Alamo Wars

by Ray Villareal

  “Please sit down,” Mr. Rathburn said.

  Mr. Watts quickly pulled out a chair next to his. “Here you go.”

  Mr. Rathburn took his place at the head of the table. He folded his hands and leaned forward. “Ms. Martínez, I’m sure you’re aware of the circumstances that led to your being sent to our school.”

  “Yes sir, I do.”

  “Miss Mac was an institution here. And I don’t mind telling you, you have some mighty big shoes to fill.”

  Ms. Martínez straightened. “Mr. Rathburn, with all due respect, I’m not here to try to fill Miss McKeever’s shoes. From what I’ve heard about her, I don’t think anyone could. I do have my own style, though, my own approach to teaching. It may not be the Miss McKeever way, but I’ve been very successful in my career.”

  Feisty little thing, aren’t you? Mrs. Pruitt thought.

  “Yes, I know,” Mr. Rathburn said. “You came highly recommended. What I meant to say was … ” He paused. “Never mind. I’m sure you’ll find your way around in no time.”

  “Pegasus,” Mrs. Frymire muttered.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Pegasus,” she repeated, pointing to Ms. Martínez’s sweater. “And your earrings. They’re flying horses, too.”

  “Oh. Yes.” She touched her earrings. “You might say that Pegasus is my mascot.”

  “Your mascot?” Mr. Watts asked, bemused.

  Ms. Martínez smiled. “I heard a story once, a long time ago, that gave me the idea to make Pegasus my mascot.”

  “Really?” Mr. Watts said with a bubbly look in his eyes. “You’ve got me curious, Sandy. Care to share the story?”

  Ms. Martínez glanced at the others at the table. They looked back at her with expressions of indifference. Nevertheless, she leaned back in her chair and told her story.

  “There once was a man who, because of his crimes, had been sentenced to death. He was taken before the king for the official pronouncement of his fate. There, the man fell to his knees and begged for his life. ‘Please, Your Majesty,’ he cried, ‘let me live, and everything I have will be yours. Everything!’

  “The king gazed down at the man and sneered at him. He asked, ‘What can you possibly give me that I don’t already have? I am the king! I have wealth. I have power. You have nothing to offer me.’

  “With that, he turned and started to walk away. But the man called out, ‘Your Majesty, let me go and … I will teach your horse … how to fly!’”

  Ms. Martínez’s voice grew louder, and her pace quickened as she told her story.

  “Naturally, this stopped the king in his tracks. ‘What did you say?’ he asked.

  “The man rose to his feet. ‘It is true, O King. Set me free, and within a year, I promise you, I will teach your horse how to fly.’

  “This was absurd, of course, and the king knew it. The man was simply saying this to save his life. On the other hand, the king thought, what if the man was telling the truth? What if somehow he actually had the ability to teach a horse how to fly? Now the king was right. He did possess untold wealth and power. But he did not own a horse that could fly. The more the king thought about it, the more he decided he had nothing to lose. So he told the man, ‘All right, I will set you free. And I will give you a year. Within the year, you must teach my horse how to fly. If you cannot do it, then I will have you brought back here where you will be put to death immediately.’”

  “Did the man teach the horse how to fly?” Mr. Watts asked. He loved the sound of her voice. It was like the song of an angel. He hoped she didn’t have a boyfriend.

  Ms. Martínez winked at him. “Let me finish my story and you’ll find out.”

  Her playful wink made his heart race. He subtly inhaled the scent of her perfume. Roses. Her perfume smelled like roses.

  Ms. Martínez continued. “As soon as he was released, the man raced out the palace doors. He was running down the steps when, by coincidence, he saw a friend coming up the stairs. The friend was shocked at seeing the man loose.

  “‘W … What are you doing out here?’ he asked, frantically looking around. ‘Did you escape?’

  “The man calmly replied, ‘No. The king set me free.’

  “The friend was incredulous. ‘Why would he do that? He was about to have you put to death. In fact, that’s why I’m here. I wanted to see you once more before you died.’

  “The man explained how he had promised the king that he could teach his horse how to fly within a year. That’s why he had been released.

  “‘But that’s impossible!’ the friend exclaimed. ‘You can’t teach a horse how to fly.’

