Bobby Blanchard, Lesbian Gym Teacher

by Monica Nolan

  Linda looked both ways as if the spirit world might have corporeal spies. “By the unhappy spirit of Miss Froelich!” she said. “She loved this sundial. It was her class’s gift to the school in 1919.”

  Bobby felt a visceral shock and frowned to conceal her own superstitious shudder. “I’m surprised at you, Linda. I wouldn’t have thought a girl as smart as you would still believe in such childish nonsense.”

  “There are more things in heaven and earth, Coach Blanchard, if you know what I mean.”

  Bobby knew this was a quotation although she couldn’t place it. She took refuge in severity. “At any rate, you should realize that telling everyone that Miss Froelich is haunting the campus could be very painful to Miss—to her friends on the faculty. It’s very sad, Miss Froelich’s accidental fall from the tower while bird-watching, but not supernatural!”

  Linda looked wise. “Sure, that’s the official story. Anyway, I’m not telling everyone she’s haunting the sundial, just you.” As an afterthought she added, “Most of the kids know already,” before skipping off toward the dining hall.

  Bobby followed her, feeling inadequate as a teacher. Enid, no doubt, would have been able to quash this disturbing rumor more effectively.

  The big dining hall was filled with chattering students and the waitresses were hurrying to and fro among the long tables with platters of poached eggs on toast.

  Bobby saw Angle at one end of a table of fifth and sixth formers, and made a beeline toward the empty chair at its head. Too late she realized the Math Mistress was also heading toward the chair.

  “Oh—were you going to…”

  “Not at all, go ahead,” Enid replied with a polite, wintry smile. Bobby sat down, dismayed, and bowed her head for the prayer. Once again, she had managed to offend the enigmatic algebra teacher!

  “We’re all looking forward to practice this afternoon, Coach,” said the girl on her left as soon as the prayer had concluded.

  Bobby looked up. She hadn’t even noticed Kayo Kerwin sitting at the table, accompanied as usual by her friends Edie Gunther and Beryl Houck. The blond teenager smiled at Bobby with the poise that made her seem so much older than a high school girl.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, girls, but practice has been changed,” Bobby replied, accepting a slab of bacon from a passing waitress. Mona had reported that Enid had scheduled another Problem Solvers meeting that afternoon.

  The chorus of groans was flattering to the young coach. “Why?” asked Edie from her seat next to Kayo.

  “We want to avoid conflicts with other school activities,” Bobby explained.

  “Like those stupid DIPs, pardon me, DAPs, I suppose,” muttered Angle. Kayo said instantly, “The DAPs meet on Tuesdays—it’s not our fault.”

  “Whatever you say.” Angle rolled her eyes.

  Beryl turned on the tall transfer student. “You’re just jealous because you don’t qualify for membership.”

  “Like I’d want to be part of you reactionary snobs and your secret Scandinavian rituals!” retorted Angle. “I know what you do—you sing Norwegian songs and drink Swedish glögg! Pah!”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. We raise money for charity with our living picture pageants,” Edie defended the exclusive society.

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky and you’ll all just freeze into one of your quilting-bee or cornhusking poses!” sneered Angle.

  “I, for one, am glad to have another day to prepare,” Bobby intervened. Exchanging insults definitely did not fit into Miss Craybill’s definition of civilized mealtime conversation. “And I’d encourage you girls to use the time to study the field hockey regulations I distributed. Now, who’s going to go see Cleopatra at the Bijou this Saturday? That Elizabeth Taylor’s a looker, isn’t she?”

  With conversation steered to safer subjects, Bobby covertly studied Metamora’s problem student as she sat at the far end of the table, moodily tucking away her breakfast. There was an empty seat beside her, and none of the other girls addressed a word to her after the exchange with Edie. The only time she spoke was to refuse another serving of Toad in the Hole, rudely demanding, “Do you want to make me ill?” before adding, “A couple slices of plain toast would be good.” Little Lotta Reiniger, sitting across from her, giggled adoringly, but even the evident “pash” the precocious fourth former had on the lanky fifth former couldn’t diminish the chip Angle carried on her shoulder.

