by Alex Dire
Norman snickered, “Lesson planning.”
“Fun,” replied Richie in his monotone sarcastic voice.
Norman smiled broadly. “Life of a teacher.”
“This is going to be a long night,” said Richie.
4
Classroom Management
After a few weeks, Norman’s classes seemed to glamor themselves. It just became the natural order. Cindy Kim, who had called Norman a ‘motherfucker’ on the second day, was highlighting her textbook. Her long straight hair lay across one of its pages. She wasn’t supposed to mark the book, but she was engaged! Let it slide.
Another student sketched Juliet plunging a dagger into her own heart. He’d read ahead! Norman looked to his seating chart. KeonKeonKeonKeonKeon Petit Frere.
Out of nowhere, Richie spoke up from his small desk in the corner. “Darius, why aren’t you working on your lit response? What are you doing?”
Norman wasn’t used to hearing Mr. Taylor’s voice. He’d only observed, keeping silent until this moment. Now he was doing it all wrong. Norman looked over to Darius who hadn’t opened his book or begun the assignment.
Richie stood, crossing his arms and repeated his question.
Too confrontational.
“Please answer,” said Richie.
Back off. You’re making it worse.
Darius leaned back in his seat. “Nothin’.”
Richie stepped around the desk. “I can see that. I’m happy to give you more time for your work in detention.”
Rookie moves.
Darius hadn’t seemed a particularly hard kid. But now, he’d been challenged. The boy crossed his arms. “If you really like my company that much.”
Snickers and “Ohhhs,” came from the class. Apparently, Richie had decided to pick on the class clown and was now engaged in a pissing match he couldn’t win. He could get as harsh as he wanted. All Darius had to do was not learn. He’d probably turn the whole class against the young teacher in the process if Richie didn’t do it himself. Norman could intervene but that would just make Richie look weak. This was between him and the class.
The student teacher stared Darius in the eyes. Norman could sense him trying to create the connection. Good. He’s learning. However, after a few moments Norman could tell he wasn’t making it. Richie’s face grew moist with sweat. “Please have a seat and get to work.”
“I am in my seat. And believe me, its hard work listening to you yammer on,” said Darius
Nice try, Richie.
Richie wiped sweat from his forehead. Norman sensed him struggling to link to the boys will.
“Darius,” said Richie. “Please…”
Another student rose from his seat across the Room, Tyreese Wilson. He stood in place for a moment and then walked next to Darius. He reached into his pocket and slid out a pencil, holding it up in front of Darius and turning his head to stare at Richie.
Darius took the pencil. Finally breaking eye contact with Richie, he flicked his chin up at Tyreese, who mirrored the motion back to him. Tyreese returned to his seat. Darius opened his notebook and began to write.
Richie fell back in his chair and placed a hand to his forehead. The class, who’d all stopped to observe the confrontation, went back to work.
Norman scanned the class. Most were writing in their notebooks. Declan O’Mally doodled on his page. His attention span was so short! Norman needed to check in with him. He pushed out his chair but before he could rise, Chubs approached his desk.
“Yes?” said Norman.
Chubs slammed a sheet of wrinkled paper down. “Why’d I get an F?”
Norman looked down at the paper. “This isn’t your best work.”
“’The fuck? I did the assignment.”
“I assigned a four-page essay. This is only two paragraphs,”
“That play was shit. That’s all I had to say about it. Anyone’s got more to say about that pile of crap was trying to stick their tongue up your ass,” Chubs said. His temper flared hot, way out of proportion.
Norman knew how to reign in such fire. He stared into the young man. The details of the universe became distinct. The wild red orb of Chubs’ will floated before him. “What you have really isn’t that bad. It’s just not enough. Why don’t you stay after school for some extra help? I’m sure you could flesh it out.”
The wrinkles in Chubs’ forehead flattened. He nodded.
