by Claire Adams
“Hi, Everett,” she said. “Oh, it's going alright so far. Um, I do have a bit of an issue though with some of my eleventh graders.”
“Oh, and what's the problem?”
“Two of the boys sitting in front keep making, well, comments that are quite inappropriate.”
I nodded. It was easy to see how two teenage boys could get, in the words of Van Halen, “hot for teacher” considering Irene's youthfulness and frankly stunning good looks.
“Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “Teenage boys can be like that. Have you had a word with them?”
“I called them out, but they didn't seem to take me seriously.”
She batted her mascara-heavy eyelashes at me.
“Do you think it's because my skirt is too short? Or maybe that my blouse is cut a little too low? They can see my, you know, my cleavage.”
It hit me then – she was trying to flirt with me, drawing my attention to her admittedly very attractive physical features. I was flattered, of course, but my thoughts in that department already seemed to be only on Vivienne. And, of course, I was a strict proponent of the old rule of not getting romantically involved with anyone you worked with. I wondered what the best way to deal with this situation was. Obviously, I wanted to keep things light between us, and maintain a good, friendly relationship as I would with any other member of staff. But also, I needed her to know that it wasn't okay to flirt with me. This was a tough one.
“Well, Irene, I think that you'll have to be the judge of that yourself. You know the school code here allows you to make your own choices regarding how you dress, but we do encourage a more, um, conservative manner of dress. I'm not saying you have to cover up, but dressing a little more conservatively might help with regard to teenage boys and raging hormones. Anyway, if they give you any more trouble, send 'em straight to my office, and I'll make sure they stop their comments right away.”
She smiled flirtatiously at me.
“Thanks. It's good to know that I have a principal looking out for me the way you do. I really, really appreciate it, and I'd love to return the favor somehow.”
I chuckled dryly, not taking the bait.
“Oh, as long as you do your job well, I'll be happy, and that'll be all the thanks I need.”
Just then the bell signaling the end of lunch rang.
“Alright people!” I said loudly, “Keep up the good work everyone. The weekend is almost here!”
It was during the last period of the day that the intercom on my desk buzzed. I saw that it was Ben, dialing from his office.
“Ben, what's up?” I asked as I answered the call.
“Ev, we've got a situation. Two kids just got busted snorting Rocket in the boys' bathrooms.”
“Where are they now?”
“I've got 'em here in my office.”
“I'll be right there.”
I got up from my desk and hurried through to Ben's office. I was surprised to see two preppy-looking guys standing in front of Ben's desk, their heads hanging in shame.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” I said as I walked in.
I walked slowly around each boy, giving them cold, merciless stares. I took one by his chin, forcing him to look up at me, and saw that his pupils were dilated. He was definitely high.
“What are your names?” I demanded.
“I'm Charlie MacDonald,” mumbled the one whose face I was gripping.
“And I'm Dylan Korb,” muttered the other. Both of their voices were shaky and tinged with nerves and fear.
“And you two idiots were sniffing that Rocket garbage in the bathrooms, huh?”
Neither replied; they both just stared at the ground.
“Tell me, boys, what were you thinking? Oh wait, I know, you weren't thinking. I know, you thought you'd be cool, huh? You thought you'd be little rebels, sneaking out of class to go get high. Yeah, as if that's never been done before. But this isn't just sneaking around the back of the bike shed to smoke an illicit cigarette. Do you understand that? Do you know what this junk is that you're putting in your bodies? Do you know how dangerous this stuff is? Do you?”
Both of them continued simply staring at the ground, unable to respond.
“Do you know how insanely bad this stuff is for you? Look, I was seventeen once. I know what it feels like to feel like you're totally immortal, like nothing can touch you. I know! But dammit, boys, you're not immortal. Do you know about the kid who died from this crap? That's right! This stuff is pure evil! It's gonna destroy your insides! It's like a cancer, but even more aggressive and merciless.”
I paused here to catch my breath and give them a few moments to digest what I said.
“This is what I'm gonna do,” I said to them. “I'm gonna call your parents in, and we're gonna sit down and talk about this with them when you two have sobered up. If necessary, I'm gonna recommend pulling you out of school and sending you to rehab. Getting you off this trash is more important than missing out on a few weeks of school. But what I want to know now is, who did you buy it from. Who?! Give me a name.”
Neither of them seemed willing to speak.
“Was it that kid, Panetti?”
Charlie shook his head.
“It wasn't Panetti. He's dry; he doesn't have no Rocket right now.”
“Oh, is he?” I asked, feigning ignorance about Panetti's situation. “Well, then who was it? Tell me!”
“We don't know who the guy is,” Dylan blurted out suddenly. “All we know is that he drives a black Lexus with black tinted windows. He drives past the park across the road at 12 o' clock sharp every day and sells to whoever is waiting there. He's only there for 30 seconds though – real fast. We can't see who he is either coz he wears a mask. We just know him as Mr. Mask.”
I nodded.
“Mr. Mask, huh? And you say he's there every day?”
“Every weekday. No weekends.”
