CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The next day at school Miss Fairbanks was extremely grateful there was no squawking voice from the intercom telling her of another call from the penitentiary. As usual, her trouble-making students sat on the edge of their seats after the bell rang, wondering dimly what new weirdness she would throw at them today. With a twinge, Miss Fairbanks noticed that scar face's usual desk at the back was empty. It was profoundly sad to her (but not to anyone else) that he would never occupy it again.
"Class," began Miss Fairbanks, gazing out over her students, who maintained their mumbling and muttering to a low pitch so she could be heard, "I reviewed your evil box papers last night, which were very good. You described your boxes as being full of everything from kitty litter to grapefruit rinds, and then described how the box works in some very unusual ways. For example, one of you described how the box only works when triggered by fumes from the lunch ladies, and in addition to making people laugh nonstop will turn everyone's ears into those of a rabbit. Another of you said the box only works if you smash it with a baseball bat, at which time it both makes people laugh and also elongates everyone's tongue by ten inches, greatly increasing their bad breath."
Everyone looked around with goofy grins on their faces, wondering which idiot had written that. Miss Fairbanks smiled. Their bizarre descriptions about the boxes were another evidence of their amazing creative talents. It was such a pity most of them seemed to use this creativity primarily for destructive purposes.
"I can see from your papers that most of you are actually very good writers." There was a collective groan from this, not only because none of them believed it, but because they thought their "goodness" at writing was about to result in another lousy writing assignment being given to them. On both counts, they were wrong. "There is something about good writers that you will find almost anywhere you go in the world ..." Miss Fairbanks let them all wonder for a minute what she was talking about, to build up their suspense.
But naturally the temptation was too great for someone to spout off and fill the void. The kid with the purple-colored hair piped up, "Is it how bad they smell, because they don't use deodorant?" Several kids in the room starting holding their noses in agreement.
"No, it is simply this," replied Miss Fairbanks, ignoring him. "You will always find that good writers are good readers as well."
Everyone stared at her dumbly. Finally, Armpit Arnold voiced the question that had popped into all of their minds. "Are you nuts?" Miss Fairbanks was grateful that he left off the word "ugly" that he usually used on all grown-ups he talked to, including Principal Clyde. This was obviously a sign of his growing respect for Miss Fairbanks.
"No, I am quite serious," she replied, starting to pace slowly back and forth in front of the classroom for no apparent reason. "Good writers always seem to have their heads in a book, and love suggestions from their friends of something good to read. Haven't you noticed that?"
There were a series of dumb looks as everyone in the room eyed his neighbors suspiciously. In this school, any kid caught reading for pleasure was instantly branded a nerd and treated accordingly. Therefore, it was quite obvious none of them had 'noticed that,' since the few kids who DID like to read did it secretly so it would never be known.
"I have in my bag a very good book," said Miss Fairbanks. "As we read it, you will see precisely what I mean." She turned and reached into her book bag.
"You expect us to sit here and read all period?" gaped Armpit Arnold at her. "And to pass around the same book? Are you loony, or something?"
Miss Fairbanks laughed her tiny, tinkling laugh that only the first row could hear. "No, of course not," she replied. "And you aren't the ones who will be reading. I am going to read to you."
Eyes across the classroom opened so wide, it looked like some eyeballs might fall out and go rolling across the floor. "You can't be serious!" said several voices at once.
"No one's read a book to us since the second grade!" said Slapface in amazement.
"Really?" said Miss Fairbanks, pretending to be surprised. "What a pity. They've missed out then."
"So ugly, you really expect us to sit here like bozos and listen while you read to us like little babies?" asked Armpit Arnold, his voice rising shrilly. He was back to calling her 'ugly' again, his new respect for her apparently vanished.
"Would you rather I give you a writing assignment?" asked Miss Fairbanks. Instantly a number of books, shoes and pencils were thrown at Arnold.
"Shut up, will ya?" said a rough kid with a crooked nose that looked like it had been broken in more than one fist fight. "If teach wants to read to us, why would that be a problem?" There were general nods of agreement from around the room.
