd been to the person calling from the prison. "Is there ... some trouble?" asked Principal Clyde curiously.
"No," said Miss Fairbanks simply, heading for the door. "I'd better get back to class."
"Certainly," agreed Principal Clyde, his pent up breath escaping suddenly. "We can't leave these students alone too long." He and his secretary continued to stare at her as she walked out the door.
Miss Fairbanks shuffled her way back down the hall toward her classroom. Her heart was racing and she felt dizzy. Why did this horror have to follow her here? Why now, when she was just starting this new job? She had finally graduated from college and started her new life, and now this had to happen. The timing could hardly have been worse.
As Miss Fairbanks approached her door, her feet slowed. She could hear screams, thumps and banging that told her the class had returned to its normal behavior in her absence.
A wild thought jumped suddenly into her brain. Why not just leave? She could keep on walking, straight down to the end of the hall and out the door. No one would blame her, and probably no one would care. She could just leave, and never come back. She would go to the library, where she could escape among the books ...
Miss Fairbanks shook her head as if to clear it from a fog. Such a thought was unacceptable. She had a job to do. She had no idea how she would get through this day now, but she knew she had to try. Mustering all her bravado, she walked into the classroom.
There was instant quiet. Everyone stared at her, as if they'd expected her to come back wearing a prison uniform. It was obvious they were dying to know what the call was about. And since they were just uncultured kids who didn't mind being rude and nosy, it was not surprising that one of them asked a question about it.
It was Armpit Arnold of course. "So, what did you brother say when he called? Did he ask you to bring him a cake with a file in it?"
There were a series of guffaws and chirps of laughter. Arnold didn't know if she had a brother in prison of course, but it was a good joke. Miss Fairbanks looked at Arnold blankly. She had no idea what to say. But something in his taunting face triggered an unexpected response in her mind. And she suddenly found herself weakly smiling as a small trickle of strength flowed back into her frail body.
Of course! It had
worked yesterday, and could work just as well today! Her students could help her carry on! It was bizarre she knew, but their innocent idiocy was exactly what she needed. All she had to do was add the right touch of bizarre, zany humor. And Arnold's question gave her the flash of inspiration she needed to know what that twist of humor would be.
"No," she said faintly, in voice that she tried to pretend was greatly worried and troubled. This was not hard, because she was. In order to carry out her tricky little plan, she would now be telling them a fairy tale, that was as far from the truth as it could be. "It was not my brother," she said calmly, while they all looked at her expectantly. Some looked at her in surprise, since they hadn't expected her to tell them anything about the call. She could see some of them salivating at what they hoped she would tell them next. Who was she to deny their curiosity, even if she had to embellish things a bit?
"It was my Uncle Egbert," lied Miss Fairbanks, since she had no uncles. "He asked me to help find his box, before it's too late. But I had to tell him I simply didn't know if I could recognize it."
"His box?" said Slapface from the front row.
"You mean his lunch box?" guffawed Armpit Arnold.
"Oh, this was not a mere lunchbox," smiled Miss Fairbanks at them mysteriously, starting to get wrapped up in the fiction she was concocting. It was as if she was living one of the fiction stories she so much loved to read--like she had gone to the library after all. Only this was better than the library, since this story could be created as she went!
"This was the box that put him in prison," she continued. "He's an inventor, you see. And one day he invented something, and put it in a box. Only, he has a black heart, and the thing he invented was not very nice at all!"
Several of the kids were grinning from ear to ear. This was great! A gruesome story instead of a writing assignment! And the thought of dainty, helpless little Miss Fairbanks having an evil uncle with a black heart made it all the better! They all realized she was probably making it up of course. But they didn't want her to stop!
"This invention of Uncle Egbert's did unspeakable things to people," continued Miss Fairbanks. "There were all sorts of dials and knobs and turny things and rubber bands inside, and when he adjusted the controls a certain way and pointed it at someone, they--"
"Started to belch, and couldn't stop?" yelled Arnold with glee, unable to restrain himself.
Miss Fairbanks smiled. "You're almost right," she said to everyone's surprise. "Only it was far worse than that. It was hideous and disgusting! It was the most awful thing you can imagine!"
"Endless hiccupping!" yelled a kid from the back of the room.
"Making them permanently cross-eyed!" cried the tattoo-eared girl on the front row.
"Making their nose hairs grow a mile a minute!" yelled the purple haired kid two rows back.
Miss Fairbanks smiled. She had to admit those were pretty good answers, and were every bit as good as what she had in mind. "None of those things," she said mysteriously. Then she paused for a second and threw her arms wide for dramatic effect, while they all waited breathlessly to find out what it was. "They started to LAUGH!" she blurted.
"You're kidding!" said Armpit Arnold in disappointment. "That's stupid. What's so hideous about that?"
"Have you ever started to laugh, Arnold, but couldn't stop?" cried Miss Fairbanks. "And the harder you tried to stop the harder you laughed! And then you started to panic and the laughing started to gag you, and--"
"And then you go cross-eyed and start hiccupping and grow nose hairs a mile a minute!" yelled the kid with purple hair excitedly.