  “The man smiled wryly and said, ‘Maybe I can’t. Then again, maybe I can. At any rate, I have a year. Lots of things can happen in a year. Within the year, the king might die. In which case, I have nothing to worry about. Or, his horse might die. If that happens, I will be free of my obligation. Or, I might die of natural causes rather than at the blade of the executioner’s axe. Or, who knows? Maybe, within the year, I just might teach that horse how to fly!’”

  Mrs. Frymire was confused. “That’s an interesting story, Sandy, but what does it mean?”

  “It doesn’t have to mean anything, Doris,” Mr. Watts said, coming to his new team member’s defense. “It’s only a story.”

  “Oh, it has special significance,” Ms. Martínez said. “To me, anyway. You see, I think about that story at the beginning of each school year. I’ve discovered, as I’m sure you have, that teaching some of our kids may, at times, seem almost as impossible as trying to teach a horse how to fly. But … ” She flashed a wide grin. “We do have a year. Lots of things can happen in a year. Each one of my students is going to be successful in my classroom.” Her voice grew stronger. “And I will teach the horse how to fly!”

  Mr. Watts stood and clapped. “Now that’s what I call confidence.”

  Neither Mrs. Pruitt nor Mrs. Frymire seemed to share Mr. Watts’s enthusiasm for their new teammate’s story. They eyed each other knowingly.

  I want to see her teach Billy Ray Cansler how to fly, Mrs. Pruitt thought.

  Mrs. Frymire seemed to read her mind. This young woman has lots to learn, she thought back at her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Gotcha!”

  Billy Ray shoved Izzy Peña from behind and slammed him against the lockers. He grabbed a fistful of Izzy’s hair and yanked his head back. Luther and the Bukowski twins crowded around him to make sure he didn’t escape.

  “Ouch!” Izzy screamed.

  “Where are your glasses, Izzy?” Billy Ray growled in his ear.

  “P … Please. I … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …”

  “Where are your glasses?”

  “I … I don’t wear g … glasses, Billy Ray.”

  Billy Ray pulled Izzy’s hair tighter. Izzy felt as if his neck was going to snap in half. “Of course you don’t, you pinhead! ‘Cause if you did, then maybe you’d have seen where you were going!”

  “I … I’m sorry,” Izzy whimpered.

  “Sorry? You’re gonna be sorry all right!”

  Billy Ray jerked Izzy’s head back even harder. He was about to slam it into the lockers.

  “Let him go!” a voice rang out.

  Billy Ray turned.

  Marco Díaz, flanked by Orlando Chávez and Felipe Garza, approached them.

  “Stay out of this, Marco!” Billy Ray cried. “This is none of your business.”

  Marco crossed his arms and scowled. “You pick on my friends, and I make it my business.” Orlando and Felipe nodded together.

  Billy Ray loosened his grip. Izzy pulled away and scurried to Marco’s side.

  “Did you see what he did to my shirt?” Billy Ray turned and showed Marco his back. The milk had dried, but a stain resembling the map of Texas remained.

  “Yeah. It was an accident. Izzy didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “I don’t care. He’s gonna pay for this.”

  “Leave Izzy alone,”
Marco said in a calm but serious tone.

  Billy Ray gazed up at him. With Luther and the Bukowski brothers standing beside him, he boldly declared, “I ain’t scared of you, Marco.”

  “Leave Izzy alone,” Marco repeated with that same calmness.

  “You think you’re tough, don’t you?” Billy Ray scoffed. “Just ‘cause you’re a boxer. Well, I’ve beaten up guys a lot tougher than you with no problem.”

  “Leave … Izzy … alone.”

  “You looking for a fight?” Billy Ray spread out his arms to show he wasn’t scared. “Is that what you want?”

  He was bluffing. There was no way he would fight Marco Díaz. Not by himself, anyway. Marco was a boxer in the Golden Gloves. And Billy Ray was nobody’s fool.

  When he saw Izzy in the hall on the way to the gym, he thought he’d take care of him real quick. Show Izzy what it meant to cross paths with him. Now he had to contend with Marco. Orlando and Felipe were nobodies. He could handle them easily. Just like he’d almost done with Izzy. But no matter what he said, there was no way he could beat Marco Díaz. Still, he couldn’t just back away and let everyone think he was scared. Luckily, he had Luther and the Bukowskis with him.

