Shadow Storm

by Michael R. Stern

  “Sure. Of course.”

  “Good. I have pads with notes I took when I dated the First Lady. Pads with details of both pregnancies. The pads are more than journals. I include things that are going on around us to provide context. Some of it's fun reading, looking back. But it's been extremely useful to remember things like who said what. When I change pads, I change focus. Compartments. It works for me. It might work for you. Even short term it might help.”

  Fritz listened and had some ideas of his own. “Thanks, Mr. President. I appreciate your time. One more thing. Are you an alien?”

  The president snorted. “Glad I could help. When Mrs. Evans told me you were on the phone, she brought in your pad. See you soon. Oh, and Fritz, I've been called worse.”

  Fritz's mood improved just having had the conversation. He no longer worried about getting through the rest of the day. His excited last-period students tumbled into the room prepared to start a project neither they nor he could completely envision. Their energy radiated, like popcorn just before it popped.

  “Everyone, settle down,” Fritz said. Wishful thinking. “Did you all read the handouts? Hands.” None went up. “Nobody did the homework? What happened?” Fritz wondered if the portal's effect might be tapering off.

  Jay raised his hand, smiling. What's going on? He pointed to Jay.

  “Mr. Russell, after school, we had a meeting at Susan's house.”

  “All of you? What does that have to do with homework?”

  “Well, it was a pretty long meeting.” Fritz raised his eyebrows, waiting for the story, just as he had with Ashley. “Ted printed an outline of what he said to Mr. Montgomery. And Mr. R, we called people, all of us.” Fritz shot a glance at a smiling Ted. “We rehearsed it a couple of times and then started calling. We started calling every local business in the phone book and asked for donations of prizes and scholarship funds. We didn't get to all of them, but we will.”

  “Every business? How many calls did you make?”

  “We kept a list. Susan has it. We made a few hundred calls, but Mr. R, then we called everyone else we know before it got too late at night. You know, like relatives, and we asked them for names, too. Lawyers, doctors, people they do business with. Ted's dad suggested that. We even called Bill Gates.”

  “That's a lot of work, you guys. And what did you come up with?”

  Susan said, “We've had almost ten thousand dollars promised, and then there are the people who said they will find out if their companies will okay it.” Scanning the class, Fritz saw happy confidence. “We got prizes like gift certificates and stuff for the school,” said Jay.

  “And one guy said he'd make a big trophy for the school trophy case.” Ted said, “A pizza place will donate thirty pizzas for the final night. We can have a banquet, Mr. R, like we have for sports teams.”

  “Wow. You did this all last night? All of you? Wow.” A room of grins as wide as the Mississippi River looked back at him.

  “Susan's sisters helped, and her parents bought us all dinner,” said Ted, confidence flowing, bubbling and twinkling. Fritz marveled at the huge change in these kids.

  “I'm really proud of all of you.”

  Samantha said, “Mr. Russell, we expected to be in trouble. No one did any homework for any classes. We're in a lot of the same courses, and we told everyone. So the teachers know, and so do the other ninth graders, pretty much. All the teachers said they would be talking to you. But they didn't seem mad.”

  “Thanks, guys. Now I'm the one in trouble,” said Fritz, still smiling. The class laughed. “Do you all have the handouts I gave you for last night's homework?” They did. “For the rest of the class, read. For homework, read the next chapter about the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteen Amendments. We'll discuss them tomorrow. And remember, Friday is test time.”

  A knock on the door and George's face in the window interrupted the last few minutes of Fritz's quiet. “Keep reading,” he said, as he left the room.

  “Hi, George. What's up?”

  “The principal of Delport just called and wants to know about the tournament. It seems a friend called him asking why he wasn't doing something similar. What's going on?”

  “George, you may have some very busy years ahead. It seems these guys,” his thumb jerking toward his room, “made phone calls yesterday, trying to get scholarships and prizes.” George turned his predictable shade of irritated. “They got pledges for almost ten grand plus prizes, including a trophy for the trophy case. It's great publicity.”

