Trophy Life

by Lea Geller

  “I’ll leave you to this, boys,” I said, sitting in the corner and slumping into a chair. “Do not submit until I have reviewed it,” I warned.

  “Got it,” said Caleb. The other boys gathered around him while he typed. They added comments and suggestions. Guy corrected his spelling. Davey bounced around the office, touching as many things as possible, almost determined to knock over as much as he could. When they were done, they called me over to look at it. I stood behind them, my hands resting on the desk.

  Feb. 15—Agnes Parsons: Caleb Fisher, Guy Martin, Davey Heath, and Art Dunlap stole high-quality ice cream from the kitchen, depriving the hardworking, rule-following kiss-asses in the merit club of their delicious treats. Oh, and they also locked Mr. Higgins in his office, which was a total accident. Gave the boys detention and made them polish Principal Jerk’s shiny head.

  “Just take out ‘kiss-asses,’” I said flatly. “Everything else is fine.”

  “Really?” Caleb whipped around to look at me.

  “Really,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Looks fine to me.” I wanted to know if they could stop themselves, or if they really had no self-control at all.

  “Dude,” said Davey. “Do not submit the form.” He looked back at me. “We were just playing,” he said.

  “I know,” I said. “You’re always just playing. You tell me you’re worried about getting thrown out of school, about not getting into high school, but you spend your days doing things to get yourselves thrown out, to make sure you never get into high school.”

  Caleb hit some keys. “It’s fixed, Ms. P., but I wanna have a look around while I’m in the neighborhood. Don’t worry—I’m gonna log on as Principal Burke.”

  Before I knew it, a long list of entries appeared on the screen, all under a heading with my name on it.

  “What the—?” said Art. “Ms. P., did you write these?”

  I leaned in to get a closer look. “What? No! You heard Principal Burke! This was my first entry.”

  Caleb began reading each entry aloud.

  Oct. 1—Agnes Parsons: Caleb Fisher and Guy Martin made inappropriate comments about “my time of the month” during class—detention.

  Oct. 14—Agnes Parsons: Caleb Fisher flashed a pornographic image of several women on the smart board during class—detention.

  Oct. 16—Agnes Parsons: Davey Heath and Guy Martin played football with a bottle of soda in class. Soda exploded all over back wall—sent boys to Principal Burke’s office.

  One thing I could say for sure was that I had never thrown a student out of class, and certainly not since Gavin created the Bowel. (The boys said it was awful. He’d handpicked the most miserable teachers as monitors.) I noticed the entries picked up in both frequency and severity in November, after I had challenged Gavin in front of Mr. and Mrs. Martin.

  Nov. 18—Agnes Parsons: Art Dunlap and Guy Martin plagiarized homework assignment from internet—gave detention and assigned extra work.

  Nov. 23—Agnes Parsons: Caleb Fisher and Art Dunlap caught cheating on test—DOUBLE detention.

  Nov. 30—Agnes Parsons: Guy Martin referred to me as “dumb bitch” when I asked him to stay after class to discuss missing assignments—DOUBLE detention.

  We read as many as we could stomach, and then the boys turned to me.

  “I don’t know,” I said, meeting their baffled gazes. “I don’t know what these are or how they got here.”

  “You sure about that?” asked Art. “Because it looks like you wrote these.”

  “Yeah,” said Guy. “Why should we believe you?”

  “Boys,” I said. “This is not me. I didn’t even know how to use the system before today.”

  We sat silently while Caleb tapped on the keyboard. The boys would not meet my eyes. “It’s the Jerk,” he said. “He did this. They’re from his account.”

  “This douchebag has it coming to him,” said Art, quickly transferring all his anger from me to Gavin. He put his hands on his hips and jumped out of his chair. “Let’s get him back!”

  “I’ve got it! How about we have him sext Ms. Figg?” Davey suggested. “We can get gross pictures online and pretend they’re him!”

