Between Now and Forever

by Margaret Duarte

  “I filed a complaint with Dr. Matt about your incompetence for the job.”

  Okaay. At least he hadn’t insisted on anonymity which meant no lying-in-wait for the enemy. The enemy resided within the school gates. “Thank you for letting me know.”

  The disappointment on Lacoste’s face nearly made me smile. He probably thought I’d be more upset or deluge him with questions, but I wasn’t about to ask him for one tiny detail. Deprived of this victory, he said, “As to the reason for my complaint” —he paused and, right on cue, my heart started hammering in my chest, a dead giveaway that I was falling right into his hands— “there are schools that cater to teachers like you, but this isn’t one of them.”

  Something about me rubbed him the wrong way, but I didn’t have the time or inclination to figure out what it was. “Oh?”

  “That’s it? Oh?” Lacoste regarded me in silence, his snake eyes probing.

  About to tell him to march his pompous ass out of here and mind his own damn business, I heard a whisper. Treat him with care. Maya, back to haunt me, in her kind, thoughtful way. “I’d like to hear you out before I respond,” I said.

  He turned his back to me—again. “No offense, but the students in your care have the potential to become future scientists, doctors, lawyers, and leaders of this country. Therefore, they need prepping for the finest colleges. What you’re doing here is taking precious time away from their studies. Menlo Park is the heart of Silicon Valley, headquarters of SRI International, home to software startups, biotech companies, venture capital companies, and high-tech workers. We smash atoms at SLAC. What more proof do you need that these kids must develop their mental skills to the max?”

  “Much of what makes Silicon Valley a success involves the holistic thinking of the whole brain, not just left-brain skills,” I said, sticking to my guns, though this was starting to sound more like a lecture than a debate. “I’m talking about intuition, creativity, and the power of the unconscious for breakthrough insights.”

  “These kids need to learn the cold, hard fact that they’re not special. Encouraging them to play their way to success will land them in the unemployment line.”

  “Monetary security isn’t everything,” I said.

  “Tell that to the poor.”

  Damn, I wished he’d turn around. “What about probing the deeper questions in life?”

  “That’s the job of their parents and the church.”

  “Many of their parents don’t know the answers themselves.”

  “Do you?”

  I heard a buzzing in my ears, as if something mean and angry were stuck inside. But to my surprise, a Novocain numbness came over me, not necessarily bad, not good either. Where does one draw the line between bending and fighting back? “No, but maybe through community and mutual need, we can learn to be comfortable in our own skins.”

  “You can’t teach that.”

  Tempted to throw up my arms in frustration, I realized he might see my reflection in the window. Hey, Maya. How long do I have to play nice? She didn’t answer. Never does when I’m being a smartass. Veronica, alive and well and never around, would encourage me to express my emotions, expose my wild side, the tactic I preferred about now. Revenge, or maybe just a good catfight, would be a lot more fun.

  When Lacoste finally turned to face me, I gestured for him to continue. For one thing, I was still hearing that annoying buzzing in my ears, which meant Maya was still hanging around. For another, unless my shoulder angel—aka Maya—put words into my mouth, I had no idea how to proceed in my defense. How could I explain to him something I couldn’t explain to myself? Should I tell him that all the knowledge in the world doesn’t guarantee success and happiness, that I’d gotten the good grades and the resulting dream job, only to give it up to teach for a pittance, because dream jobs that offer nothing to live for, add up to nothing? Or would sparring with him do more harm than good?

  My blank look must have egged him on, because Lacoste proceeded to berate me for the sake of the kids. “Dr. Matt took seven of our brightest and most indulged and troublesome students and put them into your care, which not only has me confused, but has the entire faculty fired up as well.”

  Not entire. Granny Max likes me.

  “By your own admission, you’re inexperienced, and, as I mentioned, you’re unqualified as well.”

  The pencil sharpener started to whir, which put me on the alert. This was not Maya’s doing. Not her style.