  Oddly enough, Angle seemed to be watching Bobby, even as Bobby watched her. Bobby would discover the girl’s gray eyes turned on her, but Angle hastily looked down at her plate every time the coach met her glance. As breakfast ended, amid the clatter of chairs being pulled out and pushed back in, Angle made her way to Bobby’s side. “Do you drive a blue Triumph?” she asked almost furtively.

  “I don’t own a car,” said Bobby, confused. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

  “No,” muttered Angle. She walked alongside Bobby in silence as the gym teacher exited the dining hall and headed down the path to the gymnasium.

  “Are you coming to archery?” asked the Games Mistress in surprise. “What about your leaf mold allergy?”

  “It’s better,” said the taciturn teen. Bobby decided not to point out that the dead leaves were thick on the ground.

  “I guess so long as you avoid walks in the woods you’ll be okay.”

  “No one can stop me from going to the woods,” said Angle angrily. “It’s the only place I can get any privacy!”

  “They’re your nasal passages,” said Bobby mildly. “I’m just suggesting…Don’t you like it here at Metamora?”

  “I hate it.” Angle ground her teeth. “The girls here are even dumber than the ones at my old school. Always writing poetry and talking about ghosts, and pashes! And that Miss Otis saying I have to go on one of old Bowling Ball’s nature walks if I want to visit the woods, and then she gives me demerits for not wearing knee socks when it’s hot enough to fry an egg! ‘Young ladies should always have their calves covered.’” Angle made her voice prissy in imitation of the Latin Mistress.

  “Miss Otis is a little old-fashioned.” Bobby tried to soothe the irate girl.

  “I wish we didn’t have to wear any stupid uniform,” said Angle. “I wish I could dress like you.”

  Bobby looked down at her Metamora sweatshirt and corduroy slacks.

  “It’s nice to be comfortable,” she admitted without thinking.

  That was enough to launch Angle on another harangue. “So why can’t we students be comfortable? If I could find even a couple girls who weren’t ninnies, I’d organize a walkout in two minutes! My dad says organizing is the only way to force change on the bosses. We’d strike for the right to wear pants! Miss Otis can bring on her knee sock–wearing goons and strikebreakers, but the will of the people will prevail!”

  Bobby searched desperately for an argument to stop the tidal wave. “But—but skirts and dresses are part of the fun of being female,” she tried, calling to mind a recent issue of Teenaged she’d read, in an effort to familiarize herself with her students’ concerns. “I mean, girls are lucky because they get to wear, um, kilts and…sheaths…and crinolines,” she concluded uncertainly.

  “You can keep your crinolines,” Angle retorted. “What I’d like is a sharp gray suit, like Miss Butler’s boyfriend wears.”

  Bobby found herself nodding in agreement. It had been a nice suit. “But wasn’t Miss Butler attractive in that black dress with the scoop neck?” she argued. She wanted to point out to Angle how the knit wool clung to Enid’s figure, and how the skirt flared out to reveal her attractive legs when Rod twirled her into his vehicle.

  “She was okay,” said Angle, in a bored voice. Bobby felt a twinge of resentment on the behalf of the Math Mistress.

  “Well, the fact is the Metamora uniform is here to stay,” said Bobby, abandoning her perfunctory argument for feminine frills. “It wouldn’t be fair to the other girls to have you parading around in a gray flannel s
uit.” She forestalled the argument that she knew was on Angle’s lips. “And don’t tell me they could wear whatever they wanted. The thing about a uniform is it levels the playing field, d’you see? No student is dressed any better than the next one.”

  “I guess so,” grumbled Angle.

  “And just remember, after you graduate next year, you can wear whatever you want,” Bobby promised her.

  Angle brightened. “I think I’ll send away for Gruneman’s men’s catalog today,” she decided.

  They’d reached the gymnasium. “For now, just change into your gym tunic,” Bobby instructed her. “You know, I think archery is going to be great cross-training for field hockey. It will build your hand-eye coordination, as well as strength in your arms and shoulders.”

  Angle flashed a sudden smile. “Maybe I’ll get more muscular, like you,” she said as she hurried to the gym.

