Never Too Late Page 9

  There would be lots of homework; very little time for paperwork on the job. And, with only thirty minutes, forget going out to lunch.

  Right off the bat, there was whispering and sniggering about the new principal and once Clare met her she could understand why. She was a beautiful blonde and dressed in a manner very chic for Breckenridge, but she was unsmiling and cold as ice. When introduced to Elizabeth Brown, Clare frowned slightly. “You look vaguely familiar,” she thought aloud.

  “Do I now?” she returned, lifting one brow, her expression chilly.

  “Well,” Clare laughed uncomfortably, “in a town this size…”

  “I’ll be monitoring classrooms quite a lot during the opening weeks of school,” she said. “Expect to see me in yours. And I assume you got my memo about the student handbook?”

  “I’m afraid I have a memo for every day of the year, and school hasn’t even started yet.”

  “This might be the most important memo of the first day. It’s standard procedure for the students to bring a signed document from their parents saying they have read and understood the handbook, but in addition to that there will be a test that every student must pass before any other academic test is given. I’m not going to start out this year with excuses.”

  They’re right, Clare thought in despair. She’s hateful. But she said, “Yes, ma’am,” to this woman who was younger than her. And spent hours asking herself where she had seen her before.

  Clare had what she considered a great idea for her first day. She bought two crates of fresh apples; instead of an apple for the teacher, an apple for every student. Healthy and generous, in her mind. Something to warm them up a little before she threw this handbook test at them.

  “Lame,” said the first boy to walk in the room. He was dressed in drooping jeans, a T-shirt and leather vest complete with chains. On his hands were driving gloves, fingers bare. Right behind him was a girl in a skirt so short it looked like a napkin, bare midriff, belly button ring and boobs bigger than Clare’s. There was multicolored hair in all crazy styles, everything from high-heeled boots to sandals, gum smacking, giggling and pushing and shoving. The few apples that were taken were being pitched back and forth across the room.

  Oh, there were the quiet ones who took seats in the back of the class, a couple of serious ones who sat up front, but they were so overpowered by the raucous, they were hardly noticed. And, she feared, would never be heard.

  But then it was going to be a trick for her to be heard. “Attention! That’s enough now! Take your seats and quiet down!”

  The quiet was brief. Very brief. There was whispering, note passing, laughter and the occasional girlish squeal. She said things like, “You’re stuck with me for the whole year and if you want to get on my bad side right off the bat, you’re doing fine!” and, “Would you like to copy this handbook, word for word, ten times?” and, “I’m going to start taking names and assigning detention!”

  It was a battleground. In reality, there were only a few who couldn’t settle down or pay attention, but that twenty percent made it so impossible for the rest she was on her last nerve and her head was pounding. Four one-hour classes later she thought she might have a raging migraine, something even Roger had never managed to inflict on her. She had spent her thirty-minute lunch in her car in the parking lot fighting back tears. I’m a bad, bad teacher, she thought in horrible despair. If I make it to my planning period, it will be a miracle.

  That night she had to go to bed at seven, lesson plans half-done. But what did it matter? It was going to take a month to even get to the lessons.

  The second day wasn’t much better. It seemed the rabble-rousers had fifteen or so minutes of control in them before the room began to agitate like an old Maytag. Through sheer dint of will, she took her lunch break in the lounge with the other teachers where she hoped she would pick up a tip or two. What she found were teachers fantasizing aloud about what they would do if they weren’t teaching. They’d open boutiques, work in a travel agency, learn to fly big jets, play professional poker. “I’d dance topless,” one said, “if I had a chest.”

  She looked for Pete, for any port in a storm. There was a good chance he could at least make her laugh. But he was nowhere to be seen.

  On day three there was a fight between two girls right outside her door. The teachers were told never to try to break up a fight, but to call the on-duty school police. But they were right there in her doorway! Hair-pulling, biting, spitting girls! She got in the middle of it and got scratched on the arm before she got them apart—and there on the sidelines were boys who could have easily pulled them apart, if they hadn’t been getting the turn-on of their lives. And of course Clare was lectured to exercise more caution and patience and stay out of these inevitable battles. Chagrined and angry, she headed for her car again during the lunch break.

  That’s when she saw Pete, and had her first glimpse of their new principal’s smile. She appeared to have him cornered by the locker room’s back door and although Clare couldn’t hear them, Ms. Brown was animatedly telling some story or joke that made her laugh, reach out and touch his forearm, pat his biceps and giggle like a girl. Pete’s arms were crossed over his chest, the protective stance. It would have been nice to talk to him for a second or two, but no way was she going near the principal. She got into her car, which was facing the opposite way, so she didn’t have to watch the display. Ms. Brown, so cold to the women, was not so icy when it came to a good-looking man.

  Not even minutes passed when she was startled by knocking on her window. She jumped in surprise. Pete had braced both hands on her car door and gestured to her to put down the window.

  “Hey there, how’s it going?” he asked.