  Lacoste ignored the wayward sharpener, so intense his concentration on taking me down. “Why don’t you do the right thing and release these kids from this hairbrained experiment? I know Dr. Matt regrets having started the whole thing. He practically admitted as much at the staff meeting before term break when we voiced our concerns. Your contract doesn’t end until June. However, if you quit, you can save yourself, Dr. Matt, and the kids a lot of trouble.”

  We voiced our concerns? How many faculty members had he turned against me? And why? What I offered was a little testing and allowance for mistakes, preparedness rather than prediction, and serendipitous exposure in a world that conspired against it.

  Tables and chairs scraped and tapped on the linoleum floor. Books fell from the shelves.

  “Earthquake!” Lacoste dropped to his knees and crawled under a table.

  “No earthquake,” I said.

  “Duck! Cover! Hold!”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. Some messages are so engrained in our psyche, they bypass common sense. If this were an earthquake, a lot more would be shifting and rolling than a few tables and chairs, and it would make more sense to skedaddle outdoors than duck, cover, and hold.

  The tables and chairs stilled, as did the pencil sharpener, leaving the room eerily quiet. I waited for Lacoste to compose himself and come out from under the table. “My class is about to begin,” I said, hearing screeches and laughter coming from the outside corridor.

  Lacoste hit his head on the edge of the table before climbing to his feet. “Don’t let them in!”

  Too late. Jason and Shawn entered, their attention immediately zeroing in on the disheveled teacher. “Hey Mr. Lacoste,” Jason said. “You don’t look too good.”

  “Earthquake,” he said, rubbing his head.

  Jason and Shawn exchanged glances, and the table nearest Lacoste slid sideways like a walker on wheels. He jerked back and cursed. A chair lifted off the floor and held—one second, two—then dropped with a loud thwack. Lacoste looked at me, eyes wide. I felt sorry for him. Stuff like this isn’t supposed to happen. It weakens our hold on sanity.

  “Watch out,” Shawn said just before a potted fern flew within a foot of Lacoste’s head and crashed to the floor.

  Lacoste screeched, “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Earthquake,” Jason said before sitting down. He looked exhausted. The demonstration had cost him.

  I smelled wet soil interspersed with melted beeswax, sad for the destroyed fern, sad for Lacoste, and sad for the kids and me. Lashing out would do nothing to help the situation. We needed to put our egos aside and make room for inspiration, creativity, and possibility.

  “You’re going to clean this mess up, I assume,” I said to Jason.

  “Sure, Ms. V, just for you.”

  Lacoste turned to Shawn as though deeming the principal’s nephew the only trustworthy person in the room. “What was that all about?”

  “A lesson in metaphysics,” Shawn said, straight-faced. “No offense, sir, but you have no idea what’s going on here. And until you do” —he hesitated, likely aware there would be reprisals for what he was about to say— “I think you should leave Ms. Veil alone.”

  “Shawn,” he said, with what appeared to be great restraint. “Your uncle agrees that Ms. Veil has to go, for your good and the good of the school.”

  “I doubt it,” Shawn said.

  Lacoste brushed the legs of his trousers and straightened to his full height, whi
ch didn’t give him much over the kids.

  Maya spoke again. Treat him with care.

  Jason and Shawn swung toward me, eyes wide, mouths ajar, their gestures in perfect sync. Who was that?

  Lacoste was oblivious to the silent interchange, still intent on pulling himself together.

  Later, I mouthed, which seemed to satisfy them, though my guess was that Jason preferred to do the disheveled teacher—and his ego—more damage.

  Codi breezed into the room and swung her backpack onto her table, unaware of what had just occurred. That is, until she saw the books and fern on the floor. “Whoa. What have we here?”

  Shawn gestured toward Lacoste and grinned.

  Lacoste noticed their exchange; a shame, because it made him mad. “If you think this is funny, you have another think coming.”

  Codi’s eye roll came as no surprise. Jason dismissed him altogether. “What’s on the agenda, Ms. Veil?”

  Before Lacoste could say or do anything further, Ethan, Tessa, and Luke walked in.

  “Where’s Angelina?” I asked, feeling as though I’d just pulled on a jacket of ice.