“In fact…”
Juda interrupted the exchange, joining Chubs at the desk. “I need to talk to you about my grade.” His cool blue orb with smooth floating arcs drifted next to Chubs as if superimposed on the normal world.
“Not now, Juda. Chubs, why don’t you…”
“Mr. Bernard, it’s important!”
“Not now,” said Norman almost shouting. What was it about this boy? How could he resist Norman’s will?
Juda huffed and turned his head to Chubs. “You gonna let him talk to you like that?”
Chubs blinked as if waking up.
“You worked hard on that and all he does is diss you.”
Chubs shook his head. “This is some bullshit right here.” He picked up his essay and wadded it in front of Norman. “I’m outta here.” He grabbed his pack from his seat and left the room, dropping his crumpled essay into the waste basket on the way out. “Later bitches.”
Norman stood and pressed the intercom button on the wall.
“Yes?” came a voice.
“I’ve got a walker,” said Norman.
“Name.”
“Stanley Marshall.”
“Chub’s again?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you Mr. Bernard.”
Norman turned away from the intercom and faced Juda. How the hell did he do that? You can’t just un-glamor someone. Who, or what, exactly, am I dealing with? “Mr. Martinez, I think you’ll find a little patience and politeness go a long way in life.” Norman returned to his desk.
“Now can I talk to you about my grade? I checked it on line last night. I have an F.” Juda’s eyes seemed to pierce Norman. They stared into him. Norman had never felt anything like it before. He sensed his own secrets hanging out on display.
“I need to pass this class to graduate from Night School.” said Juda.
Norman tapped some keys on his decade-old desktop computer to access his grade book. “You skipped school two days ago.” Norman waited for Juda’s response. When none came he added, “We took a district assessment. It’s 40 percent of your grade.” Still nothing from Juda. “I can’t let you make it up for an unexcused absence.” The city loved its tests and data. And rules.
Still nothing.
“You skipped. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t skip,” said Juda, finally.
“You weren’t here. You didn’t have a note. That’s called skipping.” He knew he didn’t need to explain, but went through the motions anyway.
“I didn’t skip,” repeated Juda. His eyes wavered. “I…had a very rough night.”
Most of these kids had rough nights. Often they involved child protective services for the younger kids and jail for the older ones.
Norman reached into his desk and withdrew a folder. He leafed through the papers. There were records of the various city and state departments that had intervened in Juda’s family. “According to your school record, you have had attendance problems since kindergarten.”
“I have issues at home.”
“I see that.” Norman placed the folder down. “Juda, I know you’re smart. But you have to show up. I can’t help you if you’re not here.”
Juda swallowed. “Can I make up the assessment?”
“No,” said Norman. “Not for skipping.” It was school policy. If you missed school because you got arrested, that was considered an excused absence. But skipping—
Juda’s chin fell to his chest. He turned and stepped back to his desk, slumping down in his chair.
He’s giving up. “Just don’t miss anymore scho
ol,” said Norman.
Juda placed his face in the crook of his elbow on his desk.
Norman rose to visit the dejected youth. He knelt down next to him, placing a hand on his back. “Look. I’ll talk to Mr. Shapiro.”
“He won’t do anything.”
“He will.”
“Whatever.”
“I can be very convincing.”
Juda remained slumped.
“Juda.”
The boy lifted his head from his arm. His watery eyes looked into Norman’s.
“I promise.”
Tear’s began to creep down Juda’s cheek.
“This place is all about second chances, right?” Norman smiled. “Why don’t you go to the bathroom and splash some water on your face.”
Juda nodded, wiped his thumbs across his eyes and left the room.
“Bernie,” shouted the hulking Declan O’Malley, “I left my book at home.” Declan was one of two white kids in the class. They didn’t like each other so he mostly kept to himself.
Norman took a book from the stack near the front of the room and was about to place it on Declan’s desk when he snatched it back. “Did you read the pages last night?” asked Norman.
“Yeah.”
“What happened.”