  Bobby watched her go, wondering if she’d mishandled the encounter. What was the proper response to the teen’s irascible temper? Should she have reprimanded Angle for mocking Miss Otis and calling Bryce Bowles by that disrespectful nickname? Should she have made a better case for crinolines? Had she raised false hopes in Angle? The knobby-kneed girl probably didn’t realize that a good gray suit was going to cost more than a few weeks’ allowance!

  I’ve got to swallow my pride and ask Enid for help, Bobby decided.

  Chapter Nine

  A Visit to Enid

  As twilight fell that evening, Bobby left her dorm, crossed under the narrow stone archway that separated Cornwall from Manchester, and entered the fourth form’s dormitory. She wished she were still in the Cornwall common room, playing Parcheesi with her third formers, rather than calling on the brainy Miss Butler!

  Passing the doorway of Manchester’s common room, she glimpsed Linda Kerwin. The first-string forward was poring over a heavy book with her friends Penny and Sue. Bobby hesitated in the hallway, wondering what mischief they were planning.

  No procrastinating, she told herself sternly. After all, this wasn’t her dorm to discipline. She continued down the corridor to Enid’s suite.

  When she knocked, the door swung open instantly.

  “Hello, you’re—” Enid stopped abruptly at the sight of Bobby, her dark brows arched in surprise. “Oh, hello, Bobby.”

  The Math Mistress was unexpectedly casual in faded plaid pedal pushers and a dark red blouse. Her smooth cap of hair gleamed like polished ebony and her black-framed glasses emphasized her square features. “What can I do for you?”

  “I wondered if you had a minute to talk about Angle.” Bobby gulped.

  “Angela—surely. Come in.”

  Enid’s suite of rooms mirrored Bobby’s in Cornwall, but aside from the layout, the sitting room had nothing in common with the gym teacher’s. The walls were lined with books, and more books were piled on Enid’s desk and the floor. There were no pennants or photographs on her wall, just an odd painting of colored squares over the fireplace. Bobby’s eyes instinctively scanned Enid’s desk, looking for a photo of Rod, but there was only a framed picture of a grim-faced pair, undoubtedly her parents.

  “Sit down.” Enid took a pile of mathematical magazines off the armchair. Bobby sat and Enid turned her desk chair around to face her.

  Bobby couldn’t help feeling like a pupil in the principal’s office as she began, “Well, I’m worried about Angle. She’s so—so liable to fly off the handle at the least little thing. And she doesn’t seem to have any friends here at Metamora. I thought maybe we could put our heads together and…” Bobby trailed off.

  Enid leaned back. “Angle is an interesting phenomenon at Metamora. So many factors have combined to make her integration into her peer group unusually difficult.”

  “Yes, that’s what I mean,” Bobby said eagerly. She relaxed. Enid would be able to unravel Angle’s behavior problems. The brainy teacher would tell the Games Mistress what buttons to push to make the Savages’ potential star keep her temper and stop racking up fouls.

  Enid counted items off on her fingers. “First, her cultural background separates her from most of the girls here. Second, she entered as a transfer. Third, she should be a sixth former, but because of her abrupt withdrawal from St. Margaret Mary’s, she’s only a fifth former.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Bobby interjected.

  “Fourth, her familial crisis has created strong emotions for which she must find an outlet.”

  “I think field hockey will be a great outlet,” Bobby put in eagerly. “I was hoping you could give me some tips on integrating her with the rest of the Savages….” She stopped. Enid was shaking her head, a superior smile on her lips.

  “I’m afraid I must disagree with you there. Angela is already chafing against the regimentation of school life. The last thing she needs is additional rules and regulations to follow. I think the dull drills, the insistence on physical discomfort for no good reason, the mind-numbing notion of ‘team spirit’ may well combine to drive her over the edge into out-and-out rebellion.”

  Bobby felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. “But—but—I think being on the team will show Angle the importance of working with the group instead of against it! And anyway, what you said isn’t true! The drills we do aren’t dull, and the physical discomfort has plenty of point. As for team spirit—”

  “Let’s leave that aside for the moment,” said Enid smoothly. “Have you considered the complication of the group dynamics on your team? Angela has singled out the DAP Society members for her special disdain, and the DAPs have responded in kind. Putting her on a DAP-dominated team is like putting a match to a—”

  “The Savages aren’t DAP dominated,” Bobby interrupted heatedly. “Every one of those girls was picked on the basis of her abilities on the field!”

