Schooled

by Anisha Lakhani

  “And clearly it did get to you,” Jonathan pointed out, now looking serious. “I mean, if you truly wanted to teach for the love of it, why would you care about all this other…stuff? I mean, you never really gave a shit before.”

  “Don’t say shit, Jonathan,” Mom ordered. “But your brother is right. If anything, maybe your dad and I were being a bit materialistic when we thought you shouldn’t teach. We just wanted you to have everything you wanted in this life. But this…tutoring. Winter breaks spent alone. Running after school to different apartments to help kids do work they should be doing alone. I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

  “Okay,” I relented, “I’m a little tired, too. But there’s an apartment open in my friend Randi’s building. A doorman building. What I’ve made so far, with this winter break’s money included, will allow me to move in January. And most of these gifts, I have to admit, were gifts I got for free from families.”

  “These were gifts?” Dad’s eyes widened. “Anna, these look like bribes to me. Is it okay for you to be accepting two-hundred-dollar handbags from families who have kids you’re still going to be teaching for the next semester?”

  “Honey, that Chanel clutch is over twelve hundred dollars,” Mom corrected him. I winced as I saw my father gasp. “I agree one hundred percent with your father. These are bribes. We all like expensive things we see in magazines, Anna, but neither your father nor I brought you up to think this was okay. I never thought I’d say this, but it’s almost like teaching has…corrupted you. You were always the hardworking good kid. The one your father and I were always so proud of.”

  “Hey!” Jonathan cried. “Thanks, you guys.”

  “This is not about you, son,” Dad silenced Jonathan, who put both his hands up in his signature mock surrender. “Anna, you’re an adult. We are way past the point of telling you what you can and cannot do. But once again, I find myself in the position of telling you that everything you are describing does not sound okay. It’s like you didn’t hear a single word at Thanksgiving, and you’ve gotten even worse. More obsessed.”

  “Dad, it’s just this break. I completely agree, the college thing is totally out of control and nothing I want to do ever again. I just need to finish what I started and chalk it up to experience,” I vowed.

  “And then what?” he argued. “Just this spring break? Just this summer? This ‘thing’ you’ve gotten yourself involved in seems like an insatiable monster that keeps popping his head up for more, more, more.”

  He was right, of course. I was obsessed. After this bout of college tutoring, though, I would go back to just working with Jake and Katie to maintain my new apartment. Once I got a decent place to live, I would be content. There wasn’t really anything else I wanted.

  Or so I thought.

  24

  I returned to Langdon exhausted, my twelve days of Christmas spent on twelve college term papers. No pipers piping or swans a-swimming for me. I had been consumed by Bolsheviks a-revolting and Wordsworths a-rhyming. Still, I had parlayed those term papers into a new lease, and I was due to move into Randi’s building in January. I tried to hold on to that thought on the first day back from the holiday break, but the sight of my tanned and glowing seventh-graders proved too depressing.

  “Ms. Taggert, you’re like a ghost!” Madeline cried.

  “Yeah, were you sick?” Charlotte asked, sporting tightly woven cornrows with little beads hanging at the end.

  “I like your braids, Charlotte,” I commented, desperate to change the subject. I was well aware I looked like death.

  “Thanks. I got them in Jamaica,” she said proudly, tossing her head.

  “I think you look ghetto,” Benjamin smirked.

  “Benjamin, you are a racist idiot,” Charlotte retorted.

  I was too tired to say anything to either of them.

  “Why don’t you all have a seat,” I ordered weakly. “We’re going to start a new book. I think you’ll like it—it’s called Lord of the Flies.”

  My students settled down as I passed out the books. Cries to borrow gel pens and markers filled the room. I took a seat at the table. l was on intimate terms with Lord of the Flies thanks to Katie’s paper, and decided to teach it as it was still fresh in my mind. Still feeling a little guilty from my parents’ justified disapproval, I was determined to put in a few good lessons. Besides, the irony of teaching Langdon kids a book about children who resorted to hunting for human flesh was not lost on me. I drew up my last bit of strength and began circling the room.

