CHAPTER FIVE
With the ringing of the final bell, Inner City Junior High School once more sighed in relief and gladly spit out all of its stinking students. Another day had come and gone, and thankfully no one had died. For that alone, Principal Clyde was grateful.
In Miss Fairbanks' room, Mr. Brek the bouncer ambled over to stand by her desk as she erased the chalkboard. "You know," he said casually, "today was kind of nice. Relaxing, actually. Good as a night's rest. So maybe don't worry about all that money you were going to pay me. Consider it as my pleasure."
Miss Fairbanks turned around in surprise. "Oh no, I could never do that!" she exclaimed. "A deal's a deal! I'll bring what we agreed as soon as I get my first paycheck."
Mr. Brek raised an eyebrow. "Well," he said slowly, "maybe I just won't accept it. After all, I'm not the type of guy you can force to accept things."
Miss Fairbanks frowned, not the least bit intimidated. "No welching!" she said firmly. "And your threats don't frighten me! I'll be there with the money in two weeks just like I said." She was fairly certain that, no matter what kind of a change of heart he thought he'd had now, he'd probably feel differently in two weeks after his experience here had faded from his memory.
Mr. Brek just shrugged. "We'll see," he said casually as he sauntered toward the door. Turning he added, "See you later, my 'oldest and dearest friend!'" Then he walked down the hall laughing to himself in what he thought was a quiet way, but which nearly shattered all the nearby unbreakable windows.
Miss Fairbanks continued to erase the chalkboard, and had just finished when Brent appeared at the door. "Hello," he said so quietly that Miss Fairbanks hardly heard him.
"Come in!" said Miss Fairbanks happily. "I've been waiting for you."
"You have?" said Brent in sincere surprise. "Why?"
"Well," said Miss Fairbanks, trying to think fast. "I've been wondering if maybe I should decorate this room a bit, and I wanted your ideas. Should I put up some pictures or things on the walls to give it some flavor? What do you think?"
Brent looked around at the ugly walls as if seeing them for the first time. Then he looked back at Miss Fairbanks. "Why?" he repeated again.
She laughed gently then said, "Well, it was just a thought. One must add color to life I suppose. Have a seat. I have a leftover apple from lunch if you'd like it. Just be careful of the wormy side." She pulled the same wormy apple out of her desk that Heather had refused, and held it out to him. He didn't take it. Then, not sure what to do, he walked over and took the nearest seat and sat down. Suddenly he blurted, "I don't know why I came here today ..." He was suddenly feeling distinctly embarrassed.
"How is Isabel?" asked Miss Fairbanks, trying to change the subject. Brent's face instantly lit up, and he smiled happily. "She got hold of a roll of toilet tissue, and unraveled it all over my room while I was at school yesterday." he laughed. Then his smile faded. "It's a good thing my mom and stepdad didn't see it. They don't like Isabel too well. I have to try and keep her hidden."
"That's too bad," said Miss Fairbanks. "Animals are wonderful friends, if we let them into our lives. I'll bet your mother and Burt would like Isabel if they got to know her."
Brent stared at Miss Fairbanks in total disbelief. "Burt and my mom don't like anything!" he exclaimed. "Except drinking, and maybe belting each other, and me. I wish I was big like your friend Mr. Brek. Then I'd belt them back."
"Would you really?" said Miss Fairbanks in surprise. "I have a hard time picturing you hurting anyone."
Brent scoffed. "That's just the sort of thing Burt says all the time," he said grumpily. "He says I'm such a wimp I wouldn't even kill a spider."
"Burt is very confused," replied Miss Fairbanks firmly. "I suppose that's because he's a wimp himself, and is trying to make himself feel better."
Brent nearly fell out of his chair. "Burt, a wimp?!" he cried in total disbelief. "You've got to be kidding! You should see the size of his muscles! He works at a steel plant, and when he hits you it feels like it!"
Now it was Miss Fairbanks' turn to scoff. "He's still a wimp," she said firmly. "Only weaklings use violence to get what they want, and to frighten others. They do it because they're insecure, deep down inside."
"Insecure?!" repeated Brent, still not believing a word of it. "Burt?!" He barely stopped himself in time from commenting on how crazy Miss Fairbanks must be to say such a thing.
"I know it's hard to believe, but it's true," said Miss Fairbanks. "Think for a minute about someone you know who has real inner strength, and confidence--someone who truly feels good about themselves. Would they ever hit someone?"
Brent just stared at her, his feeble mind not fully understanding. Finally he said, "I've never known anyone like that."
"Oh, I'm sure you must know someone who is that way," replied Miss Fairbanks. "Think hard. Isn't there someone that you look up to? Someone that makes you feel good when you're with them?"
Brent screwed up his face in deep thought. "Well ..." he said slowly. "I suppose there is Mr. Mason at the church I go to some Sundays. I've always thought he was a nice guy."
