by T W Morse
CHAPTER 10
- ULYSSES -
WAIT, WAIT ... JUST A SLAP ON THE WRIST?
W hen I enter our new assistant principal’s office, a muscular energetic woman prances over to me with a beaming smile and a She-Hulk body. She takes my hand and shakes it like she could shake it off.
“Nice to meet you, Ulysses. You look just like your dad. I met him this morning; he seemed so nice.” She waves for me to sit at one of the two wooden chairs facing her desk.
I nod in agreement and manage a quick, “Nice to meet you, too?” Not sure if that is correct, but I went with it. Ms. Clifton’s office has bare walls and a bare desk, which is fitting since she looks as if she could probably could kill a bear with her bare hands. The entire space is bare except for one picture behind her desk. Sitting lonely on a large shelf is a single picture of a baby held by, I presume, its mother and father.
“Your father mentioned you’re playing tonight at this Penny College?”
“University,” I reply.
“Excuse me?” she quickly interjects.
I hate the when people say “excuse me.” “Pardon” or “what did you say,” but “excuse me” seems to always have such an offensive connotation.
“The place I’m playing. It’s called Penny University.”
“Okay...Well, I’m going tonight. I’m meeting Mr. Nelson there. I can’t wait.”
Say what! Ms. Clifton is coming tonight to see me and Dad play? And she said Mr. Nelson like he was Romeo or something. Is this the same Mr. Nelson that sobers up on our couch and accidently ate Ortiz’s dog bones? What the hell!
“Your dad and Mr. Nelson invited me; it should be a blast!” she exuberantly exclaims like she is going to a Justin Timberlake concert.
I can’t believe this woman is our new assistant principal. Maybe she’ll forget the reason I’m even here.
She exuberantly projects further, “So, what kind of music do you and your dad play?”
“Classic rock,” I reply quickly.
She then suddenly changes her expression and demeanor to stern and solemn, “Okay, let's get down to business.” She swivels her chair from side to side like a toddler sitting in a spinning chair for the first time.
“Just kidding, I can’t play bad cop. So, Ulysses, what the hell happened?” She suddenly changes her demeanor back to the Justin Timberlake groupie.
Taken aback by Ms. Clifton’s candor and language, I begin to recite my story, not leaving anything out. I even explain who Conrad and Hannah are and, of course, the history with Mr. O’Leary and my worksheet. I try to not leave out a single detail. She sits typing on her laptop, which is literally on her lap, while she puts her feet on the corner of the desk.
“The referral he emailed says you were cheating on a math worksheet.”
“That’s a lie!” I shout as I rise in disgust.
“I know,” Ms. Clifton says as she waves for me to sit down.
“You do?” I shockingly clarify.
“Yes, silly. Ulysses. You want to know why? I’ve known guys like Mr. O’Leary my whole life. He was clearly just mistaken. We all have these moments. Teachers get so used to seeing bad behaviors they start to see it everywhere and jump to conclusions. I’ve met your father, and I have a gut feeling about you. You’re not a cheater.” She gives me intense eye contact but swivels in my direction.
“I’m not!” I proudly interject.
“Good! Good, you should always be confident in who you are. We’ll appease Mr. O’Leary and give you a verbal warning; you don’t need this shit on your transcripts,” she cockily says in a high-pitch giggle.
Did she just say “shit”!? Ms. Clifton doesn’t seem like any administrator I have ever encountered. She is either crazy or really unprofessional, or a bit of both. I bet Dad is going to hate her. Also, if Mr. O’Leary finds out I got off with just a slap on the wrist, he’ll freak. Being a freshman is hard enough, now I’ll have a vengeful geometry teacher always on my case.
“So, your dad seems very smart.” She is speaking once again like a teenager, twirling her hair innocently. “I hear he observes things. According to everyone at school, he knows people's secrets before they do.”
“Yeah, I can never get away with anything. He is hyper observant, noticing things nobody else notices, probably more since Mom died,” I blurt out without even realizing.
“Oh my God. I am so sorry to hear that!” She once again demonstrates her best impression of a valley girl, but with a Southern twang. “So he’s like Sherlock Holmes?”
“No, no, nothing like that. He’s just good at reading clues and observing human behavior and patterns.”
“Your dad’s friend Mr. Nelson, what’s his story?” she inquisitively inquires.