  “Hello! And welcome to the island!” I said in my best Movie-fone operator voice. “Imagine you have just crashed and all adults and supervisors have died! It’s just you and—”

  “I need to be excused!” Madeline screamed dramatically.

  “Madeline, why do you need to be excused?” I was beyond irritated. Why couldn’t I ever finish a single announcement without getting interrupted?

  “I’m in therapy for my fear of flying,” she announced dramatically.

  “Then how’d you get to Hawaii, swim?” Benjamin shot out automatically, and for once he took the words right out of my mind.

  “I was given pills, idiot,” Madeline retorted. “Anyway, Ms. Taggert, I cannot read a book about planes crashing. I have to leave the room immediately.”

  “Okay, Madeline, why don’t you step outside for fifteen minutes? It’s only on the first page. The rest of the book is all about what happens on land.” Madeline got out of her seat and dramatically dove for all her materials as if the room were on fire.

  “It’s too bad, though, because my introduction activity involved quite an interesting game,” I called out, lying through my teeth. Sure enough, little Madeline halted at the door and turned around.

  “What kind of game?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I can’t tell you because I’m afraid it will upset you,” I taunted. After an entire winter break of being manipulated, I was not about to start the new year being outmaneuvered by a seventh-grader.

  “Maybe I could do some of my breathing lessons and participate,” Madeline relented, returning to her seat, engaging in a case of heavy inhales and exhales.

  Ignoring her, I passed out a blank sheet of paper to buy some time, certain that a game would come to me by the time I finished. That’s when I saw a robot (a robot?) whiz past the classroom.

  Just a minute.

  “Can you all please hold on a sec?” I requested weakly before rushing out of the classroom. There, in front of me, was the strangest sight I had ever laid eyes on. Dorothy Steeple was calmly walking down the hall next to a blue, new age ET. It had a large, bulky body with an oversized head. Two plastic hands in a neon orange color moved back and forth rhythmically, and it made a whizzing sound as it rolled obediently next to Dorothy. At any minute I felt like it would put one of its orange hands around her. I had pretty much avoided Dorothy Steeple since our cafeteria incident. But now I was glued to this strange pair—she shabby and threadbare, like something from the past, he shiny and new, like something from the future. Reluctantly, I returned to my classroom where my students greeted me with mysterious smiles.

  “Ha, ha, so you saw it!”

  “Tweebles! Tweebles! Tweebles!”

  “You know about this…robot?” I asked stupidly.

  “Yeah, that’s Tweebles!” Jacob yelled, absolutely delighted.

  “Amy, what’s going on?” I turned to my little friend, hoping for a more rational explanation.

  “Um, that really is Tweebles,” she said awkwardly.

  “Ha ha ha!” Benjamin laughed obnoxiously, then purposefully pretended to fall off his chair laughing.

  “Go on,” I urged.

  “Well, Sue Wong went to Korea to visit her grandparents,” Amy continued, “and her parents don’t want her to miss any classes. She’s not coming back for another month. So Tweebles is an interactive robot that will allow her to hear and participate in all her classes.”

  “Yeah, you
should see when Tweebles raises its hands!” Max yelled.

  “Ohmigod, it’s so scary,” Charlotte gushed. “My mother says that it’s really inappropriate of the school to let this happen. She feels like it’s interfering with my education.”

  “It gives me panic attacks,” Jessica affirmed. “Really serious ones.”

  “Don’t worry, Ms. Taggert. You’ll know all about Tweebles really soon. It’s coming to your next class!” Benjamin called from under the table. He was now lying flat on the floor, with tears streaming down his face. “You’re so lucky. I wish Sue Wong was in all my classes. That Tweebles is mad whack.”

  Dorothy Steeple was the last person I wanted to befriend at Langdon. But prompted by the impending visit of Tweebles in my afternoon class—not to mention sparking the curiosity of the entire high school—I found myself standing at her door. Dorothy was sitting at her desk, bent over a pile of papers. Soft strains of opera music were coming from her laptop, and her red pen was making large and furious marks all over some unfortunate child’s paper. I made a coughing sound. She didn’t look up. Entering gingerly, I walked over to her desk.

