CHAPTER THREE
The school day was finally over. The sad walls of Inner City Junior High School were only too glad to regurgitate the students who had been trapped inside, spewing them out into the unfortunate neighborhood. The kids mostly ran screaming senselessly to freedom, wishing with all their hearts that they didn't have to return tomorrow.
Miss Lydia Fairbanks was erasing the chalkboard at the front of the science room where she had ended up substituting all day. She had used the Quagga, as well as the carrier pigeon, dodo bird and Stellar sea cow as hidden 'messages' from her magical compact in every class for the rest of the day. Each creature was extinct of course, adding to its mystery, and to the profound nature of the message it carried to whatever unfortunate student was told he would end up just like it if he didn't change his life. It was a message none of them would take to heart of course, but one had to try.
Miss Fairbanks was exhausted. Principal Clyde had been correct that this school was different from where she had done her student teaching. Trying to keep one step ahead of the killer students had taken every bit of her energy and wit. And now she was expected to do it all again tomorrow, even though the 'mystic compact' would obviously have lost its charm by then as being 'from yesterday.'
Turning, Miss Fairbanks was surprised to see a student still seated at one of the desks, toward the back of the room. He was a slender boy, with mouse brown hair. She had noticed him in the last class, and noticed also that he tended to slump down in his desk as if trying to hide, rather than bash his fellow students like everyone else.
"Not going home today?" asked Miss Fairbanks, looking at him curiously.
"Sure," he grunted, as he slowly dragged his reluctant book bag out from under his desk. He stood up very slowly, and Miss Fairbanks could see that he was slumped even when standing.
"I didn't mean to rush you," said Miss Fairbanks hurriedly. "You can stay as long as you'd like." He looked up at her curiously, and the two made eye contact for the first time--something he had carefully avoided during class. And the instant he did so, Miss Fairbank's heart skipped a beat as she recognized something that she had felt all too often herself.
There was pain and fear written in those eyes.
The boy slumped back down into his desk. "Yeah," he said, trying to sound casual. "Maybe I'll stay awhile ..."
Miss Fairbanks fidgeted with the eraser and the chalkboard, even though there was nothing left to erase. What was she to do? Clearly the boy was afraid to go home, and given the brutal reputation of the homes in this neighborhood, it wasn't hard to guess why. And now that she realized it, she'd noticed a number of fresh bruises on his skin, all over.
Miss Fairbank's eyes were suddenly moist. She knew how he felt. Nowhere safe to go, no place to hide. Pain waiting at every corner, and never anyone near to give a kind word.
She walked quietly over and sat down next to the boy. He rustled in his seat uncomfortably, clearly not used to anyone showing much interest in him. His instincts screamed out to him to be wary, since people were not to be trusted. She groped in her mind for something to say that might make him feel better--something that could perhaps give the smallest glimmer of hope in an otherwise negative world.
Miss Fairbanks gazed at him sadly. His shirt was faded, his jeans were shredded, and his shoes were nearly worn through. His hair was tangled and uncombed, and his skin looked dirty, in addition to being heavily bruised. Then she noticed a few small, clinging black hairs to the lower parts of his jeans and on his shoes, which probably meant that he had a--
Now she knew what to talk about. "Do you have a dog or a cat?" she asked suddenly.
He looked up at her in surprise. For a minute he didn't speak, trying to figure out how she had known. Then slowly, he nodded his head.
"What's its name?" she prompted gently.
He continued to stare at her for a minute. Then he bowed his head and muttered, "Her name is Isabel. She's a black cat." He didn't offer any more.
"Have you had her very long?" asked Miss Fairbanks.
The boy seemed to scowl, obviously struggling with something in his mind. Why was she asking him all these questions? Was she planning something? Was she going to call his folks and complain that he was distracted in class by his pet?
He looked over at her, ready to grunt nonsense in reply, to play it safe and continue to protect himself. But her eyes were shining with such curiosity and kindness, he suddenly found himself saying, "She's a stray. She came to our door a few weeks ago, and I gave her some milk. She's never wanted to leave since then."
Miss Fairbanks smiled at him. "Tell me more," she said simply. She rested her head in her hands, looking at the boy intensely. And without thinking, without even wanting to, he suddenly found himself opening up to her, saying things he knew he would regret later. He spoke of private things which he had never told anyone before. Like how he was fascinated by Isabel's purring, and wished she could speak because he knew she would never say anything unkind to him. Or of his plan to someday travel across the country--taking Isabel with him, of course--so he could get out of the city and see new places and learn new things. Or how badly he wished that Burt, his stepdad, wouldn't drink so much, since he always became more violent afterward, and started hitting everything and everyone in sight.
Somehow, when he looked at Miss Fairbanks plain face, she seemed to just invite him to say more and more and more ...
An hour passed. Grey shadows came through the ugly wire mesh windows and began to stretch lazily across the room. The roaches and ants who didn't dare come out in the day when students were near skittered and wandered across the floor in search of tidbits and snacks left by the sloppy humans. None of these mindless insects paid any attention to the two humans still left in the room, of course. Even to an ant, it was obvious that these two were harmless.
" ... and then my aunt came over from Jersey City last summer, and it was suddenly so nice I could hardly believe it," said the boy, still talking. "Burt didn't drink as much and mom actually smiled a few times, and my sisters didn't fight as much. Aunt Patty, that's who she was. She's nice. You'd like her. She's just like you. She smiles and listens and doesn't hit or yell, or say mean things ..."