Miss Fairbanks smiled. She had correctly guessed that there would be little real opposition to her idea. "Of course you realize," she said as she pulled a book from her bag, its cover wrapped in brown paper so they couldn't see what it was, "that if there is noise or if people start acting up, we'll have to do a writing project instead."
There was instant silence so deep you could have heard a pin drop. Miss Fairbanks grinned at them, then opened the book and began to read. "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit," she began.
"The hobbit!" cried Armpit Arnold, unable to restrain himself. "They made some good movies out of it, but the book stinks!"
"How do you know?" asked Miss Fairbanks in surprise.
"Because all books stink," he said simply. Many heads nodded in agreement. Miss Fairbanks shook her head sadly. "I'm disappointed. Certainly you know that's not true. My goodness, this book is far better than those silly movies they made out of it. There's simply no comparison!"
"That's impossible!" said Arnold flatly. "No book could be better than a movie."
"Those who still believe that nonsense by the time I finish this book will be required to write a ten page paper explaining why," said Miss Fairbanks with a frown. Once more there were books, shoes and pens thrown at Arnold, and many of the students were already saying, "There's lots of books better than the movie! Who doesn't know that?" Of course, none of them actually believed it.
Miss Fairbanks turned back to her book, starting once again. "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat; it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort. It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green ..."
And so it went. Fortunately for the class, and even though they didn't realize it, Miss Fairbanks was a gifted "reader" who knew just how to inflect her voice, just where to pause, just how to say certain words, so that those listening would be drawn in to the story in spite of themselves. She was not one of those droning readers who makes everyone fall asleep by reading every word in the same monotone.
Indeed, by the time the bell rang towards the end of the second chapter some kids were sitting on the edge of their seats, completely enthralled. The idea that a book could be so fascinating was completely beyond comprehension to them, yet it had somehow happened. Indeed, many of them complained they were sorry class was over, since they would rather stay and hear what happened next. If Principal Clyde had been there to hear it he would have keeled over in a faint.
By the end of the day, Miss Fairbanks was rather hoarse from having read so much. But it had been worth it. Exactly as she had predicted, not one of her classes had been bored or acted up while she was reading. Indeed their reaction was the opposite. It had been thrilling for her to see the looks of amazement on so many of their faces that a book--a BOOK of all things--could actually be this exciting.
Of course, it helped a great deal that Miss Fairbanks had chosen an especially good book. Indeed, it was one of her favorites, and even reading the same opening chapters six times in a row had not made her tire of the story. She had always loved this tale since she first discovered it. And being an avid reader, she knew there were many, many other e
qually wonderful books out there. Her hope of course was to inspire an interest in reading in her students (which they naturally would have to do in secret from each other, to avoid embarrassment). She was wise enough to know that proper grammar, spelling and writing skills are learned not just from writing, but from extensive reading as well. In short, reading The Hobbit was a perfect writing exercise.
Heather was once again the first one to her room after school. "The Hobbit was wonderful!" she said, her eyes shining. "You're going to keep reading it to us tomorrow, aren't you?"
"Of course," replied Miss Fairbanks with a smile. "If my voice holds out."
"That's a relief," said Heather. "A lot of the kids thought you were planning to trick them into reading, by stopping just when you got them interested. Then they'd have to go out and get the book themselves and read it to know how it ended."
"That's not a bad idea," said Miss Fairbanks with a grin. "I thought of that, but decided it would be cruel since there aren't enough copies of The Hobbit in the library to go around, and not everyone can afford to buy one. And of course, I suspect that some students in this school will NEVER read on their own, no matter what. The fact that they all know the ending because of the movies was also a factor." Heather nodded her head in agreement.
Just then, Jerry and Melvin came in the door. "You'll be happy to know I was able to visit Brent yesterday, and he's doing well," Miss Fairbanks announced to them all.
"Wow!" said Melvin in admiration. "Did you bribe them to let you in?"
"Of course not," said Miss Fairbanks with a frown. "I just insisted on seeing him, that's all."
