by T W Morse
“I totally agree,” Bob blurts out in an equally hush tone, startled by the attention and contact.
My mouth is wide open in pure shock. Whatever Bob has for a neck is now the same color as his tracksuit.
“Logan here likes to observe everything, but misses out on some things, like basic manners!”
Mary giggles uncontrollably for a few seconds exclaiming, “That is so charming! To answer your question, yes, I do climb. I guess we live in the wrong state though; Florida is so flat! The tallest mountains are the roller coasters at Disney.”
Bob laughs with an over the top laugh that was beneath him.
“It’s so beautiful here in Somerset; I cannot wait to explore the area and get to know all of you and the students,” she says as she winks at Bob.
Bob, sounding more like Barry White than ever, says, “If you need a guide?” I raise an eyebrow but he continues, “I was born and raised in Southwest Florida. I could show you the ins and outs of this swamp.”
“Oh my God, I would love that!” She sounds now like a college sorority girl. “I was looking for something fun to do since I am now unpacked and Mr. Barron has had me complete all the in-service trainings. I wanted to celebrate but I don’t know anyone.”
She actually sounds like she is flirting with Bob, batting her eyelashes, twirling her hair, shifting about; not very mature for an AP. This won’t end well for poor Bob.
“Me and Logan are going to the local cafe later tonight. It’s called Penny University; they have an open mic night on Fridays. Logan here is playing his guitar, and a lot of us are stopping by.”
Mary is now beaming and getting closer so Mr. Barron couldn’t hear them whispering. “That sounds great. Mr. Adair, you play in a band?”
“You can call me Logan. No, I’m not in a band. My son and I both play acoustic guitar. Just for fun. He also attends Mangrove High. He’s a freshman, and his name is Ulysses.”
Mary gushes, “Wow! You must be so proud.”
Bob interrupts as he is losing the attention. “How about I pick you up at 6:00? After the show, I can tour you around.”
“I would love that.” And ever so lightly, she touches Bob’s arm. “Love the red velvet,” she interjects as she leaves with Mr. Barron, rushing out to the hallway ahead of the droves of students who are starting to invade the school.
If Bob’s head could blow off, it would have. The Barry White voice is gone, and he squeaks, “Did you see that? She touched me, she likes my tracksuit! She taught P.E. She was diggin’ me, man!”
“What the hell was that! She came on a bit strong, don’t you think?” I blurt out.
“You jealous? She was digging me and not you?”
“Don’t want to burst your bubble, but what about Dolly?” I remind him.
“The hell with Dolly, make room for Mary.” He proceeds to strut out of the media center saying, “Mary. Mm, oh yeah.” He finds his Barry White voice again as we spot her in the lobby as we exit the media center. Bob does a two-finger salute as a wave, and she gives it right back.
“Slow down, she’s practically our boss. I think we’ve got rules about this,” I whisper in his ear.
The Barry White voice comes back, “Logan, Logan ... Come on, come on. She may be the one! Mary. Mm.”
“I know, big guy, I know,” I say condescendingly, but I definitely witnessed something between them, either that or she’s just crazy weird. It isn’t the first crazy AP, and it probably won’t be the last. Still, that was weird.
“I’ll meet you at Penny U after practice. It is on!” Bob yells as he practically floats to the gymnasium before the bell rings. I walk, confused and a little nauseous, to my classroom door, where I greet my first-period students as they stand waiting patiently for my arrival.
CHAPTER 8
- ULYSSES -
SHENANIGANS ABOUND
E very other day, dreaded geometry is at the beginning of my day. Starting off half of my school days with Mr. O’Leary sucks. One good thing is I sit next to Hannah. How can such an evil place have such beauty? The universe must be trying to balance my existence. Hannah looks at everything with such positive energy! I, on the other hand, look at only the darkness, except when she is around. She sometimes helps me with my homework, often giggling when I don’t get something correct. She made me love math; O’Leary, not so much.
We were just introduced to the new assistant principal, Ms. Clifton, on the video morning announcements. Wow, she doesn’t look like a typical assistant principal; she reminds me of the cheerleaders at Conrad’s basketball game. I bet Dad is going to hate her.
