by Sean Oliver
Moore waited at the security desk as the guest ascended the marble steps of the front entrance. When he got to Moore, the guest’s face also impressed the guard as more amiable than the frame prepared him for.
“Help you?” Moore asked. He looked up at the man’s pale blue eyes, very deep set below the ridge of his thick forehead.
“Elias Albrecht. I’m here for the library.”
“What’s goin’ on down there?”
“Professional development sessions.”
“Ah. What school you here from?”
“I’m leading them.”
Moore nodded and pecked at the computer. “Looking for you in my system. Been here before?”
“Many times.” He waited motionless as Moore clicked away. A small label printer on the security desk fired up and spit out a sticker with his face and name on it.
“Just stick that on. Wear it at all times while you’re in the building.” He handed it to Albrecht who peeled it and laid it on his chest.
“You don’t look familiar,” Albrecht said.
Moore looked up at him and squinted. The fluorescent light box above Albrecht began to flicker, looking like lightning behind him from Moore’s seated perspective. Yet another repair suggestion Moore would be giving to Willie. Place was damn near falling apart compared to them new downtown joints.
“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Albrecht said.
“Just did.” Moore gave a half smile. He went back to work without the offer of a handshake, which it seemed his guest was waiting for. Albrecht headed off without the shake. Moore was all business—seen his share of shit go down in Carson schools. He wasn’t going to chum up to some visitor, particularly one fishing for why he didn’t recognize him. The guy was soft-spoken and polite, but you just couldn’t trust anybody these days.
Moore pushed himself out of his chair with a groan and shuffled to the auditorium, where the kindergarten was rehearsing a play. He tapped his fingers and within a minute moved back the other way, pacing the far side of the corridor. Why was his heart fluttering? There was nothing in the previous exchange to justify the feeling that was unsettling Moore.
Working these schools on the west side got him all edgy. Could easily have come across as downright terse toward that man. Damn, he’d sure like to get back downtown.
THIRTEEN
FOURTH-GRADE TEACHER Imani Palmer stood in the center of a circle. She was a bit bashful by nature, but she was being a trooper. As a teacher she spoke in front of people all day. But the scrutiny of other adults made her tremble on most occasions. She was young and insecure, having only two years on the job. Today was important, though, and she was fighting through the nerves.
“Evidence,” she said. Most of the twenty or so adults in the room nodded along. The other teachers formed the circle around Imani in the library. Deanna looked beside her to Trisha and rolled her eyes. Trisha play-slapped her, encouraging her to stop.
“Any others?” Albrecht asked Imani. She thought.
“Oh, list,” she said.
“What does that tell you?” he asked.
“There’s going to be a lot of evidence I’ll be writing.” She laughed, and the room politely followed along.
“Good. More. Not in order, just some more.” Albrecht waited for her to comply. She was smiling, flashing her blinding and perfect white teeth as she looked skyward.
“Ummm…”
“Can anyone—”
“Hang on, you. Don’t give up on me yet, Mr. Albrecht,” Imani said. More laughter. Elias Albrecht put up his hands in an, I surrender gesture and stepped away from the circle.
“Mr. Albrecht can you read me the whole prompt again?” Imani asked. He stepped back into the circle with her.
“Sure.” He was standing a few feet from her, giving her space. He flipped open a state testing booklet. “Just the instructions now, we’ll save the story for later. Don’t worry about the content, this is just the pre-reading. You’re just listening to the instructions. ‘You’ve read the story Sandra and the Bigger Sandra. Consider what the character of Sandra starts the story wanting, and then what she ends up getting. What is similar? Are there differences? List and provide evidence from the story.’” He looked up from the booklet toward Imani.
“Okay,” she said. “You want more words?”
“If you have any. Get under the hood and strip this thing down,” he said as he waved the booklet back and forth in the air, pages flitting. “How will you know what they want from you?” She thought more. She giggled, getting embarrassed because she was taking time. “You gave me two big ones already,” he added. “Evidence and list.”
Imani thrust up a finger. “Similar and differences.”
Albrecht nodded. “What’s the hidden skill?”
“Compare and contrast,” she said without a beat, then smiled. He walked right up to her and smiled back. She looked up at him, standing before her with open arms. She stepped in and took the hug. The circle of teachers began to applaud her.
Trisha and Deanna looked at each other, a bit wide eyed.
“Hugs?” Trisha whispered.
“And she’s twenty-five pounds overweight,” Deanna said. “If you were up there with your body, he would have bent you over.” Trisha snorted and laughed under the clapping, which eventually subsided. Deanna looked over at Jared who was clapping, albeit wearing a mask of boredom.
“Before I let this brave young lady go sit down,” Albrecht began, “I want to do one more thing. Can we all agree that no one has read this short story yet?” Nods all across the room. “Good. I want to ask Imani to tell me all she knows about this story.” She laughed and shrugged, incredulous. The teachers laughed along.
“I could guess,” she said. Albrecht paced in the circle, looking down, drawing out a dramatic moment.
“You could do more than that.”
“I didn’t read it.”