The boy's face suddenly turned red, as he started to realize what he had said about her. But Miss Fairbanks took no notice of it. "She sounds nice," she agreed. "Is she going to come again?"
The boy shook his head. "Don't know," he said bluntly. "Probably not. She got married after she left us, so now she's probably too busy to care about visiting us anymore. Or maybe she's too busy getting beat up by her new husband."
Miss Fairbanks winced. "Is that the way you think all men treat their wives and kids?" she asked. "To beat up on them?"
"Sure," said the boy without any hesitation. "You see it all the time. And it's not just Burt. My mom hits him back as hard as he hits her. Sometimes she hits others too ..."
"Is that the way you're going to treat your family when you grow up and get married?" asked Miss Fairbanks. The boy blushed, and for the first time felt like maybe he should leave. But as he looked over at Miss Fairbanks, the gentleness in her eyes melted his embarrassment like dew before the sun. "Naw," he replied. "I'd never do that. But I'm never going to get married. I think marriage is stupid. I'm just going to go touring around the country with Isabel."
Miss Fairbanks was about to say something else when suddenly there was a rustle at the door. Principal Clyde was standing there, looking curiously at the two of them. "Is there some kind of trouble?" he asked darkly. "Has this boy been acting up in class?"
"No, not at all," said Miss Fairbanks, rising to her feet. "We were just chatting ... "
Mr. Clyde stared at her dumbly. The idea that people would voluntarily stay within the stinking confines of Inner City Junior High School after school merely to 'chat' had never occurred to him. "I see," he said slowly. His feeble mind tried vainly to figure out why she would want to 'chat' with such a miserable looking loser as this
slouching student.
Meanwhile the boy had quickly picked up his book bag and zipped it closed. "I was just going," he said gruffly, slouching his way toward the front of the room.
"Do you have writing as part of your class schedule?" asked Miss Fairbanks suddenly. The boy looked back at her curiously. "I think so," he answered slowly. "Why?"
"That's what I'm going to be teaching here in school, starting tomorrow," she answered. "I was just a substitute in science today. I hope you're in one of my writing classes."
The boy smiled faintly. "Yeah, I've got writing. Second period. See you tomorrow." Then he sauntered out of the room, keeping as much distance between himself and Principal Clyde as possible.
Tom Clyde continued to stand in the door, eyeing Miss Fairbanks critically. The kindness and gentleness he perceived in her roused a sudden fury in his chest. Perhaps it was because such traits were so completely foreign to his experience in this school. Or perhaps it was a deep, inner guilt, realizing that these were traits he should possess himself, but had never been able to attain. On a sudden impulse he said, "I wouldn't get too close to any of these students if I were you. They'll speak nice one minute, then stab you in the back the next. They can't be trusted. Not one of them! They're all stinking, lousy losers."
"Oh?" said Miss Fairbanks, faintly, wringing her hands nervously. "Is that why you wanted to become principal of this school? To build their trust and turn them into winners?"
Principal Clyde snorted in derision. "I never wanted to be principal of this wretched school! I used to teach history here, but when they found the last principal lying in a puddle of his own blood in his office, they asked if any teacher wanted the job. I was an idiot and said yes, since I thought somehow the extra money justified the added stress and danger. I've been regretting it ever since."
Miss Fairbank's fidgeting had greatly increased at the mention of the last principal, and a puddle of blood. "Did he ..." she hesitated, then cleared her throat timidly. "Did the last principal ... die?"
"No," Tom answered grumpily. "But he didn't recover enough to take his old job back and bring me any relief either. He's in an institution up north. Mental case. The stabbing messed up more than just his innards, apparently."
At the white, pinched look on Miss Fairbank's face, Tom suddenly regretted having said anything, and his fury melted quickly away. Suddenly he blurted, "Look Miss Fairbanks, you seem like a nice person. Why don't you just forget about this job? It'll probably kill you. In the five years I've been here, we've had three teachers die, and I don't know how many students. It's not worth it. You'd be better to camp out under a freeway overpass, where I'm sure it's a lot safer. In fact, that's something I've often thought of doing myself."
Miss Fairbanks was fairly shivering now, at the mention of a multitude of deaths. But a resolute look had also come into her eyes as well. "I'll stay, thank you," she said softly. "I think I'll be all right. After all, things went well in my classes today."
Tom blinked at her. The he grinned unexpectedly, making his grey face seem ten years younger. "They sure did! I've never seen anything like it." Then, suddenly feeling embarrassed and not knowing what else to say, he merely nodded and left.
Miss Fairbanks walked slowly toward the front of the room to get her purse. Three faculty deaths in five years. A stabbed principal. Multiple student deaths. Parents who drank then beat their children senseless when they got home from school. Profanity so thick you could almost cut it with a knife.
Was this really a place she wanted to spend her days? Was she safe here? Would she even survive? What would happen when the kids grew weary of her little tricks, which would no doubt happen very fast? Could she handle things then? What sane person would put themselves in such a position of danger? Wouldn't it worry their families to death?
Miss Fairbanks smiled grimly. That at least was something she didn't have to worry about. She had no family to worry or care about her. None at all ...
Miss Lydia Fairbanks and the Losers Club Page 3