Melvin was clearly impressed. "Boy, if I ever get thrown in there I'll make sure you know about it," he said excitedly.
"Now why on earth would you get thrown in there?" exclaimed Miss Fairbanks. "You're not planning on bringing a gun to school, are you?"
"Naw," said Melvin casually. "But there are other ways. My cousin got in by blowing up a school toilet!"
"You make it sound like it's an honor to go to youth detention!" said Miss Fairbanks, raising an eyebrow.
"In this school, it is," replied Melvin. At that moment Ella came in the door, smiling shyly at Miss Fairbanks as always. "I made some more comic pictures for the room," she said happily.
"Wonderful!" said Miss Fairbanks.
"Are you kidding?" said Melvin. "You saw how some of the kids in class were making fun of the pictures today."
"They were just jealous," said Miss Fairbanks. "People always make fun of good things others do when they think they can't do them. Let's see what you have, Ella."
The girl pulled out a stunning picture of Charlie Brown, and another of Garfield's human friend Jon. Both were exceptionally well drawn.
"Those should fit pretty good in here," said Melvin, looking at them critically. "They're both pictures of losers."
"The people in this room are NOT losers!" said Miss Fairbanks hotly, turning on Melvin with her hands on her hips.
"But he's right," said Ella to her surprise. "I decided to do some characters that fit this room."
Miss Fairbanks stared at her, not knowing quite what to say.
"Well, you know how Charlie Brown is," continued Ella. "He never gives up, no matter how many times he loses. And neither does Jon, no matter how many stupid things he does."
Miss Fairbanks smiled. "I guess you have a point there," she said softly.
"Miss Fairbanks," said Heather from behind her. Turning, she was surprised to see her holding out a piece of paper to her. "It's one of my poems," she said, almost in embarrassment. "The first one I've kept rather than throwing it away. I thought you might like to read it. After that, you can throw it away."
"I would never do that, Heather!" said Miss Fairbanks, taking the paper. "Did you keep a copy for herself?" Heather shook her head. "Why not?" queried Miss Fairbanks.
"Because it's garbage," she said firmly.
"It is NOT garbage!" cried Miss Fairbanks.
"How do you know?" asked Heather. "You haven't even read it yet."
Melvin had come over to look at the paper curiously, making Heather's face turn white. "It's not for you!" she said rudely. "Only Miss Fairbanks can read it!"
Miss Fairbanks was about to protest, but at the determined look on Heather's face, she remained silent. She understood. This was Heather's very first time of sharing something she had written, and she was therefore naturally very sensitive about it. It would nearly destroy her to have something so special passed around casually. It was a great honor that Heather had chosen her as the first one to see it.
She held the paper out of Melvin's sight. "I think it's best for us to respect Heather's wishes, and I'm sure she did not mean to be rude. So only I will read it for now," she said to Melvin. He just shrugged and went back to his desk. Heather smiled up at Miss Fairbanks gratefully.
Miss Fairbanks then looked down at the paper and read the following poem:
"Welcome, friend,"
I say with a sad smile,
as the door swings open on gravel hinges.
"You've come to stay awhile?"
I ask in apprehensive hope,
my eyes pleading for her to turn back.
She only grunts in reply
and takes her accustomed sprawled place on my couch,
tossing her oily coat over my coffee table.
We sit silently,
with a comfortable familiarity,
luxuriously drinking in each other's distaste.
"Would you care for something to eat or drink?"
I ask at length
(ever the gracious host).
"My feelings perhaps?
with a side-dish
of frustrations and burnt out hopes?
Or possibly you would prefer
a simple, painful drink of sweet sorrow
that you always find so refreshing."
She looked at me with mirth-filled, blood-shot eyes,
reeking with broken feelings
and only grunted in reply.
It was always like this
when my silent friend came (as she often did)
to gleefully share with me a part of her gloomy day.
Her name changed only slightly on each visit
call her hurt, frustration, disappointment, or loneliness,
lost love, discouragement, despair, or pain.