  “There they are, Mr. Watts!”

  Myra Coonrod charged down the hallway, her finger pointing like a one-way sign. Strands from her wiry blond hair had escaped from the scrunchie she used to tie her hair back. They hung down her face like pieces of twine. “See? I told you they were fighting!”

  “What’s going on?” Mr. Watts demanded to know.

  Billy Ray dropped his arms. Neither of the boys answered.

  “Well?”

  “Nothing,” Billy Ray mumbled.

  Myra’s mouth fell open. Her eyes widened in exaggerated disbelief. “They were getting ready to beat Izzy up!”

  Mr. Watts turned to Izzy. “Is that true?”

  Izzy stared at Billy Ray. Then he looked up at Mr. Watts. “No sir, nothing happened.” Izzy didn’t want to fuel the fire. As far as he was concerned, it was over. Hopefully. Anyway, he didn’t want to look like a snitch in front of the guys.

  “Are you sure?” Mr. Watts stared at Billy Ray and his gang with suspicion.

  “We were just talking about stuff, sir,” Billy Ray said innocently. “That’s all.”

  Mr. Watts had no doubt that what Myra had reported to him was true, but with no one willing to admit to anything, there wasn’t much he could do.

  “I hope you boys are through talking,” he said. “Because if you’re not, then maybe I’ll do some talking of my own … first to Mr. Rathburn, then to your parents! You get my drift? Now go on to P.E.”

  The boys dispersed in two groups. Billy Ray glowered at Myra as he passed her. She stuck out her tongue at him.

  “You go on, too, Myra,” Mr. Watts said.

  Myra stuck out her lower lip and blew the hair away from her eyes. “But what about Billy Ray? Aren’t you going to do anything to him?”

  “I did.”

  “But you should’ve seen what he was doing to poor Izzy. He was really hurting him.”

  Myra didn’t care about Izzy Peña. He didn’t mean anything to her. She hardly even talked to him. But she was dying to get Billy Ray in trouble.

  She hated Billy Ray. Ever since he laughed in her face when she invited him to her birthday party, she’d wanted to pay him back.

  If only he knew how much courage it had taken her to invite him in the first place. She was almost certain Billy Ray would turn her down, but she decided to try anyway.

  Billy Ray was one of the cool kids at school. If he went to her party, then maybe some of the girls would think she was cool, too.

  “It’s been taken care of, Myra,” Mr. Watts said.

  “But Billy Ray … ”

  Mr. Watts held a hand up to her face like a crossing guard stopping traffic. “It’s been taken care of, Myra,” he said again. “Now, go on.”

  Myra’s shoulders slumped. “Aw, man.” Reluctantly, she trudged down the hall.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  After Myra disappeared through the doors of the gym, Mr. Watts decided to check on his new colleague.

  Ms. Martínez was standing on an aluminum ladder. She had covered the rear wall of her classroom with blue butcher paper. On it she painted a large, winged horse flying across a clouded sky. She was stapling an arched caption above it in white letters that would read: ALWAYS AIM HIGH!

  Mr. Watts stood at her doorway and observed her for a few seconds. “I see you’ve already begun teaching horses how to fly.”

  She flinched and spilled her letters.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Mr. Watts rushed to the back of the room and gathered the letters for her. “Here you go.”

  “Hi, Barry. I didn’t hear you come in.” Ms. Martínez took the letters and added them to her display.

  “You’re a pretty good artist, you know that?”

  “Thanks. Glad you like it.” She stepped down from the ladder and put her stapler on her desk.

  “Think you could paint a picture of the Alamo?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never tried. Why?”

  “I guess Doris hasn’t told you yet.”

  “Told me what?”

  Mr. Watts sat on top of a student desk. He pulled out a chair and propped his feet on it. Then he shared their plans with her.

  “That is so sweet,” Ms. Martínez told him. “Miss Mac must have been an awesome teacher. I wish I could’ve met her.”

  “Yeah, she was pretty cool for an old lady,” Mr. Watts said. Then he frowned. “I was always a little scared of her, though.”