“That’s right. But you know a few things already. You told me so a couple of minutes ago.” She thought.
“Well, I know there are going to be similarities and differences in what Sandra wants and gets.”
“So there’s one Sandra?”
“Yes, I think so. Because the question says—”
“Right!” Albrecht barked. Imani was jolted. “Sorry, go ahead.”
“The question says Sandra wants some stuff in the beginning and then some stuff at the end. Just one Sandra is mentioned.”
“So Sandra and the Bigger Sandra isn’t about some girl Sandra, and another girl also named Sandra who is bigger, right?”
“I would guess that’s right.”
“One Sandra.”
“Right,” she said.
“Like one Imani.”
“Ri—” she balked. A couple of chuckles in the circle. He pointed to her.
“One Imani. Right?” he asked.
“Well, yeah.”
“Was there ever another Imani? Another one in your head? Maybe one that acted differently?” She was making some funny, nervous faces now.
“I read your last evaluation,” joked Nick, the co-teacher who shared her classroom. “That was definitely about another Imani.” The circle roared. She was on the spot and getting uncomfortable, so the laugh break was certainly welcomed.
Albrecht smirked. He stepped closer to Imani and drew her focus back to him.
“Look at me,” he said to her. “How was Imani different in the beginning of her story?”
“Sandra?”
“No. Imani.” He pointed to her.
“When was that?” she said through a smile. Her eyes eventually found his.
“Imani, what was the one time you’d be able to say with some conviction that there was another Imani? When were you…different?”
“Actually,” she began, drawing out the word as she debated the level of honesty she was poised to serve. “I am unhappy with an aspect of my life right now, and I think if I saw myself like this five years ago I would’ve
been surprised.”
“Surprised?” he asked.
“More like shocked.”
“Shocked, like…happy?”
“Definitely not.”
“So you’d have been disappointed back then? Looking at present-day Imani?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“So tell me that story. Tell me the story of the two Imanis.” He waited while she looked down and around the room. Her voice became much softer.
“I’m a lot… I’m heavier.”
“Big difference from how you were before? Five years ago?”
“Yes.” Her face was now expressionless. She was trying to tuck a trembling hand into a pocket she didn’t have.
“Are you disappointed in yourself now, as you think about this?”
“Yup.” A tear began rolling down her face.
“Okay, hold that, Imani. Now, switch gears and tell me about Sandra.” When he said that, it took her a second to even recall who on earth Sandra was. She’d gotten lost in her past, her present, her pain. “Tell me about that story, Imani. About Sandra and the Bigger Sandra.”
“Maybe…maybe Sandra thought life was a certain way when she was younger, but as she grew up it turned out to be different.”
“How’d she feel about that?”
“She didn’t like it. Because she couldn’t control it.” He nodded at her. He stepped closer, peered more deeply into her eyes.
“What did bigger Sandra want?”
“She wanted to be like she was before.”
“Her body?”
“To think like she did before, too.” It was coming to her quickly. The library was dead silent.
“Isn’t she wiser now?” Albrecht asked.
“Yes, but she won’t be happy until she takes that and does something with it.”
“Will she?”
Imani nodded.
“Can’t hear you,” he said through a soft smile.
“Yes.” She wiped her moist eyes. He turned to the class, speaking just above a whisper.
“Is that what the Sandra story was about?” There were blank faces all around.
“Maybe,” Nick said.
“But for the purposes of answering this essay question—is that what it’s about?” He waited. A couple of nods. “Darn right. That’s what they’re all about.”
He turned back to Imani and opened his arms. She ran in. When he released the warm hug, he looked at the room.
“How brave is this little lady?” Everyone applauded, Elias Albrecht included. He gestured for her to return to her seat. The teachers stood and applauded as she walked back. The teacher seated beside Imani threw an arm around her when she sat back down. The clapping continued. Some teachers stood.
Deanna and Trisha were no longer exchanging commentary. They were engaged, clapping along. But the whole scene confused Deanna. And she must’ve been wearing it on her face, because Elias Albrecht was staring at it.
FOURTEEN
GEORGE ANASTAS WALKED into the main office with two personnel folders in one hand and a wrapped-up bagel in the other. The room was alive with ringing phones. Mariana and Lorenzo, his office staff, were already wearing the most haggard of faces and it was nowhere near lunchtime. Registrations, transfers, and the impatient and distrustful nature of the parents in the neighborhood gradually wore the staff down over the course of a year.
George walked by a handful of parents at the front counter—all sighs and hands on hips. He tried to blow by Mariana and Lorenzo’s desks, knowing full well he’d never hit his office door.
“Mr. Anastas, wait,” Mariana called out, phone tucked into the crook of her neck, pencil and registration forms in her hands.
Maybe she had a complaint waiting on the phone for him. Maybe she was going to tell him that his shirt had come untucked from his pants yet again. Mariana served many functions in his office.
Well, he could make it to his door if he ignored her completely.