  “We don't even know if it's going to happen. This could be embarrassing for the school. You can't let them just go off half-cocked like this.”

  “First of all, I only found out a minute ago. My guess is that most of the school knows by now, and we'll see a good turnout in the auditorium. You'll be there, won't you?”

  “Well, I hadn't planned to be, but now I'll have to go. If I get more phone calls, I better know what you're doing.”

  Fritz sighed deeply, wondering if George had compartments—for worries, irritations, and grounds for pomposity, and if he had just opened them all at once. He asked George if he wanted to say anything.

  “No, no, I'll just listen. How many do you think will show up?”

  “No idea. We'll know in a little while.”

  As the last minutes of class wound down, Fritz told the kids about the call from the Delport principal. “Guys, it's up to you to get this to work. You've started something. It may be bigger than you think. Are you ready?” Nods and fists pumping air. “Susan, will you have company on the stage?”

  “We're all going up, Mr. R.” Fritz could hear her jitters as she answered. “All of us.”

  “Then good luck to all of us. Me included.”

  ASHLEY, TOM JAFFREY, and Fritz walked together to the auditorium. The hallway was oddly quiet in spite of being packed with students, who looked like a flock of birds heading south. The auditorium was already half-full when they arrived, streams of kids were still entering at all the doors, and teachers stood in the aisles.

  “Wow,” said Ashley. “Did you expect this many? It looks like the whole school's here.”

  “I had no idea,” Fritz answered. “Actually, I wondered if we'd have enough. I'm surprised teachers are here.”

  Tom Jaffrey said, “Didn't you see the notice from Liz Chambers?”

  “I haven't looked at my email today. This is terrific. I need to go up there and get my kids set. See you later.” When Rachel and Nicole walked in, they didn't miss a beat. Their “Hi, Mr. Gilbert” sent Fritz to the stage holding in a laugh.

  From the stage, he had a better view of the room, which had become standing room only. When he faced the crowd, the noise ended. “Thank you all for your interest. Thank you, teachers, for volunteering to help. Thank you students, for coming to hear what we're doing. My ninth-grade government class will tell you their idea. When they've completed their presentation, we'll set up sign-up sheets. I would like to introduce you all to Susan Leslie. Please give her the same attention you've given me. Susan.”

  Cheers erupted from the spots where Susan's sisters were sitting, and then everyone clapped. Fritz whispered, “You'll be fine. Take your time. Just like in class.”

  Placing her notes in front of her, she said, “Hi. So some of you have played history baseball in Mr. R's classes. We thought we should make up teams from all grades and have a tournament. For those of you who have never had Mr. Russell, students take turns being the batter and choosing how tough they want their question to be. Singles are easiest, then doubles, triples, and homers. If you answer correctly, you take that base. And you can steal bases, too. The pitcher asks the questions. Anyway, we asked Mr. McAllister if we could have the tournament, and he said if we could get teachers to supervise, we could do it.”

  “Susan,” Liz Chambers called from the rear of the hall, “as of yesterday, sixty-eight teachers have volunteered.” Susan beamed as a roar took off like a jet. The door on the other side o
pened as George walked out. Fritz caught Ashley's eye, and they both grinned. Susan outlined the tournament, and then she asked Ted to tell everyone his part. When he finished, for a moment the auditorium sounded like a tomb, and then it exploded in cheers. Jay spoke next. He told them what the class had done the previous night. When the next round of cheering subsided, Susan said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Each team will have a name, and one of the people we talked to yesterday said they'll provide T-shirts with the team names, like uniforms.” With a short, sheepish glance, she said, “Sorry, Mr. R. We forgot to tell you.” Another round of cheers.

  Jay walked over to Fritz, cell phone in hand. “Mr. Gilbert,” Fritz said into the microphone, “go get Mr. McAllister. He needs to see this text message. Hang on for a minute, guys.”

  Waiting for them to return, Liz Chambers walked to the stage. She took Fritz aside and handed him a piece of paper. “Fritz, it's seed money for a scholarship fund.”