“Ah...ah,” I stammer. Why does she care about Mr. Nelson? First it was the third degree about my dad, and now Mr. Nelson? I collect my thoughts and continue past the ahs. “I don’t know, they’re usually inseparable. He is always at our place. We all hang out a lot.”
If you count drinking, watching Red Sox games, and passing out on our couch while Dad and I jam on our guitars as hanging out, then sure...
“Is Bob, I mean Mr. Nelson, seeing anyone?” she sheepishly asks me, still twirling her hair. If she was chewing gum and holding her phone sending snaps, Ms. Clifton would’ve been mistaken for a student.
I picture Mr. Nelson passed out on my couch and reply, “Mr. Nelson, no, not at all.” Luckily, the bell rings, and this super awkward conversation can be over.
Ms. Clifton smiles instantly and pole vaults out of her swivel chair, putting her large She-Hulk arm around me. She presses her dimpled chin into her chest and whispers loudly into my ear, “I’ll speak with Mr. O’Leary and smooth things over with him, but word to the wise, stay quiet about our little talk, okey-dokey, kiddo.”
I wince at the “okey-dokey” as her Hulkish arm presses me harder to her equally hard body. “Yeah, sure thing.” I struggle out feeling as if I just avoided an anaconda squeezing me slowly to death.
“I like you Adair men! We’re all goin’ to have so much fun here!” she proclaims, once again revealing the twangy cheerleader voice, as she takes my hand in a vice grip of a handshake before she sends me off to class.
As I leave her office, Ms. Simmons is at her desk sharpening a pencil while looking at me with her beady green eyes, continuing to sharpen the same pencil as it gets shorter and shorter until I open the door and leave. As I escape that creepy grin, I hear her frail, elderly voice call, “Have a good day, Ulysses.”
That was weird! Why did she care so much about Dad and Mr. Nelson? I don’t want her to know how well I can read people’s body language, and I read a lot in that office. One thing is Mr. Barron and Mr. Wright were both showing fear, why? I’ll speak with Conrad about what I witnessed, see if he knows anything. That was weird as hell. Why were they arguing? Did Mr. Wright shove Mr. Barron? I know Mr. Wright is a rich, pompous lawyer but shoving a principal? I can’t stand Mr. Barron, but he doesn’t deserve to be shoved by a parent, seriously! And is Ms. Clifton into Mr. Nelson? Come on! I better face the music and get off to Dad’s U.S. history class. This school just became seriously messed up!
CHAPTER 11
- ULYSSES -
MY BEST FRIEND IS MY GIRLFRIEND?
A fter Conrad's basketball practice, Hannah and I gather our school bags and vacate Mangrove with breakneck speed. As we march from the school, the warm blanket of humidity wraps around us on our journey. The humidity rarely lifts from our area of Florida. Throughout most of the year, it’s either humid or pounding rain. Some people hate this heavy, moist humidity, but I don’t mind it. Coming from Maine, I cherish any temperature that doesn’t include a wind-chill factor.
The walk from Mangrove to Penny University Cafe is just a couple of miles. Hannah’s family’s coffee shop and deli has become a local center of the arts for teens in Somerset. We start out in silence; then suddenly Hannah breaks it. With the amount Hannah talks, I am surprised the sil
ence lasted as long as it did.
“Was your dad mad about what happened today in O’Leary’s?” Hannah asks sweetly.
I told Dad everything during lunch today, filling him in on O’Leary yelling and the comments he made. He wasn’t pleased with O’Leary and probably will be bringing it up with him personally. I also relayed everything that transpired in the office from the fight between Mr. Wright and Mr. Barron, also Ms. Clifton’s comments concerning Dad and Mr. Nelson. He was definitely miffed that I got in trouble, but he was more enthralled with the events of the office.
“It was fine,” I reply nonchalantly, now thinking of a way to ask out Hannah without looking like a total moron.
“Ulysses, you’ve been acting strange when you're around me lately. I’m not just talking about today; it’s been going on for a few weeks. What’s your deal?”
We pass by streets filled with gaudy homes. These homes could swallow up most standard size homes and have room to swallow several more. Homes that stand tall and powerful in this plentiful city. On each street we pass houses that stand knee deep in wealth and greed; their assessed values could equal some small nations’ GDP.
“So...?” Hannah beckons, awaking me from my distractors.
I start to reluctantly explain myself as she looks genuinely concerned. “Well, ever since we started at Mangrove, I see our friendship changing. I’ve had the urge to change it.”