“That's good. Thank you for that information, Dylan. I might go easy on you when your parents are here. Might. Now get outta my sight. You two wait on the bench outside while I wait for my secretary to get hold of your parents.”
The boys shuffled out of the office, looking downcast.
“Have you heard anything before about this 'Mr. Mask' character?” I asked Ben.
He shook his head.
“Nothing with that name specifically,” he replied. “But I have heard of a dealer who goes around in a Lexus, specifically targeting high school kids. It's gotta be him.”
“So what do we do, Ben? Set up a sting for this guy on Monday?”
“Yeah. I'll get hold of a friend of mine who's a cop. I'll see what he can do,” Ben stated.
“Good. I'll call a quick staff meeting as soon as the day is finished, just to let the teachers know about this situation.”
“Sure. Thanks for the help, Ev.”
“No problem.”
I sent out a message to all the teachers informing them of the meeting after school, and at the meeting, I told them about the boys who had been caught sniffing Rocket and the fact that there was a dealer known as Mr. Mask who sold the stuff to kids at the park across the road. I cautioned everyone and suggested they remain aware of this, and keep an eye out for any kids attempting to sneak out to the park during recess.
After the teachers all left, I went and spoke to the boys who had been busted and their parents. Both boys, who had since sobered up, agreed to not touch the drug again. If they did, they'd be hauled out of school on the spot and sent straight to two months in a rehab center.
It had been a long day, and the sky was already low in the sky when I walked out to the parking lot where my truck was. As I opened my truck's door, however, I saw a note stuck under my windshield wiper. I pulled it out and saw that it was put together with letters cut from various newspapers and magazines.
“Hey, Principal James,” it said. “I know you think you're onto me – but I want you to know that I'm onto you. Good luck finding me, chump. - Mr. Mask.”
I wanted to crumple up the paper and fling it aside with rage, but instead, I kept my cool. I peered around me, subtly assessing the situation as old but not forgotten instincts and training kicked in.
It appeared that I was safe, for the moment at least. Nobody was here. I carefully set the note down on the passenger seat, then got in and drove off.
THAT EVENING
It was at 7:15 in the evening, when I was getting ready for my date with Vivienne, that I got the message on my phone from Panetti.
“Mr. James, it's Panetti. Mr. Henderson told me you guys are looking for Mr. Mask. He's gonna be outside the apartment building you guys busted me at in 15 minutes. Please don't mention my name – the guy seems a little crazy. Fifteen minutes sharp. Be there at exactly that time if you want to catch him.”
I replied right away.
“Thanks, Panetti. Don't worry; your secret is safe.”
There was no time to think or do anything else. Thankfully, I had already dropped Jane off with Maggie. Leaving my tie and my bottle of cologne on the table in front of the mirror, I sprinted out to my truck with my shirt still unbuttoned. I would call Vivienne when I was at the apartment building where Mr. Mask was gonna be and tell her I was gonna be late; it would be last minute notice, but I hoped she would understand. This was very, very important business.
I scrambled into my truck, started it up, and gunned the motor, screeching the tires as I tore out of my driveway and raced down the road. I was thinking of Vivienne as I drove, and obviously not wanting to screw things up before they had even started – but my mind was also on Mr. Mask. He had made this personal, and now it was my mission to get him, and this might be the only chance I had, now that he knew we were onto him, and would probably not go around to the park anymore.
I arrived at the alley precisely 13 minutes after Panetti had sent me the message. I had two minutes to spare, so I figured it would be a good time to call Vivienne and explain that I would be late. I hoped that she would understand, even though it was almost literally the last minute.
I reached into my pocket to get my phone – and that's when I realized I had left it on the table, next to my bottle of cologne.
Chapter Seven
Vivienne
It was kind of hard to believe that I was actually going on a date, and the reality of it really did take quite a while to sink in. It wasn't as if I hadn't been on any dates since the end of my disastrous relationship with Simon; it was just that the ones I had been had turned out... not so well. And while I had to admit that at least a little bit of the blame for that was on me, with my trust issues and finicky outlook when it came to men, if we were being completely honest, it was largely because of the very unsuitable men.
As I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and started to apply my makeup, my mind started drifting back to previous dates. I couldn't help but shudder as I thought of the last guy I'd been on a date with. That had been around six or seven months ago, and it had been the one that had convinced me to throw in the dating towel altogether.
The guy, Nigel, was an investment banker, 34 years old. Pretty good-looking and well-built, and he drove a nice car, too. Not that I was into cars, really, but hey, it had been nice to ride in a Porsche, as it wasn't exactly something I got to do very often.
We'd gone to a very nice, classy restaurant – and sitting down at the table had been where the evening had peaked; it had all gone downhill pretty quickly from there. I had barely gotten a word in about myself or my own life; Nigel had been one of the biggest narcissists I had ever had the displeasure of coming across in my life. All he did was talk endlessly about himself, boasting about his money, his achievements, how much he could lift in the gym, how fast he could run, how much his car was worth... Jeez, it had been such a bore. And then at the end of the evening, he tried to make me go home with him and acted like I was a bad person for refusing to have sex with him. Needless to say, his number was promptly deleted from my phone, and he never heard from me again.