  “Can I tell them, Liz?”

  “Don't say how much. I have kids in college. Otherwise, it would be more.” Fritz hugged her, and over the cacophony he announced, “More news.” The noise dropped, and he said, “Ms. Chambers has just handed me a check, seed money for a scholarship fund. Let's have a cheer for Ms. Chambers.” The blast had already drowned him out.

  George returned, his hands over his ears as he climbed the steps. Fritz had Jay show him the text message. “Mr. McAllister, you should read this at the microphone.”

  “Well, I don't know…”

  “Please read it.”

  The reluctant principal stepped to the lectern, and the crowd quieted, though a low din still hovered as George said, “I'm reading from a message that Jay Bennett just received. 'Dear Jay, thank you for your call. We are interested in helping and would like to know more. Have your principal call.' ” He paused. “It's signed, Bill Gates.” George's hands jerked to cover his ears. The audience became jumping beans disguised as high school students. Cliff Harlow, the basketball coach, ran into the auditorium. He brushed his hand across his forehead, taking the steps two at a time.

  “Mr. Russell, I thought something happened. Is everything okay? I mean, I guess it is. The gym feels like it's near the epicenter of an earthquake!”

  “It's all good. The kids just read a message from Bill Gates, who might be a sponsor.”

  “Wow, that's terrific. Gee, I'm sorry I can't help, but basketball overlaps the next four months. I wish I could. This sounds like fun.”

  “It's okay, Coach. Mr. McAllister will be happy there's something else going on in his school.” Fritz emphasized his school. “But I hope you'll look in on the tournament from time to time. Some of your kids will probably be in it.”

  “Sure, Fritz. Back to practice,” said the coach. He headed back down, his hand pressed to his chest. “See you later.”

  The interruptions had disturbed the program's flow. Fritz asked everyone to take their seats. “Susan, you have the sign-up lists, right?” She nodded. “Get your classmates to stand in front of the stage with their clipboards.” He looked out at the room and said, “Everyone, if you would like to play, come down and sign one of the lists. We want your name, grade, address, email address, and phone number. The address is for the papers in case you do something spectacular and newsworthy.” More cheers. “One more thing. We figured on 512 spots, 128 for each grade. Once we have all your names, we'll let you know if we need to have tryouts and when they'll be. If you have a question, raise your hand.”

  Rachel's hand went up, and she asked if she and Nicole could be on Mr. Gilbert's team. Fritz glanced at Ashley, who buried his face in his hands. Around the auditorium, the teachers smiled. Fritz had to tell her that students couldn't choose teammates or coaches.

  Chapter 22

  TWENTY-SEVEN clipboards, twenty-seven lists. Twenty-seven head-over-heels-happy ninth graders had left Fritz an evening of less work than he had estimated. Sitting with Linda, he started turning pages. “They figured out everything. They collected signatures by grade.” Each page had numbered lines, so all Fritz needed to do was tally the grade lists.

  “Lin, over 700 kids have signed up. Two hundred more than we thought.”

  “More teams, Fritz? Why not let them all play?”

  “That's about twelve more teams. We have enough teachers, but I don't know if we can fit them all into a schedule. Or if George can give us space as often as we'll need.”

  “Didn't the president express interest, and didn't he tell George he would help with funds for projects? Fritz, if George gets ornery, you might remind him the president wants to know all about the tournament. You know.”

  “Good idea, but he might still have trouble scheduling it all. I don't know what else he needs space for. But you're right. He'll do what he can.”

  “Fritz, we should talk about Ashley and Jane.”

  “Behind their backs?”

  “Yes. And while we're alone. What do you think?”

  “About talking about them, or about their getting married, or about their talking about getting married and then talking about it again in June?”

  “When you decide to get serious, let me know.”

  “I think they're great together, better even than he and Sandy. In fact, I think Sandy was kind of a wake-up for him.”