Miss Fairbanks smiled. The horrible reality of the phone call only a few minutes before now seemed far away. She knew as long as she was here with her crazy students, she was safe. Her only danger was when she went back to being alone after the school day ended, and would start to think about it all again.
"So, where's the box?" yelled the boy with freckles on top of his freckles. "I want to try it out on my sister!" Suddenly there was mad yelling and screaming as everyone started spouting off about who they wanted to try the box on. Miss Fairbanks expected scar face to yell to everyone to 'shut up' to quiet them down, so she could continue. To her surprise however, she saw him sitting quietly at the back of the room looking out the window, not seeming to even know what was going on.
Miss Fairbanks frowned. That was odd.
But of course, the rest of her class paid no attention to scar face. "So your fruitcake uncle wants you to find the box, right?" said Arnold. "He must have given you a clue."
"Well, yes and no," said Miss Fairbanks when the class had died down enough for her to be heard. "He just reminded me about when I visited the work shed behind his house, where he stores all his inventions. He said that's where it is, and I should go get it."
"So, what are you waiting for?" shouted half the kids at once.
"Well," said Miss Fairbanks softly, causing silence to instantly seize the room as they all strained forward to hear. "The problem is, my uncle's work shed is big! There are thousands of boxes in it, and they all look the same. But only one of them is the box of horrifying laughter."
Armpit Arnold grinned at her. "You're putting us on, right?" Most of the rest of the class smiled as well, since they all knew that's what she was doing.
"Maybe," said Miss Fairbanks casually. "But I DID get a call from the penitentiary today, didn't I?"
Some of them looked at her, starting to wonder if it could really be true.
"The problem is, I remember seeing his box just once," said Miss Fairbanks, pacing around behind her desk. "He showed me how it worked when he made a roach on his window start laughing so hard one of its antennae fell off. But now when I try to remember what the box looks like, and also how it looks on the inside and how it works, I get all confused." She tried to look confused, just for emphasis. "I'm afraid I won't recognize it because there are so many boxes in his shed. And I'm afraid if I start looking inside all his boxes in the hope of recognizing the inner works, I'll just get more confused. I need something to jog my memory. I think if I could just see it in my mind's eye again, I'd know what to look for."
"You need someone to draw a picture of it," said Slapface. But Miss Fairbanks shook her head. "No, I'm not a picture person. I remember things by way of words. That's why I became a writing teacher. I'm sure if I could just read a description of what the box had in it, and how it worked, that would jog my memory and I could find it easily."
"Hah! I knew it!" guffawed Armpit Arnold. "Now I know you're putting us on! You just set us up to do another one of your silly writing things!" More than half the class started yelling in agreement. These kids were no dummies.
Miss Fairbanks held up her hand. "Maybe you're right. Maybe that's all I've been doing. But I'll bet none of you could describe such a box very well, or tell how it worked."
"That'd be a piece of cake!" said Arnold. "But why would I want to waste my time doing a stupid thing like that?"
Miss Fairbanks smiled at him sweetly. "Because if you don't, I'll have to call your parents or your parole officer and tell them you'll be staying after school today to do the assignment. And as you know, there's a rumor around school that a certain club meets here in this room after school is out, so you'd become a member of the club ..."
"The loser's club!" whispered half a dozen kids at once in alarm. Armpit Arnold's face went white. "You wouldn't!" he exclaimed.
Miss Fairbanks just smiled at him. "I believe I can find your father's phone number in the directory in Mr. Clyde's office."
Arnold looked at her disdainfully for another minute. Then he grumpily reached down to pull a paper out of his book bag. He was grumbling to himself, but Miss Fairbanks noticed that as he started to write, his grumbles quickly faded. Curiously, Miss Fairbanks knew something about Arnold that he didn't even know about himself. When he started doing something challenging and creative, he loved it no matter how much he grumbled. And that is what he w
as doing now.
Indeed, all the students that grumbled had obviously allowed themselves to be "tricked" into doing this assignment. They all knew that Miss Fairbanks probably wouldn't have called any of their parents, and even if she had, they wouldn’t have come to her class to do any writing after school anyway.
In short order, amazing silence reigned across Miss Fairbanks classroom. It was obvious her students were thinking deeply, trying to come up with a description of the innards of the box and how it worked that would knock her socks off. And in the process they were doing almost the very same descriptive writing assignment she'd originally had in mind to give them that day!
Principal Clyde once more poked his head in the door. Having seen how badly Miss Fairbanks was shaken by the phone call, he thought perhaps he had better check on her. Once more, he looked around her classroom in astonishment and jealousy as he saw all the students busily writing as if their lives depended on it.
Miss Fairbanks went quickly to the door, then out into the hall with him. "Are you all right?" asked Principal Clyde curiously through his nasal voice. He suddenly swiveled around and sneezed, then turned his questioning, watery eyes back on her.
"Yes," said Miss Fairbanks with a slight smile. "There's nothing like the students in this school to make you forget your personal problems!"
Principal Clyde looked at her with a blank stare, as if she had completely lost her marbles. "No," he said slowly at last. "There's nothing like that at all. I think maybe I'd have to agree with you there ..."
Miss Lydia Fairbanks and the Losers Club Page 11