"Do you think he feels good about himself, and is confident?" asked Miss Fairbanks. "Or does he go around hitting people?"
Brent laughed at the suggestion. "He's old! He wouldn't go around hitting people." Then he added as an afterthought. "It's kind of hard to imagine him belting anyone, even if he was younger. It's just the way he is. He just would never do that."
"And how about you?" said Miss Fairbanks unexpectedly. "I've noticed you didn't hit anyone in class today. Why not?"
"They'd hit back!" replied Brent truthfully.
Miss Fairbanks laughed. "I don't think that's the only reason," she replied. "I'll bet there's some that wouldn't hit back. But I just can't picture you hitting anyone. It's just not you--the same as Mr. Mason. It has nothing to do with the silly idea that you're supposedly afraid of people, which just isn't true. It's just the way you are."
Brent was starting to turn red. He clearly didn't know what to say, and just as clearly didn't believe her.
A slight rustle at the door caused both of them to look up. Heather was standing there in her long, flowing dress, looking distinctly uncomfortable, since she had been hoping to find Miss Fairbanks alone.
Without hesitation, Miss Fairbanks stood up and surprised them both by saying, "Now's your chance, Brent. Go over and hit Heather! Belt her a good one!"
Brent laughed in nervous embarrassment. "I wouldn't do that! She's a girl."
"I've seen lots of boys in the halls of this school hitting girls," replied Miss Fairbanks. "And usually the girls hit them back. So why don't you go ahead and hit Heather!"
Heather was looking back and forth between Miss Fairbanks and Brent, clearly wondering if she should go. Suddenly Miss Fairbanks asked, "Do you think he'll hit you, Heather?"
"No," she said immediately.
"Why not?" asked Miss Fairbanks. "Is it because he's afraid of you?"
"No," said Heather again simply.
"Then why not?"
"Because he's not the hitting type," said Heather.
Miss Fairbanks smiled as she gave Brent a meaningful glance. Then she walked over and took Heather's hand, pulling her into the room. "I was hoping you'd come," she said. "We didn't get to finish our talk, at lunch."
"I thought you'd be alone," blurted Heather, looking at Brent with a frown.
"Oh, don't mind Brent," said Miss Fairbanks with a smile. "He's another one of my friends, just like you."
"A friend?" said Heather and Brent at once, echoing each other without meaning to. Neither of them had thought of Miss Fairbanks in those terms at all.
"Of course," said Miss Fairbanks. "A friend is someone you feel safe talking to, because you know they won't use what you say to hurt you later. You can be yourself around them. That's the way I feel when I'm around you and Brent."
There was sudden silence in the room as Heather and Brent tried to digest what Miss Fairban
ks was saying. "Don't you have lots of friends?" asked Heather suddenly.
"No," said Miss Fairbanks quietly. "I live alone, and have no family or friends. No one pays any attention to me." She suddenly blushed, then turned toward her desk, blinking rapidly. She was embarrassed to realize she had suddenly opened up to them, the same way they had opened up to her. How long had it been since she'd said that to anyone?
"Maybe I'll come back tomorrow," said Heather, turning to go.
"Please don't," said Miss Fairbanks, turning quickly and looking intently at Heather. "I was hoping you could give me some ideas about how to make my room look more attractive. Brent is still thinking it over, but I'm sure he'll have some ideas for me soon. I'll bet one of them would be to put up pictures of cats." She glanced back over at Brent who was eyeing her curiously.
Heather looked around at the stark walls, wrinkling her nose. It was clear she didn't think much could be done to improve this awful place. At her blank look, Miss Fairbanks walked over to the window. "How about some pink, frilly curtains along all these windows?" she asked.
Both Brent and Heather laughed in spite of themselves. "That would be crazy!" said Heather.
"Kind of like putting curtains up in a prison," added Brent.
Miss Fairbanks turned to look at them. "Then how about putting up pictures of unicorns all over? Would that look good?"
Heather scrunched up her nose, looking around again at the ugly room. "I don't think so," she said slowly, trying in vain to image pictures of happy unicorns on the ugly walls. "It just wouldn't quite fit."
"You need pictures of people hitting each other, or shooting each other," said Brent. "That would fit."
Miss Fairbanks smiled. "I suppose that would fit in a way," she said slowly. "But you're both looking at this room the way it is and the way you've always seen it. I'm trying to look at it the way it can become ..."
There was silence for a moment as the three of them looked around at the disgusting, cracked walls. And for the first time, Brent and Heather started imagining the room in a different way than they had ever thought of it before. In a way that wasn't pitifully ugly and wretched and hopeless, but instead could perhaps be interesting and lively and creative.
It was a beginning, however small. And though they didn't realize it, it was a beginning for them in other ways as well ...
Miss Lydia Fairbanks and the Losers Club Page 5