  “I don't agree about Sandy. I don't think he was ever really serious about her. Jane is so completely different in every way, and he got serious before he knew he was. You can see why. She challenges him at so many levels, and he appreciates that. Still, I'm glad they're giving it a few months. I always imagined he would show up one day and say, 'Guess what? We're married.' Maybe he'd have gotten married to someone we'd never even met. That won't happen with Jane. My biggest concern is their careers.”

  “She's obviously got more constraints, but he could teach anywhere, and he is willing to move.” Mimicking Ashley's voice and tone, he said, “ 'They have schools down there, you know.' That's what he said, and that's when all this hit me—when he told me this morning that he might be leaving if they get married. I felt like, I don't know, like a part of me would be amputated. I just never considered the possibility that he would move. I'll just miss him terribly if they leave.”

  “The surprise to me is that it looks like he won't be single by summer's end. I think she knows what a good man he is.”

  THAT EVENING, Fritz put the final touches on a couple of tests and worked out a tournament schedule for a first round with additional teams. Past the first round, it would be easier. “I wonder if the kids have a plan for this,” he said, “and for how to select the teams.” His answer arrived the next afternoon.

  “It'll be easy, Mr. R,” said Jay. “We asked Eric Silver to pick captains from the seniors. Susan talked to him last night. When we saw how many signed up, he just picked twelve more captains. If you say it's okay, Eric will talk to them. Do you think Mr. McAllister will let us use the auditorium again tomorrow? We're going to have a draft, right after school. Well, sort of a draft. The seniors may not know a lot of the younger kids, and we really don't want to start this with hurt feelings. So each captain will pick names out of four hats, one hat for each grade, starting with the juniors, then the sophomores, first-years, and seniors. Anyone who's not there isn't on a team.”

  “I think anyone who wants to play should be allowed,” Fritz answered. “So you can tell Eric to go ahead and get extra captains. Also, there's a football game tomorrow night, you know. Some football players may want to be on a team too. And it wouldn't be right to leave someone out who's sick and can't make the meeting.”

  “OK, what if we include everyone who wants to be in the draft even if they can't be there and then post lists and everyone has to initial next to their names. Then we can quickly double check with the ones who didn't confirm. How are you going to assign the teachers, Mr. R?”

  Offering him a sheet of paper, Susan said, “Here's a list of the captains. We'll give you the names of the rest of them as soon
as Eric gets it to us. If you have that many teachers, you can just pick one per team. But not history teachers. Ms. Chambers said the history teachers will each work with more than one team. If it's too hard to do, we'll do it for you.”

  Fritz chuckled. “Not too hard, but I'd sure appreciate your going ahead and doing it. I am up to my ears in end-of-term stuff. I have to write all your exams, for example.” They pretended to be sorry they'd offered.

  FRITZ STOPPED BY George's office before he left school for the day. It was crowded, and right in the middle of the room, George was chatting with the teachers, a little flushed. Not his regular red. Everyone was congratulating him.

  When he caught sight of Fritz, he relished the chance to tell him that he had just gotten off the phone with the Gates Foundation, which was going to put up $20,000 to fund scholarships over the next decade. “It's not a lot over that many years,” George said, “but if we invest it well, we can make it grow.”

  Teachers all around were listening. Fritz said, “Any teachers who are available, the team selection will be tomorrow after school. George, can we use the auditorium again?”

  “Well, they left it kind of messy yesterday. I'll have to think about it. I'll let you know in the morning.”

  Fritz raised his eyebrows and leaned toward George's ear. “You're on the team, George, remember? The president likes this idea. The Gates people are ponying up. We need to get this done, and where else can we do it?”

  Huffy and puffy showed up. “Well, all right. But tell the kids to tidy up before they leave. Not a bad investment to ask of them.”

  The teachers who were near enough to hear cheered him. Fritz agreed, especially, he said, since they would also need the auditorium for the tournament.

  “Oh, that's right. I forgot.”

  AT DINNER that night, Jane said the president had asked her to prepare a presentation for the cabinet on Wednesday morning. Then the president would brief the Congressional leadership. She needed to talk to the numbers crunchers to estimate costs, so she would leave on Sunday but be back at the end of the week.