She answers to all such names,
with the same eager readiness to devour my tender feelings
like a boy gorges on a custard pie.
Yet for all that I hate her, she remains as always
my close companion, my erstwhile comforter,
my constant visitor, and most familiar friend.
"My goodness Heather!" said Miss Fairbanks, putting her hand over her heart. "This is fantastic! The theme is a bit dark and depressing, but the writing is incredible! I never knew you could write poetry like this!"
"Is it really good?" asked Melvin, standing up and coming over again to see it. Heather's face went white once more. "No, please!" she pleaded. "Please don't let anyone else read it!" She started biting her lip in a painful way.
"But it's so good!" said Miss Fairbanks gently. "When you share something this good, everyone benefits."
"Please don't!" pleaded Heather again. "I just couldn't stand it if you did!" She looked with round, begging eyes at Miss Fairbanks.
Miss Fairbanks smiled softly. "Of course Heather. We'll keep it just between you and me for now. But someday you're going to have to share your poems with others! It's wrong to keep such a talent hidden."
"Maybe someday," she said with a huge smile of relief. "But not today." Then she looked at Melvin in embarrassment. "I don't mean to be rude, you know. I just couldn't ..."
"Hey, no big deal," said Melvin with a shrug. "I used to draw pictures, but I was too embarrassed to let anyone see them. So I understand."
"You draw pictures?" said Miss Fairbanks, making Melvin scowl that
he had admitted this awful truth. "Well for Pete's sake, start drawing! We've still got lots of wall space to fill!"
Melvin was about to reply when he looked past Miss Fairbanks at the door. His mouth instantly snapped closed, and his face turned white. Turning, Miss Fairbanks was surprised to see Armpit Arnold there along with the boy from first period with the crooked nose, whose name was Jared Applebee.
"So, this is the loser's club, eh?" said Arnold, looking around in glee. Miss Fairbanks frowned. "The people here are NOT losers!" she said firmly.
"Ok, if you say so," said Arnold spreading his hands wide in defense. Then he sauntered over and took a seat. Jared did as well. They sat smirking around at the other occupants.
Miss Fairbanks felt a sudden sense of panic. This was unexpected. She knew her friends would stop coming if the club turned into the same horror they experienced from bullies in all their classes. And Armpit Arnold was at the head of their most-hated list. Drastic action was needed.
Miss Fairbanks walked over to frown down at Arnold. Although she secretly liked him, she wanted to protect the others. And she knew since he was always so blunt with her, he would probably not be offended if she was blunt with him.
"Why are you here?" she asked in a tight voice.
"Hey, I just wanted to come and soak up the atmosphere," said Arnold with a smile, leaning back with his head in his hands. Miss Fairbanks looked over at Jared who just shrugged. "We figured if scar face could come here, we could too," he said more truthfully. Miss Fairbanks let out a slow breath. Deep down she knew he was right. Her class was open to everyone no matter who they were.
But that didn't mean their presence didn't come with a price.
"Ok then," said Miss Fairbanks suddenly. "There's no problem with your being here." She could sense the instant dismay from Heather, Jerry, Ella and Melvin on the other side of the room. "However, everyone in this 'club' must abide by the rules. If they don't, they get tossed out. Understand?"
"Rules?" said Arnold, screwing up his face in an unnatural expression of thoughtfulness. "What rules."
"Yeah," echoed Melvin suddenly, "what rules?"
"You know," said Miss Fairbanks as she turned to look at the blank faces of the others in the class, who hadn't known until that moment that there were any rules at all. "The RULES! The BIG, unchangeable rules. And the first one is that no one here can speak negatively about anyone else while they are here. If they say even one unkind comment here--out they go!"
Heather suddenly smiled at this wonderful rule, as did Jerry and Ella. Arnold and Jared gulped. "You can't be serious?" said Arnold in disbelief.
"Sorry, that's the rule," said Miss Fairbanks firmly. "And I will enforce it strictly."
Arnold looked around the room at the other kids, then back at Miss Fairbanks. "How?" he asked suddenly.