“What do you mean, change it?! Ulysses Adair, we will always be friends; you better not become friends with any of those basketball jocks Conrad pretends to like?” she quickly chimes.
Once again it is hard to get a word in. I’m a little irritated I am cut off, but then continue, “No, don’t be stupid, what I was going to say was...”
She cuts me off again: “Stupid, who are you calling stupid?!” She is very irritated. Her face becomes flush, but not from the humidity, “¡Soy lo mejor que te ha pasado a Ulysses Adair! ¡Eres el estúpido gringo por hacer realidad eso!”
It’s never good when Hannah starts yelling in Spanish. I can make out “stupid white guy” and my name. I should’ve taken Spanish instead of French.
My frustration starts to increase, and I blurt out, “I’m in love with you! That’s why I have been nervous around you, and that’s why I cannot talk around you! Since we started high school, I’ve wanted to be more than friends, but I never had the opportunity. I cannot imagine my days without sharing them with you, and I go to bed thinking of you and wake up from dreaming about you. I love the way you tie your hair back because your parents won’t let you cut it, and the way you wear those big black glasses to hide your beautiful face from the other boys. Your brown eyes look down, and your face smirks when you're embarrassed. Your cheeks turn red like they are now, and you always listen to my rants; nobody listens like you do. I love you, Hannah Reyes!”
When my monologue is finished, she stands motionless, frozen like a lawn ornament. She transforms from a disgusted expression, spouting off Spanish, to complete bewilderment. Relief floods my body as the tension that has been building for so long escapes. Now my stomach is back in my shoes, reunited once again since their time together in Mr. O’Leary’s class. I feel a little faint when out of nowhere Hannah grabs hold of me, wrapping her hands tightly around my neck. She buries her head into my chest, hard. Her smooth, silky hair is against my face, smelling of flowers.
She mumbles, “Estas loco,” and kisses me hard on the lips. The kiss is long, and I experience pure bliss! Her lips are so soft, making me want more. It is something right out of an Ed Sheeran music video. Hannah tastes like strawberries. For the first time since mom died, I feel truly alive again. My best friend is now my girlfriend!
CHAPTER 12
- ULYSSES -
PENNY UNIVERSITY
P enny University is right behind downtown Somerset, near the docks. Hannah and I finish our trip by holding hands. Her hands, like the rest of her, are soft and creamy. We approach the cafe elated and bursting with energy. We are now an item! It is Hannah’s first day working for her parents, and my first gig with Dad. I’m so excited, my feet are barely touching the ground as we walk. Penny University’s parking lot contains only a few cars, though it’s still early. The facade of the cafe has a huge antiqued, rusted sign with large letters, of varying fonts and sizes, all lined with bright Edison bulbs that read “Penny University Cafe.” Several bright red picnic tables dot the metal decking. The whole look has an industrial vibe, in juxtaposition to the 1% homes and offices that surround the cafe in their Tuscan, French and Spanish styles. There are several strands of enormous bulbs lining the tin roof entrance that hangs over the decking. More bulbs wrap poles in the parking lot in soft light, inviting patrons to follow the procession into the large converted warehouse. It’s a really cool establishment!
The dark, slate navy siding is newly painted, and the tin roof contains streaks of rust. The color and facade blend so well together they look like a picture in a magazine on industrial living. Chalkboards rest beside two bay windows, laced with white hurricane shutters. The chalkboards contain a list of today’s specials, from wraps and Cuban sandwiches to salads and BBQ, all eclectic but delicious. One sign even reads ‘poetry and live music tonight!’ All the lettering is fine, ornate, colorful cursive. The thick, royal blue door, brushed with a rich lacquer made to shine and withstand the abusive sea salt air, looks heavy to open, but it opens with ease.
As we enter, I see Hannah’s parents, the owners of Penny University. Mr. and Mrs. Reyes are mixing coffee concoctions behind the long clear display, which is full of pastries, pies and other assorted baked goods. The smells rolling along the polished cement floors make Hannah and I gravitate toward some post-school snacks. My stomach begins the usual gurgles and grumbles. Behind the counter are more huge chalkboards displaying the varied menu options.