  “Or maybe,” I said, “you can take actual pictures of him. I mean, why stop there? If you really want to get him, hide out in his house and get pictures of him in the shower!” They looked bewildered. “I mean, why not? If you really wanna screw up your futures, you might as well go for it!” I was doing so much hand waving that my arms were beginning to get tired.

  “You don’t get it,” Caleb said.

  “Oh, I get it,” I said. “I get that you feel powerless, because he has all the control, and that it doesn’t matter what you do. But you’re wrong, because I know what he did. I know these are faked. I can help you.”

  “That’s a lie,” said Caleb. “You keep telling us that you’re gonna help us. But you haven’t. You didn’t help Guy even though you said you were going to.” He looked over at Guy, who nodded meekly. “He got grounded over Thanksgiving and wasn’t allowed to go skiing with his family over Christmas break, all because of the Jerk.”

  “Is that true, Guy?” I asked.

  Guy nodded. Caleb went on.

  “Pretty soon, all our parents are gonna see these reports. Next year, high schools are gonna see these reports. Who’s gonna want to take losers like us when they see this stuff?”

  “The Jerk told our parents they have to send us to his stupid summer program if we want to get into high school next year,” Art added.

  “Just let me try to help,” I begged. “Give me some time.”

  “Go for it,” said Caleb as he got up to leave, signaling for the other boys to follow. “But I don’t think anyone can stop the Jerk, especially not you.”

  Before I could say anything else, I was alone in the room.

  -9-

  I wasn’t sure where to go next, so I left the building and started walking aimlessly across campus. A light snow began to fall, and I looked up at the gray sky and let the flakes fall on my face. I needed to do something other than confront Gavin and tell him I knew what he was up to. He’d only dismiss me, tell me to go back to the beach. Besides, if I wanted to help the boys, if I really wanted to make sure they were safe, then Gavin had to get caught. If I confronted him, he’d delete the entries he’d forged before it went any further. I opened my eyes and looked out across the field. I had only one option: I had to go to Ruth Moore and tell her what I knew.

  Ruth’s office was clear on the other side of campus. I trudged across the frozen ground to Granger Hall, a large brick building with spires and an imposing copper roof. I walked in and presented myself to Ruth’s secretary, Esme. Esme had short gray hair and a very lazy eye. I introduced myself, trying not to stare. She looked both shocked and terrified when I told her that I didn’t have an appointment. She picked up the phone, whispered into it for a few moments, and began nodding.

  “It’s all fine,” she murmured, more to herself than to me, straightening papers on her desk. “Fine, fine.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s fine,” she said, not looking up. “She can see you.”

  Esme stood and showed me back to an imposing wood door, which swung open to reveal an even more imposing office, complete with stained-glass windows and dark wood paneling. In the middle of it all, sitting behind an enormous mahogany desk, was Ruth Moore. She stood as I walked in.

  “Agnes,” she began, “it’s good to see you again.”

  “It’s good to see you, too,” I said, taking a chair opposite her desk. “I’ve wanted to come see you for a while, to thank you for your help and for the Christmas basket, but I wasn’t sure . . .”

  “Of course,” she said. “And I kept my distance for that very same reason. Teachers are funny creatures, very sensitive, you know. If it got out that you were here because of a connection to me, well, that wouldn’t bode well for you. Would it?” She smiled at me, a smile that was hard to read.<
br />
  I tried smiling mysteriously back at her, but I apparently don’t do mysterious very well.

  “Are you all right, Agnes?” she asked.

  “Oh. Yes. I’m fine.” I fiddled with the zipper on my coat, sliding it up and down.

  “Why are you here?” she asked. “Is it because of Jack?”

  At the mention of his name, I heard Jack’s words: If you pay close enough attention, you can find dirt on anyone. I felt uncomfortable, almost itchy. I unzipped my coat again and scratched at my collar.

  “I’m here because of my students,” I said as quickly as I could, silencing Jack’s voice.

  “Oh,” she said, her voice rising in interest.

  “Well, it’s not really the boys I’m here about,” I said. “It’s Gavin.”

  “Yes?” Ruth asked, sitting forward.