Declan exhaled, yawning his annoyance. “Tybalt stabbed Mercutio.” Then he added, “That better not be the best part of the book.”
“Play,” responded Norman.
“Play what?” replied Declan.
“It’s a play.” Norman placed the copy of Romeo and Juliet onto Declan’s desk.
The young Latina, Felicia Gomez, who Norman had inadvertently swore at on the first day, chimed in from the seat next to Declan. “Those weren’t even last night’s pages.”
Declan looked at her.
“Those were from two nights ago,” she said.
Declan’s eyebrows crinkled. He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off.
“Last night Romeo snuck to Juliet’s place and talked to her through her window,” said Felicia.
“That’s stupid,” said Declan.
Felicia’s eyebrows stretched into tall arches. She straightened her spine and cocked her head.
Declan fumbled. “That can’t…No…That’s not…They’re from different…uhh…”
“Houses,” finished Felicia. She said the word as if smashing Declan over the head with it.
This girl did her homework. Norman wondered what had brought her to Night School
Declan pulled back his shoulders. “Fuck you, Spic Dyke.”
Felicia shot up from her chair.
The other Hispanic students in the room all stood as well.
Declan’s eyes flicked about the room and settled on the other white kid. Matt Barnes. Matt shook his head.
Others in the room clenched fists and tightened faces. Declan had torn off a scab, and the wound oozed.
“Felicia! Declan!” shouted Norman. He honed in on their wills which floated there, fiery and wild. He massaged them with the smooth tendril’s of his own. Norman’s breathing deepened and exhaustion set in. So many glamorings. He could feel the heat from the wills of the class on the edge of civil war. They all looked to Felicia to see how she would respond. Norman would have to manage the situation in his special way. But no more glamoring after this. He was drained.
“Declan,” said Norman. “I think you owe….
Three knocks at the door interrupted.
Not again.
Norman felt his grip on the two students slide. He focused. Three more knocks. Don’t lose them.
The door swung open and Headmaster Shapiro poked his head in. “Mr. Bernard. Am I interrupting anything?”
The hyper-real room phased out. It was just a class again. Norman looked around. The class had turned its attention to the principal. Felicia had turned as well. Her chest heaved with heavy breaths. Easy, there. thought Norman. Easy. The class held their positions, but Norman could feel the tempers cool. Declan’s shoulders drooped back down as he let out his breath.
For once, the principal may have just saved Norman’s ass.
Shapiro, oddly, did not enter the room completely. He stood, occupying the space between the barely open door and the wall. “Mr. Bernard…Oh, hello Mr. Taylor, I’d forgotten you were here,” he said. “I wanted to introduce you to your new student.”
“What new student?”
“Didn’t I mention this to you? I’m sure I did.”
“No,” said Norman definitively. “I’m at my contractual maximum. Isn’t there another class he could join?”
“She,” said Shapiro. “We’ll work out the details. Don’t worry.”
Norman knew what “don’t worry” meant. It meant worry.
Then Shapiro spoke up in his usually loud manner. “Good evening class,” he paused, again, waiting for the unison reply that never came. “I’d like to introduce you to a new student.” He opened the door wider and escorted the youth across the threshold.
The young woman wore a spiky leather jacket. Her hair, tied in a neat long braid, was a nearly white blond and contrasted her black eyes. She fixed her gaze on Norman and one corner of her mouth rose up slightly into a cold half smile.
It was all Norman could do to keep from leaping backward in disbelief. He heard Richie fall into his chair with a thud.
Shapiro continued, “Her name is Skeete Daniels.”
Apparently this was to be a year of Vampire reunions. This one, however, was impossible. For the youth that stood before Norman was dead. Norman had staked her himself.
5
The New Kid
“Where should Skeete sit, Mr. Bernard?” asked Headmaster Shapiro.
Norman’s voice failed. He hadn’t seen a vampire since the war and now he was staring at one he knew to be dead. Somehow Skeete had come back from a piece of wood through her heart. Impossible! Norman continued to stare, unable to respond.