  “Um, Dorothy?”

  She continued grading as if she hadn’t heard me.

  “Dorothy?”

  Nothing.

  “Dorothy!”

  “Um,” she sighed heavily, then closed her eyes dramatically. “I can hear you. I’m not deaf.”

  “Oh.” God! She was still doing that thing with her eyes and the ums. “I just didn’t realize you knew I was here.”

  “People need to realize,” she pronounced slowly, “that the world does not revolve around them. You cannot get someone’s undivided attention just because you ask for it.”

  She was talking to me like I was a seventh-grader, and it was working. Miffed, I sat down at one of the empty desks and squeezed my feet under it. I mumbled a “Sorry” and waited. Dorothy went back to her grading. I found my gaze lingering on her pastel T-shirt and floor-length denim skirt. Under the skirt she was sporting white tube socks that were squeezed into tight sandals. Ugh.

  “Yes,” she said suddenly, looking up. “What brings you to my room? For the first time?”

  “I heard…that there is a robot you will be bringing to my next class?” I asked, the corners of my mouth twitching.

  “Tweebles is not a laughing matter,” she said sternly. “Sue Wong’s parents expressly asked me to make sure that he works perfectly for the first week or two and that all her teachers get accustomed to it.”

  “It is a little bit funny,” I pushed. “A robot in the classroom? That looks like a little blue person?”

  “Um,” Dorothy closed her eyes again.

  I still wasn’t quite sure what to do when she said “um” and closed her eyes. It was a Langdon mystery for the ages.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Wong are deeply concerned about education. I applaud them for making sure that Sue remains up to date with all her schoolwork.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Dorothy,” I attempted once again, “these are the people who hired little people for their daughter’s faux mitzvah. I would hardly call them responsible.” (I wondered if the Oompa Loompas had been the inspiration for Tweebles.)

  “I don’t go to their parties,” Dorothy said superciliously. “I believe there is a line between students and teachers, and I, for one, don’t go around crossing it like some other people at this institution. What happened at Sue’s party is of no interest to me. Her ability to keep up with my math class, however, is.”

  It wasn’t just Dorothy’s curious manner of speaking that made her annoying. It was her attitude. She had a holier-than-thou aura about her. Dorothy seemed to take pride in her shabby appearance, as if she had better things to do than keep up with the latest fashions and, I don’t know…moisturize? Five minutes with her and she had managed to make me feel more guilty than both my parents combined.

  “Okay, okay. So basically this Tweebles comes to my class. Do I, like, call on it? How does it work? And why the name Tweebles?” I didn’t want to spend another minute with this woman.

  “Um…” She closed her eyes again. I could have slapped her.

  “Tweebles is actually the name of the technology company that manufactures this unit. Tweebles will come to your class whenever Sue Wong is scheduled to be there. I will roll it in, turn it on, and make the appropriate connections. Then you will see Sue’s face in the screen. She will be watching from her own computer screen in Korea. Both of you will be able to hear and see one another.”

  “What about the time difference?”

  “Sue stays up at night for her scheduled classes,” Dorothy stated. “Her grandparents are very serious about her education.”

  The thought of Sue Wong being woken at three in the morning to attend her Langdon classes struck me as utter madness. And the image of her little face peering at me from Tweebles’s “screen-face” creeped the shit out of me.

  “Awesome,” I muttered, and walked out of the room, determined never to enter or be in Dorothy’s presence again. Ever. I also wondered whether I should ask my father to invest in this Tweebles company.

  25

  Bridgette promised to meet me in the lobby of my new building on Saturday, I think more out of curiosity than anything else. Thankfully I had come up with enough excuses to avoid her ever having to see my first apartment. Bridge had been quiet on the phone when I had mentioned my new address. I would be living two floors below Randi’s apartment and right around the corner from the Carlyle Hotel. I knew it killed her.