Mr. O’Leary starts class by yelling, “Class! Class, enough!” O’Leary screams a lot, and he only knows one volume, loud. Correction: Sometimes he goes really loud. He could be the only one in the room and his voice could carry, making your head throb, after even the shortest conversation. His voice rattles and scratches through the classroom.
Dad says O’Leary reminds him of the judge from that eighties movie, Who Framed Roger Rabbit. The judge, like O’Leary, often gives me nightmares, sometimes joining the ninjas. Mr. O’Leary has a way of getting under your skin, not just his voice, but his sarcasm. His demeanor is horrendous. Even Hannah doesn’t like him, and I have never known anyone she didn’t like. Sure, she can get upset and start yelling at you in Spanish; she’s intense, but she doesn’t hate you. He continues to lecture; sometimes he can go on for the entire class period without anyone else speaking.
While I am admiring Hannah, Conrad — who sits on my other side — elbows me, and whispers, “Stalker! Earth to stalker.”
“What?” I hiss.
“Here!” As he shoves a handout onto my desk, Mr. O’Leary leers at me in disgust. His sunken, baggy eyes focus on me with pure hatred, making his forehead wrinkle below his partially bald head. “Problem, Mr. A—dair?” Taking the painstaking effort to over-pronounce my name, that really irks me.
“Nope, all is good for Mr. A—dair,” I quip back.
He narrows his eyes and clicks his mouth in disgust before continuing on with his lecture about theorems. I drown him out. I look at the worksheet Conrad handed me. It contains a series of parallelograms with different measurements that I need to find the areas of. Easy enough, you can do this, Ulysses. Area equals base times height. I proceed to go through and answer all the questions on the worksheet, breezing through with no problems.
I look over to Hannah and she is almost done as well, but when I look over to Conrad, he is struggling big time, wearing an expression of pure dread, turning paler than usual. He is probably thinking how his dad is going to kill him if he doesn’t bring up his grades, or about Mr. O’Leary’s after-school tutoring. I notice he is making major mistakes on his handout. So like a good friend, I lean over and give him some advice. Right at that very instance, Mr. O’Leary comes rushing over, with his extra loud voice screeching, “Ulysses Adair! No talking! Eyes on your own paper!”
I calmly quip, “Yeah, I know. I was just trying to help. I’m not cheating.” I am cool and collected because I don’t want to give O’Leary any ammunition.
O’Leary snarls back, his nostrils literally curling up, screaming, “One more word out of you and it will be a detention!”
I nod obediently. I don’t need to embarrass Dad by getting a detention from O’Leary. What the hell, I was just helping out a friend. Hannah and I both finish O’Leary’s handout and sit staring into space; everyone else is still working. Of course O’Leary doesn't have anything for us to do when we finish, making the time in geometry crawl. The minute hand on the classroom clock seems stuck on the four, and yes, my generation can still tell time with analog clocks, sometimes. Geometry doesn’t end until 8:35, fifteen more minutes!
Mr. O’Leary is at his podium. I can see he is thoroughly enjoying grading everyone's homework with his red pen, shaking his head in disgust. The only thing around to entertain me are his lame math posters cluttering the classrooms walls. The morning Florida sunlight b
ursts through the wide bay windows, saturating the room, suspending the dust particles in the air. Outside the clouds sway in the powder blue sky. I look at the clock, it is still 8:20... What the hell!
Hannah sits upright, finished and reading Of Mice and Men for Mrs. Swanson’s lit class. I’m glad I have Mr. James. He is cool, unlike Mrs. Swanson. Hannah likes her, but she likes everyone. Sick of this silence, I finally break it.
“Psst! Psst!” I’m trying to get Hannah’s attention. She turns to me with a surprised look.
“You’re going to get in trouble,” she spits back quickly, putting her nose back into the book.
I shrug. “Do you like the book?” I whisper.
“What?” Hannah whispers softly.
“Do you like Of Mice and Men?” I am whispering louder now.