“Oh, there’s a desk,” said Headmaster Shapiro indicating Juda’s chair. “Have a seat right there.”
Skeete waited a moment before she moved to her new seat, a hint of a smile on her face. Clearly, she was loving every moment watching Norman squirm.
Norman still had no reply. The ball was entirely in Skeete’s court. It was not only her move; it was her game. Norman could only watch, having played his final move years ago with a broken piece of a wooden desk shoved, without mercy, into Skeete’s heart. How that heart continued to beat, kept Norman’s mind stuck, spinning in a loop.
Desperate, Norman looked over at Richie. He appeared worse than Norman. A heavy sweat had broken out on his forehead and he was visibly shaking. No help there. After all, the last time they were all together, Skeete had killed the human version of Richie. This must be doubly traumatic for him.
Headmaster Shapiro, always helpful in a difficult situation, chimed in, “Well, I can see you have this under control, Mr. Bernard. Welcome to MLK Night School, Skeete.” He offered Skeete a hand to shake. When none came in return he faked a wave and retreated from the room, closing the door behind him.
“I’ll take my seat now,” said Skeete and then added “Mr. Bernard,” as if she were making air quotes. Skeete moved toward the empty seat in the front of the room.
Norman finally spoke up. “That seat belongs to someone.”
Skeete seemed surprised that Norman could muster any words at all. “Well it’s empty now,” she replied. “Besides, headmaster said it’s mine.”
The class perked up at this new show of flippancy.
Not again, thought Norman. So tired. However, the idea of having to re-glamor his class scared him much less than having to deal with a returned-from-the-dead Skeete.
“Ms. Daniels. I think you should…” started Norman.
“Yes. Mr. Bernard?” interrupted Skeete.
A silence ensued that seemed to freeze time. The two Vampires locked eyes. Norman had no tricks up his sleeve now. He couldn’t glamor Skeete because she was another
Vampire. He couldn’t risk escalating this to physical confrontation. Everyone in his class could become collateral damage. Anyway, he would probably lose that fight. Skeete was much older and stronger than Norman. Norman wondered anew how he was able to destroy Skeete the first time. He didn’t exactly yearn for a grudge match.
Norman also wondered why Skeete didn’t just attack? Why should she care about killing the whole class?
Skeete smiled and began to speak. Norman braced himself for the next salvo in the invisible battle for control of the room.
The door swung open and Juda re-entered. He took two steps and stopped, his mouth agape, eyes fixed on Skeete. The piercing look in his eye reminded Norman of how Juda had stared at him on the first day of school. Did he recognize Skeete? Juda closed his mouth and took a deep breath through his nose. He narrowed his eyes. “That’s my seat.”
Skeete broke off with Norman. He saw a look of curiosity on her face. Apparently, this was getting interesting.
Norman saw a new contest brewing. No, Juda, not this one.
Skeete narrowed her eyes at Juda. Norman watched Skeete lick her lips. “This is my seat now. Why don’t you hurry along and take a seat in the back?” Norman perceived Skeete reaching out with the tendrils of her will. Apparently, Skeete hadn’t sensed Juda’s little secret.
Norman watched, wondering how Skeete would react when Juda did not comply. But then, Juda moved. Norman looked over at Richie Taylor in disbelief. Juda had proven immune to Normans glamoring. However, he now walked across the room at Skeete’s command.
Juda walked right up to Skeete, never releasing his gaze. He stood before her for a brief moment, nearly nose to nose. Skeete could not contain her smirk. Juda stepped around Skeete and sat down in the seat in front: his own seat.
Norman couldn’t help think, that-a-boy! Then he waited for Skeete’s reaction. It didn’t take long. Skeete raised an eyebrow.
“Mr. Bernard,” said Skeete “may I speak to you at your desk?”
The class, sensing the end of the contest, went quietly back to work. Richie remained in full-on alert mode, though.