  “Of course, I know next to nothing about field hockey.” Enid shrugged as if she were admitting ignorance of the native customs of Fiji islanders. “But didn’t the team elect Kayo, who’s president of the DAPs, as its captain? And isn’t it true that Kayo’s closest friends—also DAP members—are all on the Varsity squad?”

  “Team,” corrected Bobby. “And that’s just a coincidence.”

  “I think it would make much more sense to encourage Angela’s participation in one of the clubs not dominated by those DAP girls. The Problem Solvers, for example. There her abilities will win her the approval and recognition she secretly craves.”

  “But that’s just what field hockey will do for her,” expostulated Bobby. “I mean, sure, she can join the math club too, if she wants, but—”

  “Very gracious of you, I’m sure!” Anger crackled in Enid’s voice.

  Bobby felt her temper rise in response to Enid’s sarcasm. “But I think you’re dead wrong about field hockey! In the first place, there’s nothing an adolescent girl needs so much as a physical outlet, something to do with all the hormones and teenaged energy she’s got zinging around inside her—”

  “You make these girls sound like nothing more than a collection of biological impulses,” Enid interrupted with heat. “They’ve got brains too, you know!”

  “In the second place,” Bobby continued doggedly, “everyone, sooner or later, has got to learn to get along with society—I mean, isn’t that why we have institutions like the United Nations? So people can learn how to get along?” Bobby thought of the many adjustments she’d made to fit into society.

  “Are you proposing the Savages as a miniature UN?” Enid’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “What you say applies to any number of extracurricular activities. The point is, today’s educators agree that we must develop the brains of America’s youth, not their brawn! Our country needs leaders who can calculate the curve of a ball mathematically, not empty-headed athletes who merely know how to hit one!”

  At that, Bobby lost her temper. “I for one would rather have a hockey player leading me than some cold-blooded mathematician with formaldehyde in her veins!”

  The look Enid gav
e her was pure poison, and Bobby realized she’d gone too far. At that moment there was a rat-a-tat-tat on Enid’s door.

  It was Laura Burnham, wearing a paint-stained smock. “Are you ready?” she asked Enid in her throaty voice. “Oh, hello!” she added as she caught sight of Bobby. “If it isn’t everybody’s favorite new teacher.”

  Bobby’s path rarely crossed that of the Art Mistress, to the gym teacher’s regret. She’d always wanted to erase the bad impression she’d made at their first meeting. Something about Laura Burnham drew Bobby to the artistic teacher.

  But just then she was too hot under the collar to gaze at the appetizing Art Mistress with her usual enjoyment. And in any case, Enid was ushering her out, with an icy apology. “I’m sorry, Bobby, I promised to pose for Laura. Perhaps we can continue this most interesting discussion another time.”

  Bobby stormed out of Manchester, too agitated to return to Cornwall. She headed to the athletic field. Calisthenics, a session with the barbells she kept in her office, and then some wind sprints would be the perfect outlet for her irritation, whatever Enid might think!

  An hour later, after the twelfth lap around the athletic field, Bobby had cooled down enough to regret her hasty remark to Enid about cold-blooded mathematicians. She supposed she’d cooked her goose permanently with the Math Mistress. If Enid had resented her before, their argument had undoubtedly firmed up her enmity, like a pudding left too long on the stove. Bobby could forget about getting help from the brainy teacher!

  The stars were out when she climbed the path back to the quadrangle, calmer, if sweaty, and thinking so hard about Angle that she almost bumped into Mona. The housekeeper was wheeling a bicycle to the shed behind Essex.

  “Careful, Bobby! I already barked my shin on this bicycle. Those girls! They just abandon them anywhere!” Metamora’s usually cheerful housekeeper seemed out of temper.

  “Sorry, Mona,” Bobby apologized. She knew the old bicycles were the bane of Mona’s and Ole’s existence. They were kept in the utility shed, and the students were supposed to ask for permission before using them. However, unauthorized bicycle borrowing was rampant.