And since then, I'd really been off men. I hadn't anything to do with them, not after the series of losers and narcissists I'd been on failed dates with, ever since I finally escaped the nightmare that was Simon.
But now, quite by chance, I had met someone who seemed to be a genuinely decent human being – not to mention being really attractive, a very welcome bonus.
I was doing my best to be grounded and not get my hopes up, because I'd had enough disappointments to last a lifetime, but it was hard not to have at least a little bit of girlish excitement going. From the interactions he and I already had, he really did seem like he might be someone I could really click with on a number of levels.
I looked at my watch; it was seven o' clock now. Not too long to go. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and couldn't help but flash myself a proud grin. I'd always been handy with makeup, and boy, was I working it tonight.
“Lookin' good girl, lookin' good!” I said to myself.
I had a few more touches to add, but there was no need to rush as there was still plenty of time before Everett was due to pick me up. I applied some more mascara; I had become quite an expert in the application of it over the years.
After I was finally done with my hair and makeup, a task that had taken me the best part of an hour, I just headed into the bathroom. I checked my watch and saw that it was 7:15; almost time to go, but at least I had gotten done with a few minutes to spare. I certainly didn't want to be tardy on our first date. As I sat down on the toilet, I heard the roar of a car screaming off down the road, and strangely enough, it sounded a lot like Everett's truck. That was weird, because nobody else on this street had a truck like his, so it was unlikely that it belonged to any of the neighbors. Perhaps it was just a visitor to one of the neighbors’.
Still, I pulled out my phone and checked to see if Everett had sent me any messages, as I was sure that he would let me know if something came up, especially at the last minute. There were no messages, except one that he had sent about an hour earlier. It said,
“Can't wait for tonight. See you soon.”
Well, it looked as if everything was still going according to plan. I finished up in the bathroom and headed out into the living room to watch a bit of TV while I waited the last few minutes before Everett would come and pick me up. On the way to the living room, I happened to pass by a full-length mirror, and I smiled as I caught my reflection. I was in a figure-hugging red dress, short enough to show off my curvy legs, but not so short to come off as being slutty. My black high heels accentuated the curve of my calves, and gave a nice boost to my height. I had straightened my hair, and it shimmered quite gloriously in the soft light, and the handbag I had chosen matched my outfit perfectly. All the effort had been worth it; I looked like a movie star, if I didn't say so myself.
I sat down and flicked on the tube, taking care not to crinkle my dress too much on the sofa. I flicked through the channels until I came to VH1, where they were showing a few clips of classic rock concerts from the 80’s. The live clip I happened to land on during the show was Journey's Don't Stop Believing, another one of my dad's favorites, but now, unlike the other day when I'd had to switch radio stations due to Sweet Child 'o Mine playing, now I actually left Don't Stop Believing on, and thought of my father with fondness.
“Ah, Dad,” I said, speaking to him, as I sometimes did. “You'd like Everett, I think. He’s your type of guy. I'm so sorry I didn't listen to your warnings when I first started dating Simon. You could see what kind of guy he truly was, and I should have paid more attention to your wisdom. I'm glad, at least, that you weren't around when things got bad between him and I. It would have hurt you so much to have seen what that maniac did to me. But now, Daddy, now I think you'd finally be happy with the guy I've chosen – the guy who has chosen me. Oh, just listen to me! I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here. We haven't even gone on the date yet. But you know, Daddy, I really do have a good feeling about this guy. Like I said, he s
eems like your kind of guy, even though he's not a musician. I bet he's into 80’s rock, though. I'll make sure I ask him about that later tonight. And me flipping through channels and randomly finding Don't Stop Believing, one of your favorite songs, it has to be a sign, right? I sure hope so... I miss you, Dad. I really do.”
As the song played out, I checked my watch again. It was now 7:32. Two minutes late; well, perhaps our watches were on slightly different times. No need to worry. Still, I did get up from the sofa and walk across to the window. I parted the curtain slightly and peered out at Everett's house. The lights were all still on, so I guessed that he was just doing some last-minute things to get ready. I sat down and continued to watch the show. The next song was Bon Jovi's Livin' On A Prayer. They were really hitting me with some good tunes tonight.
After the song was over, I checked my watch again. Now it was 7:37. Alright, you know, less than 10 minutes late, still not a big deal, but not what I expected from a high school principal whose job depended on him being punctual. I thought briefly about calling him but figured it might come across as being a bit demanding or overly eager, and I didn't want to give that sort of impression right off the bat.
The next song that came on was Metallica's One. This was a long song, and if he hadn't arrived by the time it was over, then I would know that something was up.
I sat through the song, trying to get into it, but I couldn't help feeling distracted. Where was he? Why hadn't he called? What was taking so long? Halfway through the song I got up and looked through the window again. All of his lights were still on, so he had to be in there. But what the heck was he doing that was taking so long? Had he lost track of time or something? Guys never take this long to get ready for dates, not like us girls do. This was starting to get weird.
I sat back down and watched the rest of the song, which had a long, extended finale due to it being a live performance at a huge concert. After this I checked my watch. It was now 7:50.