“Yeah, I like Lennie and George’s friendship, and Lennie’s so sweet.”
I raise my eyebrows. I guess she hasn’t gotten very far. “My dad made me read it last summer. It’s a great book.”
I don’t want to burst her bubble, so I change the subject. “Can you believe this worksheet? Easy. Right?” She is finally dragged into the conversation.
Still whispering, Hannah said, “I know, it is much easier than last night's homework.”
I add a little more enthusiastically, “Especially numbers four and seven, come on! They were right off of the homework. You’d think O’Leary would not reuse his questions!”
As I say that, I notice Mr. O’Leary dart from grading his papers at the podium to four rows back, where I sit, in one swoop, like he flew or levitated through the room.
He stands over me with his burgundy sweater matching his eyes. His nostrils are snarling, resembling a bull being prodded. He screeches in his loudest judge tone, “Mr. Adair! I have had enough of your shenanigans!”
I’m not sure what shenanigans are, but it sounds nasty. At that moment, he snatches my worksheet and rips it in two.
“If you’re going to be rude and talk in my class! Then you deserve a zero!”
I am simultaneously mortified and pissed.
O’Leary continues, “Ms. Reyes, do you need a zero as well?”
I stand up to take the attention of off her. “She wasn’t talking!” I blurt out. “I wasn’t cheating; why do I get a zero?”
He leans in closer to me now. “You think you can do what you want because your dad works here?!” His screech rises to its highest octave.
At this point, the whole class is staring in awe, some with mouths gaping open. Hannah wants to say something in my defense, but I scoot in front of her, blocking her from O’Leary. I move to stand up, rising to my full height, making me a few inches taller than O’Leary.
“First, nobody under fifty knows or uses the word shenanigans! Second, you’re just jealous of my dad because he is not a jerk like you!”
My legs are shaking now, regret quickly creeping through my body. I hear a wave of gasps and oohs throughout the classroom. My skin tone is now resembling Conrad's, and my stomach feels as if it’s dropped to my shoes. O'Leary stands startled and speechless for a moment. His face begins twitching, then the color of his face matches his sweater.
He lifts his long thin arm, uncurling equally long boney fingers, and speaks from the side of his mouth with pure hatred. “GET OUT! Go see our new assistant principal. She can now deal with you.”
I turn in momentary hesitation, but I slowly grab my backpack and slump out of the room. Hannah and Conrad look at me as if it is the last time they will see me as I begin a death march to the office. Still, until the door slams shut behind me, I don’t fully comprehend my situation. My stomach is now swimming in my shoes. I continue my march down the expansive stairs to the office, hitting my head during the journey: “Stupid, stupid! Nice job, Ulysses!”
I pass by Dad’s class. He is in the middle of a lecture; he looks up and our eyes meet. He can read the horror on my face. He knows I am headed towards the office during O’Leary’s period, which means trouble. All I can do is shrug back at him and slink into the office.
CHAPTER 9
- ULYSSES -
OFFICE COMMOTION
T he office has a large, thick metal door with several coats of turquoise paint, making it appear thicker than it really is. The top of the door has a smudged glass partition labeled “OFFICE” in large thick lettering. A wave of the office air conditioner slaps me as I meekly enter: Even the A/C knows I screwed up. Why do school offices have their A/C blasting? It always resembles the Arctic, even back in Maine. You definitely wouldn’t know we had tropical temperatures outside these walls. I frigidly plop down at one of the available overstuffed blue chairs that looks as old as the school.
I’ve only been in the office one other time. The first time was when I met with Mrs. Raines, my guidance counselor. Her office is down the corridor, along with the curriculum coordinator’s office. In front of me sits a huge counter with different colored papers stacked in every corner. Motivational posters hang all around me; they’re just as effective as Manny the Manatee when it comes to motivation. Behind the counter sit two enormous desks with crazy Dr. Seuss-like stacks of papers, and behind them are three doors. The door on my far left belongs to Deputy Diaz, our SRO (school resource officer). It’s closed, which means he’s probably patrolling the hallways. The middle door belongs to our little principal, Mr. Barron. According to Dad, he started at our school last year. The third door, on my far right and unlabeled, belongs to our new assistant principal. They probably did not have time to put the new label up prior to hiring Ms. Clifton.