  Ms. Martínez grinned. “Scared? Why?”

  “I don’t know. I guess … I guess it was like having my grandmother hanging around all the time. I was always afraid of messing up in front of her and then getting scolded.”

  Ms. Martínez crossed her arms and studied his face. “Was she ever ugly to you?”

  “No, but every once in a while, I’d say something she didn’t like — something stupid. You know, just to be funny. She’d get real quiet. Then she’d give me the look.” Mr. Watts raised an eyebrow and made a face.

  Ms. Martínez smiled. “I know that look. My mom’s a master at it. I think it’s something people automatically acquire when they become senior citizens.”

  “That, and discount meals at Denny’s,” Mr. Watts joked.

  She laughed affectionately.

  Mr. Watts raised his eyebrow again. She tried to copy him, but her brows furrowed together, and her expression was more of pain rather than irritation.

  “It takes practice.” Mr. Watts raised his brow once more, then he bounced it up and down in rapid motions.

  “When are you planning to present Miss Mac’s play?” Ms. Martínez asked, giving her eyebrows a rest.

  “We don’t have a definite date yet, but since March is Texas History Month, we thought that’d be a good time. Also, I think Doris wants to wait until the auditorium has officially been named after Miss Mac.”

  “When will that happen?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to talk to Doris. She’s pretty much in charge of the whole shindig. Me? I just wait till I’m told what to do.”

  He climbed off the desk and gazed up at the large picture of The Cat in the Hat stapled on one of the walls. Next to it was a caption that read: THIS IS GOOD! THIS IS FUN! LOOK AT THE GREAT WORK 7th GRADE HAS DONE!

  The black and white cat, with its oversized red and white top hat and red bowtie, was pointing to an empty space. The empty space, Mr. Watts presumed, would soon be the home of the “great work” the cat was proudly touting.

  There was a knock at the door. Mrs. Pruitt and Mrs. Frymire entered.

  “Hello, Ms. Mart … Sandy,” Mrs. Frymire said. “We thought we’d stop by to see if you needed anything.” Her eyes were drawn to the flying horse on the wall and the caption. They darted to the Cat in the Hat picture, then to the windows. The windows were decorate
d with blue balloon vallences. The vallences had pictures of white puffy clouds. They matched the backdrop of the flying horse.

  This looks like a third-grade classroom, she thought.

  “I was just telling Sandy all about Miss Mac’s play,” Mr. Watts said.

  “It sounds great!” Ms. Martínez said. “When do you plan to start working on it?”

  “Well, the dedication ceremony is a week from Monday,” Mrs. Frymire said. “We could hold auditions the following Tuesday. Then I’d like for us to begin working on it right after that.”

  “I’ll be more than happy to help with anything I can,” Ms. Martínez offered.

  “Thank you, Sandy,” Mrs. Frymire said. “We’ll send out permission slips before then, but we’ll make an official announcement about the play at the ceremony. In the meantime, talk it up in your classes. I want as many kids as possible to get involved.”

  “We’ve already covered the unit on the Alamo in Texas history, but I’ll go over the material again,” Mrs. Pruitt added.

  Mr. Watts clapped his hands. “All right. Now we’re rocking.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Marco sat on a hill of gravel rocks at the construction site with Raquel and Izzy. About thirty feet away, they set up some Coke cans the workers had left strewn on the ground. Marco flung a large rock, striking one of the cans. The can wobbled back and forth like a drunk, but it didn’t fall.

  “What do you guys think of the new English teacher, Ms. Martínez?”

  Raquel shrugged. “She’s okay. A lot younger than Miss Mac, that’s for sure. She’s kind of pretty.”

  “Pretty?” Izzy fell back on the gravel hill. He spread out his arms as if he were making a snow angel. “Man, she is hot!”

  Raquel stared indignantly at him. “She’s old enough to be your mamá, chiflado.”

  A goofy smile spread across his face. “Yeah, my mamacita! When she talked to the class about the Alamo play this morning, I thought, sign me up. And I don’t even like acting.”

  Marco scooped up a handful of rocks and sifted through them for the largest one. He chose a black one with white specks and flung it, knocking down one of the cans.