  “You should move, too,” I said sweetly, unapologetically relishing how the tables had turned. “We can have coffee at Saint Ambroeus every morning. We could go shopping at Intermix.”

  “Yeah, well, looks like I’m not as rich as you! I’m sorry, did I somehow miss the memo on how teachers are all of a sudden making more than investment bankers?” Bridgette’s tone was sarcastic, but I could tell she was jealous.

  “I’m tutoring quite a bit,” I responded as casually as possible. Secretly I was thrilled that Bridgette was jealous. This wasn’t a one-night affair like the faux mitzvah—this was a lifestyle I could afford while Bridgette now watched from the sidelines.

  “Are they paying you in diamonds?” Honestly, she was relentless.

  “It’s pretty good,” I answered, determined to be evasive. This was my “thing,” and at last I was able to feel…even. “And you can meet one of my best friends at Langdon,” I had finished, thrilled at the prospect of introducing Bridgette to Randi. I had hung up the phone daydreaming about going back to that nameless restaurant, just the three of us, and finally being able to foot the bill.

  “Welcome, Ms. Taggert.”

  It took every last bit of resolve to keep from hugging the doorman. My doorman. I beamed at him and proudly led Bridgette to the elevator. My apartment was not large when compared to Bridgette’s, but it seemed palatial to me. It had two large windows in the living room that reached all the way to the ceiling. The smell of fresh white paint greeted us, and the dark wooden floors gleamed. One of the windows overlooked the hotel across the street and since I was on the third floor, tree branches were charmingly visible. I felt like I was in Paris.

  “Wow,” Bridgette managed, “this is really nice, Anna. I’m impressed. Have you given any thought to how you are decorating it?”

  Leave it to Bridgette to try and burst my bubble. Okay, maybe my Crate & Barrel couch and Spence-Chapin Thrift Shop furniture weren’t quite Elle Décor, but I was proud of my new apartment! Bridgette was probably just jealous that it was in a better location than hers.

  “Maybe down the road,” I shrugged, then added meanly, “At the end of the day, I’d rather have Madison Avenue than Maurice Villency.”

  I had hoped to crush Bridgette with that last comment, but I had underestimated her.

  “I don’t know…,” she trailed doubtfully. “Looks like it needs a zebra rug at the very least. Otherwise it seems so…plain.”

 
I hated Bridgette, I really did. Come Monday morning, I would see if Francine could hook me up with another tutoring client so I could buy new furniture. I knew I shouldn’t let Bridgette get to me, but she did. Somehow that was her greatest skill. And my continual downfall.

  Francine Gilmore looked like a telemarketer. Wedged behind her desk, talking into a headset while scribbling furiously into her datebook, she might have been taking orders for QVC—something from the Judith Ripka collection, sterling silver, perhaps, eligible for six easy payments. Only she wasn’t. Francine was brokering a deal for a tutor, and I listened with complete fascination.

  “Let’s see…you want a physics tutor…male…I have someone for $250 an hour, but he isn’t attractive…Yes, I understand Sarah prefers attractive tutors. That’s Sam Walters, but he’s more expensive.”

  Forget QVC. Francine sounded like she was taking orders for an escort service! What kind of parents put a premium on attractive tutors, anyway? After jotting down a few more notes, she finally got off the phone and smiled at me brightly.

  “Anna! What a pleasure! How’s Langdon treating you? I hear good things!”

  “It’s been amazing,” I gushed, giving her my best fake smile. “I love it!”

  “Good, good. I’m so glad when we find loyal faculty,” she replied. “And the Carletons? I haven’t heard from them so I assume no news is good news?”

  “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” I began awkwardly. All of a sudden Francine was all business. Her face darkened and she leaned forward in her chair.

  “Is everything all right? I usually don’t make poor matches.”

  “No, no! Actually I adore little Katie, and the Carletons are lovely,” I answered quickly. The truth was that since the Lord of the Flies incident manipulative little Katie was doing virtually zero work and finding ways to get me to finish all her assignments. I could see her growing up to be exactly like Emily.