One of the two huge desks sitting in front of the counter belonged to Mangrove’s administrative assistant, Mrs. Lafayette. She is shared by everyone in the office except the principal, but her desk sits empty. Rumor has it Mrs. Lafayette has the flu and has been out for two weeks. Too bad, I like Mrs. Lafayette. Her absence leaves Principal Barron’s administrative assistant, Ms. Simmons, to occupy the other large desk and to complete all the office work by herself. She is filing at an extraordinarily large cabinet between the SRO’s and principal’s offices and does not lift her head to acknowledge my entrance. She must have not heard me come in. So I sit in silence, thinking about how I let Dad down and embarrassed myself in front of Hannah and the rest of the math class.
I stare at the floor tiles, starting to count them, when I hear shouting coming from Principal Barron’s office. The shouting resonates throughout the office, but at my distance, I cannot make out what the argument is about. I can tell it is indeed yelling, but the words are mostly muffled. I’m able to make out an occasional word of one of the two yelling voices. I catch “letter” and “doorstep,” then another word becomes clear, “gallant,” then a thud and crash end the argument. It sounds like something heavy hit the floor and then silence. I am sitting on the edge of intrigue. I am just about to ask Ms. Simmons what is going on, as she’s standing motionless by the door, when suddenly the door bursts open. The gaping doorway reveals Principal Barron on one knee hurriedly picking office supplies up off the floor and a tall man with soft, wavy, thinning straw-blonde hair turning in front of the opened doorway. His movement blocks my view of Barron as he fills the doorframe. Damn! It is Conrad’s dad!
Mr. Wright strides out of the office’s outer area, pompously strutting just like he would in court. When he moves, he has a rich, cocky, intimidating swagger; no wonder Conrad is so scared of him. As he approaches me, his long face and small mouth are accentuated by his bright white suit and brighter pink tie. His suit clings to him like a second skin.
He sees me with my mouth gaping open, and his small mouth contours into a menacing grin as he says in his raspy voice, “Hey there, Ulysses. Hope you’re not in any trouble.”
He chuckles to himself and continues to stroll out as he tucks a large, bright blue piece of paper into his inside breast pocket. He is about to close the door and exit when he turns back to Principal Barron, adjusts his tie confidently and hisses, “Remember what I said,
Barron!”
Barron, now standing, nods silently while slowly closing his door.
What the hell was Conrad’s dad yelling to Barron about? His grades? I am about to think on it more when Ms. Simmons spins on her heels from the file cabinet, staring at me with giant green eyes. Her hair and wrinkles give her a scary grandmother demeanor.
In an ancient, frail, shaky voice Ms. Simmons says, “Can I help you, Ulysses?”
“Ah, yeah... I mean, yes ma'am. I was sent out of Mr. O’Leary’s geometry class,” I shamefully admit.
She clicks her mouth in disgust. “Your father will not be happy, Ulysses! Since your father is a teacher, you should set a good example for others here at Mangrove High!”
When she is done preaching, she begins to grin, showing off her dentures. She proceeds to dial on her phone.
“I have a Mr. Adair here to see you. No, it’s the son,” she adds sternly, looking at me, wearing that grin again that stretches her old face but her green eyes flash in disgust. Half her face appears happy while the other half shows disgust.
She continues, “Yes, all is good. It was exactly like you said, you’re off to a great start, Ms. Clifton. Oh yes, Ulysses: He was sent out by his geometry teacher, Mr. O’Leary. Yes, correct, that O’Leary.”
Wow, Mr. O’Leary is already known as “that one” by the new assistant principal.
Ms. Simmons drops the receiver, grinning with her wide beady, green eyes and exuberantly says, “She’ll see you now.”
Those eyes follow me from the chair. I can’t look away from her; her eyes penetrate me and continue to follow me all around the office like an owl, turning her head in unnatural angles. What a creepy old lady!