  “H-home,” Tessa said, not meeting my eyes, gray little Tessa, back to being a shadow without her friend. After what happened at the Lick Observatory, this wasn’t good news, but I dared not question her with Lacoste still hanging around, geared up to use anything I said or did against me.

  It was time to start class. Surely, now he’d leave.

  “I better go,” he said, regarding the wall clock as if it kept some kind of mystical time. He glanced at Shawn on his way out. “I’ll be seeing you in your uncle’s office.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Shawn said under his breath.

  With Lacoste gone, I sank into my chair.

  “What’s with him?” Luke asked, his glasses askew.

  Jason dumped the contents of his backpack onto the floor, looking for a pencil no doubt. “Dad says he’s a pompous ass.”

  No one responded, so Luke said, “Oh,” and dropped onto his seat. “What’s up, Ms. Veil?”

  I got up and closed the door. “First, I’d like to know where Angelina is, and then I want to talk to you about Maya.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “MAYA?” LUKE TOOK OFF his glasses and cleaned them with the tip of his multi-plaid shirt, the type of shirt made of carefully brushed flannel that wouldn’t scratch your lenses.

  I stood in front of my desk and crossed my arms. “First Angelina. Then we’ll get to Maya.”

  “I-I’m sorry,” Tessa said.

  “Sorry for what?” Bad news was coming at me so fast and from so many directions, I risked wrenching my neck in my attempts to dodge it.

  Tessa began to cry. I handed her a tissue from the box on my desk. “Angelina told her parents t-that she was c-cured and t-that she wanted to go in for tests, and they’re p-planning to-to call Dr. Matt to complain.”

  I’d sensed something like this would happen, so why the surprise? Had I expected Angelina’s parents to wait for another round of test results before jumping to conclusions, or had I hoped for a miracle? “You were only trying to help a friend, which is what this class is all about, so there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

  Tessa blew her nose then dropped her head onto the table, her hair spilling out like a platinum veil. “I d-don’t want t-to get you f-fi-red.”

  Chest burning, I figured getting fired might not be such a bad thing.

  “Uncle Matt shouldn’t be disappointed in you,” Shawn said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I told him so, but he wouldn’t listen.” Shawn’s jaw jutted out in such an adult manner, he resembled the very man he was discussing. I half expected him to tug at his ear. “He listens to Mr. Lacoste, who’s always talking crap about you.”

  “We want to help,” Codi said. Black lips today. Kohl eyes. Spiked hair.

  “I know.” These kids were proving to be more than extraordinary. They’d become my helpers, my friends. One of my greatest fears was that I’d let them down. Instead of giving in to the urge to whimper like a child, I said, “How would you like to get to know my sister?”

  “If you’re t-talking about Maya, Angelina and I already have,” Tessa said. “She’s here practically every day. Sometimes, she…she even puts her hand on your shoulder.”

  The thought of Maya being in this room visible only to Angelina and Tessa hurt, as if the votive candles I’d placed on the tables for their consoling light were burning inside of me, consuming me like a sacrifice. “She started talking to me again,” I said, “and today Jason and Shawn heard her, too.”

  All attention turned to Jason and Shawn. “You did?” Codi asked.

  Jason cracked his knuckles. “I think so.”

  Shawn said nothing, only stared at the votives flickering on the tabletops.

  “What do you mean, you think so?” Codi said. “Either you heard her or you didn’t.”

  “I don’t know if it was Maya,” Jason said.

  “What did she say,” Ethan asked.

  “To treat Mr. Lacoste with care.”

  Codi peered out the window as though seeking wisdom from the trees; their branches, boughs, and twigs twisting and swaying as if trying to speak. “Next, they’ll be blaming us for all the bad stuff.”

  “Like the witches in Salem.” Luke’s eyes appeared huge, magnified by the thick lenses of his glasses.

  “It’s sort of h-happening already,” Tessa said. “Like Angelina’s p-parents blaming Ms. Veil for telling us to think things as possible, when they, of all people, sh-should know better. Angelina’s one of us, but…but they still believe we’re—”

  “Freaks,” Jason finished for her.