  She shook her head dismally and glanced over her shoulder to see the ice queen standing by the back door, tapping her foot. “Not so good. They’re eating me alive. Um, she seems to be waiting for you.”

  “Can I get in?” he asked. But he didn’t wait for an answer. He rounded the front of the car and let himself into the passenger seat.

  Clare chanced another look back, just in time to see Ms. Brown toss her head in annoyance and stomp back into the school through the locker room door.

  “Oh boy,” Clare said when he sat next to her. “You’ve pissed off the principal.”

  “Yeah? Well I barely escaped. She was in a playful mood. So—you’re having some trouble adjusting?”

  “I have no control of the classroom. They’re wild. We were never like that, were we?”

  “You weren’t,” he said. “I was pretty bad. I spent most of my life in detention. When I didn’t have my assignments done, I found it distracted the teachers if I just cut up a lot. They found me hilarious. And I rarely had my assignments done. Which is why I had to redeem myself in community college before I could get in anywhere else.”

  “I guess I do remember that,” she said. “Got any tips?”

  “Hmm. Start out tough, demand respect, carry a bat and never turn your back.”

  “What do I do with the bat?”

  “Try not to kill them.” When she didn’t smile he said, “They’re wound up in the first days. It’ll get easier.”

  “I was looking for you. I was looking for any friendly face. Pete, I hate it.”

  “You can’t hate it. You’re just starting!”

  “I haven’t had one manageable class. And her—” she said, nodding in the direction of the locker room door. “Whew. She looks at me like I just peed on her shoe.”

  He laughed at her. “I think she’s trying to come on strong in the beginning.”

  “You call that strong?” she asked, indicating the locker room again.

  “No, I call that flirting. Big mistake. That’ll get her into trouble.” He put his hand on the door. “Gotta go make sure no one’s getting gang-raped in the showers,” he said. And when she gasped he said, “Kidding!”

  “God, don’t leave me!”

  “You’ll be fine. Take them
with a grain of salt.”

  “What did you tell her? To get away?”

  “I told her I had to say hello to you, see how you’re holding up. That you were an old friend. Now don’t let the little devils get to you!”

  And then he was gone, sprinting back to the building.

  When she was on her way back to her class, she happened to see her niece Lindsey holding her books, her back against a locker, a tall and handsome senior with an arm braced against it, leaning over her. Lindsey was so beautiful, so darling. She had that sexy little girl’s body and he…he was a big strong boy. A flash of her own youth came to her—Mike, leaning on the locker. Stolen kisses between classes.

  The boy bent down and Lindsey rose on her toes and their mouths came briefly together, lips parted. Then he gave her a very familiar pat on the behind and she laughed. Total happiness and love. Lust. All that stuff.

  For a moment she was nostalgic. Those carefree days, filled to the brim with emotion and joy. But she couldn’t quite tell if she was happy for Lindsey or afraid for her. Sometimes life just didn’t go as planned.

  Clare didn’t dare say anything to Jason about hating school; it would just get him all spooled up and complaining. But she dumped on Maggie. “They’re killing me,” she said of the students. “When I’m going to work in the morning, the minute the high school comes into view, my head starts to pound.”

  “It’s got to get better,” Maggie said. “Doesn’t it?”

  “If it doesn’t, I could be suicidal by Christmas…”

  On day four she was to give the Handbook Test. She read the test over. It had no known author, but whoever had put this beauty together was out for vengeance, or war. The questions were impossible. The easy stuff wasn’t mentioned, just the most oblique and complicated. ‘What is the grade point average under which varsity sporting team members must be suspended from the team?’ The number of students who would get that one right would be equal to the number of varsity players. ‘When is a conference with the counselor mandated?’ ‘Under what circumstances is absenteeism considered truancy?’ And each question was followed by multiple-choice answers that all looked correct. Was that grade point average that bumped you off the team 2.0, 2.2, 2.3 or 2.4? If she were a betting woman, she’d wager half the class would fail.

  And Ms. Brown was to monitor her class in the third period. The ice principal. “Class, this is Ms. Brown, our principal, if you haven’t already met her. She’ll be sitting in while you’re testing so please try to impress her.”

  The class managed fifteen minutes of control as they buckled down to the test, but then it began. “Aw, this is such crap,” someone muttered rather loudly from the back of the room. “Mrs. Wilson,” a student called, waving her hand. “I don’t even understand half the questions on this test!”

  “Do your best and we’ll go over it later,” Clare said. “Don’t overthink it, just give it your best shot. This is one of the few tests you’ll get this year that you can retake.”

  “I read the stupid handbook,” a usually quiet young man said. “I don’t remember any of this shit. Oops. I mean stuff. Sorry.”

  “Now look, no more complaints. We’re stuck with the test so take it, do your best, and if we have to—we’ll go over every question and take it again. No more outbursts.”