Hannah once told me her parents chose the name because the first coffee shops, formed during the 1600s in London, were nicknamed Penny University. The story I heard from Hannah was that her dad’s old-fashioned Cuban family did not approve of him marrying the love of his life, a white brunette from Arcadia, Florida. In turn, Mrs. Reyes’ family came from a long line of Florida cattle ranchers, commonly referred to as crackers. Her family didn’t approve of her marrying a Latino man. Like Romeo and Juliet, they broke away from their families and the rest was history. When Mr. and Mrs. Reyes opened Penny University, they wanted a coffee shop that upheld the ideals of the first ones in London. They wanted a sanctuary, a place to exchange ideas, knowledge, and express individuality through the arts, away from the archaic thinking of today’s society.
They inherited this prime real estate from Mrs. Reyes’ uncle, who did not disown her and lived in Somerset. When the news came of their inheritance, they picked up their lives, moving from neighboring Fort Myers, and started their dream business while living in a two-bedroom apartment above the cafe.
Inside, a mashup of industrial style and bohemian decor is everywhere. Worn crimson couches and brown leather chairs fill the expansive warehouse, while metal bistro sets and hammered metal tables fill in where they can. The walls are covered by artwork, mainly of Cuban inspiration, but there are also several pieces by Haitian artists and inspired by the Harlem Renaissance. All the work is illuminated by expansive windows, draped in crimson curtains. The long warehouse cafe is brought to life by enormous, ornate hammered chrome lanterns, held up by massive beams twenty feet above our heads. Quiet and cool reading nooks occupy the corners with metal pipe bookcases holding dozens of novels and board games. In the center of the expansive warehouse lies an empty, highly glossed, polished parquet circular stage, seeming almost out of place.
Toward the back of the cafe are two garage doors made of glass, probably a remnant from when this place was a warehouse. They lead to more bistro sets, picnic tables, and bright strings of lights before sloping toward the pier, littered with sailboats and yachts, on the Gulf of Mexico.
This really has become a seco
nd home for me and Hannah. Since it opened last month, we've come here after school every day, completing our homework and helping her parents set up. The cafe is very inviting. They serve great deli sandwiches, wraps, fried plantains, Cuban coffee, and don’t forget the amazing fries. Being close to downtown and providing a new hangout for Mangrove High students, Penny U is turning into a success.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Reyes!” I say energetically.
They return the greetings, but their happy expression quickly looks confused once they notice our hands tightly woven together. Hannah notices their confusion and asks to speak with them privately in the kitchen. I can hear Spanish being spoken through the swinging door they disappeared through. Moments later Mr. Reyes comes out with a large Cuban sandwich and a side of fried plantains, pushing it in front of me while swinging a towel over his shoulder.
“Eat, Ulysses,” he hisses with his Cuban hitman voice, hissing his r’s and s’s. “Be good to her,” he rasps, looking at me intensely while he backs into the kitchen, raising his eyebrows in presumed expectation.
I gulp, hard. “Ah, yes, sir. I will,” I say as he retreats.
I was never afraid of Mr. Reyes, but now I am reevaluating that position. The smell of the sandwich overtakes me, and I start to rip through it. Mrs. Reyes and Hannah come out of the kitchen, both smiling. They probably enjoyed watching Mr. Reyes intimidate me. They giggle and talk while occasionally glancing over at me. Hannah eventually joins me with a salad.
After Hannah and I finish eating, we begin helping her parents set the tables for the many patrons they have coming in the next few hours. They are very friendly and welcoming to me, joking with me and Hannah, making me feel like I belong.
CHAPTER 13
- LOGAN -
AWKWARDNESS FOLLOWED BY A DUET...CHECK, PLEASE!
T he rain hits my Prius, making it feel smaller than it already is. I have just taken out and fed Ortiz after racing home from work. Now I am managing the typical early evening rain blast during hurricane season. My Prius is practically floating down Route 41, just a couple of miles from Penny University. I am in deep thought about the weird day at Mangrove. Ulysses described his encounters with AP Mary Clifton and the fight between Principal Barron and Conrad’s dad. I continue to have reservations about Ms. Clifton: What was her story and why does she want to be close to Bob? I mean, it’s Bob for Christ’s sake. I already need to have a heart-to-heart with Mr. O’Leary after U got the boot from his class. I can’t be too mad at Ulysses; O’Leary is a dink. I think I’ll be driving myself for a few weeks, since he runs the carpool. My mind wanders back to Clifton. Is Ms. Clifton truly interested in Bob? He told me before he left that he was going to pick her up and bring her tonight. She seems fake, like she’s putting on an act. How did Barron end up hiring her? They seem like polar opposites. I’ve never seen an AP flirt like that.