"How what?" replied Miss Fairbanks.
"How will you enforce it?" This was an obvious challenge to her authority, and a reference to her small size.
Miss Fairbanks smiled pleasantly. "I'll just tell my friend Mr. Brek the name of the offender, and--"
Arnold was out of his chair like a rocket. "Hey, there's no need to do that!" he said with a worried smile. He headed toward the door.
"Where are you going?" asked Miss Fairbanks. Arnold turned to look at her, completely mystified. "You haven't said anything negative yet that I can recall."
"I haven't?" said Arnold, scratching his head, trying hard to remember just what he'd said since he entered the classroom. He was so used to saying unkind things that he couldn't remember whether he had or he hadn't. Once more, the effort at concentration created an unnatural scowl on his face.
"Are there more rules?" asked Melvin curiously. As the unofficial know-it-all, this question came quite naturally.
"Yes," said Miss Fairbanks firmly. "Rule number two is that our time here is a shared secret. Nothing that anyone says while we are here can be repeated outside this room later. If I ever hear that this has occurred, you will not be allowed back in."
Once more Arnold gulped, while the smiles on Jerry and Heather's faces grew broader. It was obvious they loved these rules.
"And rule number three," said Miss Fairbanks, flinging her arms wide in another one of her needless gestures, "is that everyone in this room genuinely cares about each other. We would never do anything, anywhere, to tear each other down, or to hurt one another."
Arnold whistled. "That does it," he said firmly. "I'm out of here!"
"Why?" asked Miss Fairbanks.
Arnold gaped at her. "You know me! I spout off all the time. There's no way I could keep those rules!"
"That's true," agreed Melvin, while the others nodded their heads in agreement.
"But it doesn't have to be that way," said Miss Fairbanks, looking intensely into Arnold's eyes. "You may find these rules more pleasant and easier to keep than you thought. Why don't you give it a try?"
She could see he was struggling inside himself. But once again, the natural side of him won out, and he turned to leave. "Maybe someday," he called over his shoulder as he sauntered out of the room. Then from the hallway he called out, "Hasta la vista, LOSERS! And I didn't break the rule because I'm not in the room!" Then he smirked at them and trudged off down the hall.
Miss Fairbanks shook her head, but there was a smile on her face. "Such a creative mind. I hope he comes back someday."
"I don't," said Melvin bluntly. Miss Fairbanks frowned at him. "Nothing negative. Rule number one, remember?"
"Right," said Melvin, gulping. Then he smiled weakly. "But he wasn't in here, so I didn't break the rule."
Miss Fairbanks turned to look at Jared. Unlike Arnold, he made no effort to leave. She well knew that he was known as a class bully. But of course, she couldn't kick him out if he kept the rules.
She decided that a test of his sincerity was in order. "We've been drawing comic strip characters to put up on the walls. Which one would you like to draw?" She fully expected him to grimace in disgust and spout off something negative or critical, which would promptly get him ejected. But to her surprise, he reached in his book bag and pulled out a spiral notebook. He flipped it open and held it out to her. "Which ones would you like?"
In spite of their fear of him, everyone in the room came over to see what was in the notebook. They found themselves looking down at Marvel comic characters like Green Arrow, Batman and Superman that were truly amazing.
"Awesome!" said Melvin in admiration.
"Wow!" said Ella, looking up at Jared in surprise.
"Did you really draw those?" blurted Jerry. Then he put his hand to his mouth in fear at having challenged the integrity of a school bully.
Jared merely shrugged. "Yeah. I like to draw them. Takes me awhile though. I'm not fast like some artists. One of these takes me two whole days."
There was an awkward silence in the room for a minute. Then suddenly, Miss Fairbanks held out her hand toward Jared. "Welcome to the losers club," she said simply. Jared blinked at her and just stared for a minute. Then he grinned and shook her hand.
Miss Fairbanks found herself sincerely hoping he would keep the rules. But as she looked in his eyes, she decided that just maybe he would ...
Miss Lydia Fairbanks and the Losers Club Page 14