  “And witches,” Codi said. “So, quit ticking them off, Jason.”

  “Okay, I get the point,” he said, “So what can we do with our powers besides get into trouble?”

  “Help others,” I said.

  “How?” This from Shawn, who’d faded into his surroundings again.

  “Like Tessa did with Angelina, but subtler.”

  “You mean less sneaky?” Jason asked, wolf eyes squinting.

  “She means unnoticed,” Codi said. “Tessa should’ve cured Angelina slowly instead of all at once.”

  Tessa looked offended, and I couldn’t blame her. She’d done what she had out of concern for a friend. “I couldn’t help it,” she wailed. “When I-I get like that, I lose control.”

  “Cork it,” Jason said, then backtracked when he saw her mouth drop. “I didn’t mean for you to shut up, Tessa, but to control your powers.”

  “Like you do?” Codi asked. Beneath all that pasty makeup, her skin had an olive tone, what my mother called a natural tan. What a shame she went to so much trouble to cover it up.

  No answer from Jason, distracted as he was by the smile on Tessa’s face, a radiant combination of gratitude and renewed confidence—wallflower to sunflower.

  “You need to cork it, too,” Codi said, regaining Jason’s attention.

  “How about you?” he rallied.

  “I cork my abilities all the time. Otherwise, I’d go crazy.”

  Sensing an argument brewing, I said. “We need an expert. Sort of like a trainer.”

  “I thought that was your job,” Ethan said.

  “I’m still learning, like you. In fact, I only discovered my powers during the past eleven months, and I’m willing to bet you discovered yours long before.”

  “Lot of good it’s done us,” Ethan grumbled.

  “If your experience is like mine, you’re probably lonely and scared and trying to cover up your gifts. What we need is someone to teach us what to do.”

  “Like who?” Jason asked.

  The lesson had veered off course again, therefore so did my plan. “A dear friend.”

  “Your sister’s dead.” Ethan’s head bobbed as though attached to his shoulders by a spring. “She wouldn’t understand.”

/>   “You’d be surprised. But I wasn’t talking about Maya.”

  They waited for me to continue, eyes flat, as though doubting anyone could help them. And who could blame them? With all our scientific discoveries, the human mind still remains a mystery and psychic abilities are still delegated to charlatans and writers of fantasy.

  “I have this friend who’s a transpersonal psychologist. He’s also a friend of Dr. Matt’s, which means I might be able get his permission to—”

  “So, you admit we’re crazy,” Jason said.

  Before I could answer, Luke popped in. “I’ve already been to a psychologist. He said I have ADHD, and he referred me to a psychiatrist, who put me on Ritalin, which numbed me out, big time. I couldn’t sleep at night, and my skin got all swollen and itchy. When I found out Ritalin decreases blood flow to the brain, I told my parents and they took me off. Who knows how many of my brain cells were killed? Mom finally bought me a small ball to squeeze to help me concentrate, but Mr. Lacoste swiped it and sent me to the guidance office for disruption.”

  “You’ve still got plenty of brain cells,” Codi said, “but I get what you mean. Psychiatrists mess with your head. Mine put me on Cylert. My teachers loved it.”

  “Getting professional help means you’re smart, not crazy,” Shawn said. “At least that’s what my mother says. She’s been trying to get Dad to go for years.” He grimaced as though regretting what he’d just revealed.

  “Dr. Mendez doesn’t prescribe medication,” I said.

  “What makes you so sure?” Luke asked.

  “Because he’s a psychologist, not a psychiatrist, and sees altered states of consciousness as spiritual emergencies rather than manifestations of illness.”

  An embarrassing silence descended over the room.

  “I agree with Shawn’s mom,” I said. “Getting help is smart, as long as you’re careful which doctor you choose. In our case, that means someone trained in metaphysics as well as human behavior. Dr. Mendez believes in supporting rather than suppressing non-ordinary states of consciousness. He considers them spiritual openings.”

  More silence.

  I leaned against my desk. “Okay, I get it.” We would have to continue doing things on our own, which I had hoped to avoid.