He stepped into his office without looking back, that damn bagel on his mind. He’d been fantasizing about taking a bite of that fat mother since leaving Bagel Wonderland a solid three hours ago. He was still carrying it, always thinking he was just moments away from opening it. For three hours.
Just one damn bite of it. Then the world could have him again.
George kept his head down upon entering his room. If you don’t make eye contact, they cannot accuse you of ignoring them. You just didn’t hear them. When George did get to his desk and raise his eyes for the first time, his bagel dropped onto his desk and heart almost stopped. There was someone sitting on the guest chair. It was Albrecht.
George clutched his chest. Albrecht smiled.
“Sorry,” Albrecht said, with a chuckle.
“It’s fine. I just didn’t expect anyone.” He dropped into his chair with a sigh. Albrecht reached over the desk that separated them with an outstretched hand.
“Hello, George. Good to see you again.” They shook.
“You, too, Elias. Jesus, you can’t do that to a guy with a bunch of stents in his arteries.”
“That’s right, I heard. How do you feel?”
“I’m here.” George opened his laptop and awakened the screen.
“Didn’t retire, I see.”
“Nah. What would I do at home? There’s a lot to be done here.” He looked up from his computer. “Big year. We’re really at a crossroads.”
Elias digested that and nodded along. “That’s why I’m here. We will get there. We can do it.”
The men exchanged a look, affirming their commitment. George went back to logging in to his laptop.
“Except, George…I’m not sure you’re up to it.”
George looked up from his screen. Albrecht was adjusting some papers in a binder he had on his lap.
“What?” He waited for Albrecht, who closed the binder and looked up.
“We need great commitment from everyone at this school.”
George stood and closed his office door. He returned to his desk and leaned into the conversation.
“And here I am,” George said. “I could have retired after the heart thing. Central office told me to. My supervisor said she’d retire if I didn’t. I knew the risks to my health coming back here with this environment. A failing school in a failing district is no place for a guy with a ticker that isn’t running right.”
Albrecht was silent, watching George.
“Yet…here I am,” George said, punctuating the final three words with a tap of his pointer finger on his desk.
“Yes, you are,” Albrecht said. “But so are some others.” He waited for George’s reaction. He knew the two ladies to whom Albrecht was referring. But he didn’t have much to say to that.
“I need a little time,” George said.
“Time?”
“I gotta sort some of those things out. Central office sends us curveballs sometimes. I’ll handle it.”
“Will you?” Albrecht shot back. George watched Albrecht stare through him. It wasn’t a rhetorical question.
“I will. Our staffing numbers are damn near where they should be.”
Albrecht stood and turned for the door, taking his time as he spoke.
“The staffing numbers need to be perfect. They’re off.”
“One transfer sent by central office over the break is a good number. One—that’s manageable.”
“Yes. But of course, we are off by two, George. Not one. I think there’s still a transfer from last year.” He stopped at the closed door and turned back to George. “But we still have some time. You have some more time.”
George kept watch on Albrecht, who reached out and grabbed the doorknob.
“Don’t run out of time, George.” He opened the door and started out. “Open or closed, Mr. Anastas?”
“Closed.” George’s door was then shut. He looked down at his desk, to the two personnel folders he’d brought into the room before—Trisha McAllister’s and Deanna Anastas’s.
FIFTEEN
“SOMETIMES THINGS DISAPPEAR. Nothing to get all sideways about.”
This security guard wasn’t the warmest. Trisha was upset as it was, and she could have used something resembling support in that moment. But the old guy stood in her classroom writing the details on an incident report form, sighing occasionally, wearing a scowl the entire time.
“I’m sorry I’m so shaky, Mr. Moore,” Trisha said after checking his name tag. “Never had something stolen before.”
“Missing,” Moore corrected. “Missing ain’t stolen.”
“Well, at first it is,” she said. He dismissed her entirely, and kept writing as he continued his cantankerous, grandfatherly lesson.
“Stolen is reported when someone gets careless with something and knows they lost it. Missing is what gets reported by the person who had an item stolen. Just something I’ve noticed.”
Trisha rolled her eyes. She was disappointed by the whole thing, having caused this mess in just the first few days at her new school. She stood waiting while Moore dragged his pencil around the form like it was the first time he’d seen one. Trisha was not used to curt treatment and though she worked to suppress any reaction, his attitude hurt her and made her anxious. Maybe she wasn’t built for Hudson County or the Carson Public Schools.
Deanna came into the room and saw Officer Moore.
“Everything okay?” she asked. Moore turned to her and then back to his form. Trisha shook her head.
“I think someone stole my laptop,” Trisha said. She looked up at Moore. “I mean, it’s missing. I’m being told that if I say someone stole my laptop it means I lost it.” Deanna wrinkled her brow.
“Does it?” she asked. Trisha shrugged.
Moore shot Trisha a look over his clipboard. Deanna caught it.
“Yeah, you’re so silly, Trisha. Might explain why you called a mall cop who thinks he’s a police officer to report an accident you thought was a crime.” Trisha cringed. Part of her liked Deanna pushing in, defending her. But she also feared making Moore angry. It was hard enough for her to win over anyone in this building.