  The hour was nearly over, the comments had subsided but the grumbling had not, and Ms. Brown’s frown got deeper and meaner looking. Clare guiltily thought that it was difficult not to hate her just for her mannerisms, her lack of congeniality. Then Ms. Brown got up and went to the classroom door to leave. She turned her back on Clare as she exited and Clare felt as though the wind was suddenly knocked out of her. She saw her life pass before her eyes, literally. It was her. She had glanced at the face for a couple of seconds a little over six months before, but the back of that head as she balanced atop Roger was burned into Clare’s memory for all time. She leaned heavily on her desk as the principal left.

  Fourth period was a nightmare. It was her worst class, and they thought it the most ridiculous and punitive test they had ever seen, the tantrums were rife with anger, and the students were animals. About halfway through the class one of her most difficult boys stood up, ripped the test in half and left the room. When the door slammed, Clare turned to the blackboard and as serenely as possible, began to write: See me for test rescheduling after class.

  She had barely started to write, having forgotten the cardinal rule that teachers never turn their backs on the class, when one of her complimentary apples found her head with a thunk, driving her forehead into the blackboard. The class was never more quiet. She was momentarily stunned. She kept her brow pressed against the blackboard while she mentally and emotionally assessed the damage. It hurt, but not terribly. She wasn’t dizzy or light-headed. But she was mad.

  She straightened slowly, turned, pulled her purse out of the bottom of her desk, and left the classroom. She went to her car in the parking lot.

  I can’t do this, was all she thought. I’ve been out of the classroom too long and I have dangerously little compassion for the kids. If I ever become effective, I will hate every day of my life while I try. And I cannot work for that woman.

  She spent an hour there—the last thirty minutes of her class, while the abandoned students were probably tearing the classroom walls down, and her entire lunch break. Then, gathering her courage, she went to Ms. Elizabeth Brown’s office and told the secretary it was an emergency. Ms. Brown didn’t even bother to look up as Clare entered—she continued writing and said, tritely, “You seem to have very tenuous control of your students, Mrs. Wilson.”

  “I quit,” Clare said.

  Now she sat up straighter, folded her hands primly in front of her on the desk, and said, “In the middle of the fourth day. Now there’s the fighting spirit.”

  “I’ve been gouged in a cat fight—”

  “That you were strictly instructed to stay out of—”

  “And just an hour ago I was beaned in the back of the head with an apple.”

  “I can’t think of a more ridiculous gesture—to arm them on the first day.”

  “And now I can place you. Roger’s birthday present.”

  She took a steadying breath and said, “I was given to understand the two of you were not together.”

  A few things became crystal clear in that moment. This was not a nice person. And while young and pretty, she was increasingly unkind. There had been a lot of blather about how she got her job, when there were so many older and more experienced contenders, and after seeing the way she behaved with Pete, Clare thought it might be true. And of course, Clare knew Roger. Roger had a real penchant for easy women. It was rare for him to latch on to one with actual standards.

  Clare didn’t care anymore who Roger slept with. The accident had made that all seem so long ago. Even if she had not accomplished a divorce yet, he was clearly her ex in her mind.

  “I said I quit,” she said.

  “You have a contract,” said the principal.

  “Sue me,” she said, turning to leave. She stopped. “But really, if there is anything, but anything you don’t want to air in public, let’s not go to court.” She shrugged and smiled bravely. “But what the hell. Go for it.”

  By reflex, Clare drove toward her father’s hardware store. He was the only person she could think of at this moment. But on her way there, she pulled over on a street in the older business district where the traffic wasn’t heavy. She sat in her car, dazed, thinking, Oh my God, what have I done? Walking out on a teaching job in the middle of the day before the first week was complete was a death sentence in terms of getting another position. It was the only thing she was qualified to do—besides running a home.

  Her cell phone chimed in her purse. She flipped it open and recognized Jason’s cell number. Oh, God, how could she have ignored what this might do to him? “Jason,” she said.

  “Mom! Do you know what they’re saying? They’re saying you quit!
”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry! I should have pulled you out of class and explained!”

  “You did? You quit?”

  “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “Just like that? In fourth hour?”

  “Can I explain later? It was kind of crazy.”

  “Sure, but did you? Really?”

  She took a breath. “Yes.”

  There was momentary silence, and then he said, “Hot!” And he laughed. “Mom, you’re cool.”

  “I am?” I’m jobless is what I am.

  “Yeah. I’ll see you later. At home.”

  “Okay then,” she said. “Love you.”

  “Yeah,” he said. Which was the best he could do while his friends might overhear.

  She went to McCarthy’s hardware. She’d practically grown up in the store. When she was little, she begged to go with her dad and when she was a teenager she worked there. So did the other girls, some. But they hadn’t liked it as much as she had.

  When she walked in her father was behind the cash register taking care of a customer. He looked up, saw her and said to a clerk, “Marty, finish this up for me, will you?” He wore a slight frown as he regarded her and without even saying hello, led the way to his office in the back of the store. George was the one person who could read all his daughters, no matter what. He might not know the details, but he could read the emotions on their faces and at that moment Clare was resonating shock and panic.

  “Is Jason all right?” he asked.

  “Fine. I just talked to him, and he’s perfectly fine.”

  “Then what’s the matter?”