  “He’s been entering fake discipline reports in the online system,” I said, all in one breath. I watched her eyebrows rise and kept going. “I saw pages of reports I’d allegedly written, reports about my students. But the thing is, I hadn’t written any. Someone else wrote those reports.” I paused to catch my breath. “Gavin wrote those reports.” The words tumbled out, and I let them sit there.

  “Agnes, I don’t need to tell you that you’re making a very serious accusation.”

  “I know,” I said. “There are pages and pages of faked reports that came from Gavin’s account.”

  “How do you know?” she asked, putting her elbows on the desk and resting her chin in her clasped hands.

  “I can’t say.”

  “You can’t say?”

  “No.” I clasped my own hands together on my lap and took a breath. “I can’t.”

  She stared at me for a few long seconds.

  “Gavin is ambitious, Agnes. If what you say is correct, and I want to be clear that I’m not sure that it is, maybe he’s doing it to inflate his own importance.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “Well, the worse the boys appear to be, then the better he looks when he’s able to help them.”

  “If he’s able to help them,” I said. Hell, I was already in here making pretty serious accusations. I might as well give it all I had.

  Ruth narrowed her eyes, as though she had to think about what I’d just said. “Leave this with me, Agnes. I promise to get to the bottom of it.”

  “Thank you, Ruth.”

  “Agnes, it goes without saying that if you can get your hands on any actual evidence to back up your claims, you should bring it to me immediately.”

  “Of course.” I nodded.

  Ruth stood up, so I did the same and we walked to the door. As she opened the door, she said, “Please remember that I am here for you.” On cue, Esme shuffled over and escorted me out.

  After my classes, I walked toward Blackwell, hoping to get Grace early. My meeting with Ruth had put me at ease a little. I wanted to call Jack and tell him that he was barking up the wrong tree. If he wanted Ruth’s help, whatever that meant, he just had to ask her, as I’d done. In the meantime, I needed to get Ruth more information, possibly even proof that Gavin was faking reports. I could print out what Caleb had shown me, but then she’d ask how we logged in to Gavin’s account. No, to really nab Gavin, I also needed an explanation—why was he faking the reports? I didn’t buy Ruth’s “inflated importance” theory. There had to be something else. The problem was I didn’t have anyone to ask. I couldn’t go to Stacey, because as far as she was concerned, Gavin was the patron saint of the middle school. As I walked up to the icy front door of Blackwell, I thought of the one person who might be willing to dish on Gavin, and who might have the kind of information that usually stays hidden, underground—Adam.

  I retrieved Grace, and we walked home as the snow got heavier. I pulled out my phone, took off my gloves, and texted Adam.

  Adam. Do you have a sec?

  Sure. What’s up? Wanna run?!

  I started to text him but was nervous about writing down my suspicions.

  Can I call you?

  Sure.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi. I know this is a little out of left field, but I’ve found something in the behavior log. I think Gavin is forging entries.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll tell you more in person, but the boys were in his account and they saw entries he’d written . . . in my name.” I lowered my voice. “Can you meet me at my house? I’ll be home in twenty minutes.”

  “Of course. I’ll be there in thirty.”

  And that was how Jack walked in on me and another man in my home.

  -10-

  I got home, released Grace from her stroller and winter wear, found somewhere safe for her to play, and tried to straighten up the house. Nobody other than the Figg had seen the inside of this place recently, and looking at it with fresh eyes, I saw what a mess it was.

  I started with the brown couch, which had wrappers and socks wedged in between its cushions. I picked up books from the floor, more food wrappers, and found a bra I swore I’d lost as well as a glove I thought I’d never see again. I moved into the dining room and spotted Grace under the table. I surveyed the tabletop, which was just a glorified storage spot for books, papers, and, apparently, old rice.

  “Gracie,” I said, “what I wouldn’t give for an hour or two of Sondra.” She raised her arms and whined at me. I picked her up and shuffled around, moving piles to other, less visible locations. When she started to moan louder, I realized she hadn’t eaten yet. “OK, OK, we can eat now, clean later.”

  By the time Adam showed up, Grace and I were halfway through dinner. She was reluctantly eating some chicken, corn, and rice, all of which I’d proudly prepared myself. She could tell I wasn’t paying much attention to her, because whenever I turned to talk to Adam, she jettisoned a fistful of food onto the floor. I tried not to think about vacuuming it all up.

  “You’re right about the reports coming from Gavin’s account,” he said. “I checked quickly, and he wrote them all.”

  “The real question is why,” I said, wiping a lump of corn from my shoe.

  “I think I may know,” Adam said. “There’s this program, a summer program that Gavin runs.”

  “Yeah,” I said, airplaning chicken into Grace’s open mouth. “The boys said they all have to go. Gavin told their parents they won’t get into high school without it.”

  “Sounds about right,” he said. “Gavin’s minions jockey for jobs with him over the summer. Stacey Figg launches a campaign each year to make sure he hires her.” I laughed at the thought of Stacey Figg taking out full-page ads in the student paper, begging Gavin for a job.

  “So what’s up with the program? How is it connected?” I asked, still trying to trick Grace into eating more. I was playing peekaboo with one hand, and whenever she laughed, I would use the other to jam in some food.

  “The program is a complete cash cow. The school gets a cut, but so does Gavin. He pockets a lot of the money—at least half of it.”

  “What?” I asked, almost dropping the spoon. “How do you know?”

  “I have access to the school’s accounting because I installed the systems for it. Last year, I also worked part-time in the accounting office. Your boys aren’t the only ones with mad hacking skills.”

  I stopped trying to feed Grace and turned to face Adam. “So Gavin prints up these fake discipline reports, gets the parents to sign the kids up for this program, and the boys have to spend their summer with him?”

  Adam nodded.

  I looked back at Grace. She was done, her mouth sealed shut. I tried to coax in more food, but she turned her head. I was learning that one of the first rules of parenting is to know when you’ve been beaten, so I stood up and lifted her out of the high chair, holding her away from me. Grace was one step ahead of me. She reached out for my hair and wiped a clump of chicken and rice into it. With her other hand, she smeared corn mush on my left cheek.

  “Are you OK?” Adam asked, trying
to help me but clearly unsure how. He handed me a paper towel.

  “Follow me upstairs. I need to put her in a bath before she makes this worse.”

  The three of us folded into the small bathroom. I wasn’t sure two adults could even fit in here at once. I dropped down and knelt in front of the bath. I scooted all the way forward, my knees pressed against the tub, giving Adam room to sit on the toilet seat. My back was practically resting on his knees.

  I poured warm water over Grace’s body and thought about Adam’s comments. A school with a cash cow might not be having money troubles. Or maybe the school was so hard up, it needed the summer program. Did Ruth know anything about this? Was this the dirt I’d been looking for?

  “Ruth has to know that he’s pocketing a lot of cash from the program,” I said. “She must realize the school doesn’t get all of it.”

  “She’s pretty hands-off when it comes to the middle school. From what I hear, she’d rather look the other way,” he said as Grace splashed me. “But who knows. It’s hard to know where the money is going—it’s just not all going to the school. Maybe she doesn’t care.”

  I tried to sound as casual as I could. “I think that’s something we need to find out. If she knows what Gavin’s up to, that’s pretty bad.” If you pay close enough attention, you can find dirt on anyone.

  Grace splashed me again. I needed this bath to come to an end. I rinsed her off and lifted her out of the tub. While holding her with one hand, I wrapped her in a fuzzy hooded towel with the other. I only had one bath mat, and it was in the laundry. I didn’t see the pool of water next to the bath, and I slipped with Grace in my arms right onto the toilet, right onto Adam’s lap.

  “Whoa!” he laughed, holding on to me and the toilet so that all three of us didn’t end up on the floor. I laughed, too, and Grace squealed with delight. This was much more fun than she’d ever had in the bath.

  We were all laughing when Jack walked in.