“Knock, knock,” Mrs. Peters stuck her head around Scott’s door frame. “You all ready for Christmas break?” she asked.
“Am I ever,” Scott said, reaching out to turn off his monitor as the computer shut down. “I’m ready for a lot less drama and intrigue, that’s for sure.”
Mrs. Peters laughed. “Me too,” she said. “Well, I just stopped by to say enjoy your break and to give you this.” She held out a small object, which Scott took, then promptly burst out laughing. It was a Christmas ornament: a miniature Snoopy dressed up as Sherlock Holmes.
THE END.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
...
Mrs. Peters dreaded her final task Thursday afternoon, but was determined to see it through as soon as possible. She tapped on Teresa Williams’ office door.
“Come in.”
“Hi Teresa,” Mrs. Peters said. “Do you have a minute.”
Teresa invited Mrs. Peters in, but guardedly. The look on Mrs. Peters face was not heartening. And after a few minutes, Teresa wished she’d just locked the door in Mrs. Peters face. As Mrs. Peters talked Teresa muscles stiffened and her knuckles turning white as she unconsciously gripped the arms of her chair.
“Teresa, you must know that this kind of attitude and behavior is not healthy for you or for the girls that you coach. I came to you today because I want to give you the chance to step down and leave the school quietly. No one has to know why, and no one will press charges.”
“I’ll sue you for slander,” Teresa said, her voice full of fire.
“Teresa, I have proof. Written statements,” Mrs. Peters stood up. “I’ll give you until Monday. If you haven’t stepped down by then, I’m going to the board of directors on Tuesday night.”
“Come in.”
“Hi Teresa,” Mrs. Peters said. “Do you have a minute.”
Teresa invited Mrs. Peters in, but guardedly. The look on Mrs. Peters face was not heartening. And after a few minutes, Teresa wished she’d just locked the door in Mrs. Peters face. As Mrs. Peters talked Teresa muscles stiffened and her knuckles turning white as she unconsciously gripped the arms of her chair.
“Teresa, you must know that this kind of attitude and behavior is not healthy for you or for the girls that you coach. I came to you today because I want to give you the chance to step down and leave the school quietly. No one has to know why, and no one will press charges.”
“I’ll sue you for slander,” Teresa said, her voice full of fire.
“Teresa, I have proof. Written statements,” Mrs. Peters stood up. “I’ll give you until Monday. If you haven’t stepped down by then, I’m going to the board of directors on Tuesday night.”
...
Scott sat in Mrs. Peters office and relayed the information about the posthole digger, and Mrs. Peters told Scott about her conversation with Stephanie.
“I think I know what’s going on,” Scott said. “As crazy as it sounds, I think Teresa Williams is behind this, and I think Jill – at the very least – is helping her. It’s the only thing that makes sense, particularly in light of Teresa’s ‘you’re a shining star who’s really proved herself’ speech, and the fact that another cheerleader expressed fear. Clearly, the situation with the cheer squad is dysfunctional.”
Mrs. Peters nodded her head, her eyes sad. “I think you’re right. And I think it must have been Jill who was digging that whole. But what should we do?”
“I think we need to talk to Jenni. I think she’s on the edge of this, and knows enough to make all of our evidence come together. But she’s not all in the way Jill is. If we can get Jenni to confirm what we know, we’ll have an eye witness. We can go to the police.”
They were silent for a moment, both processing their disgust and disappointment at the whole situation. Then Mrs. Peters sat up, determination as well as resignation on her face. “I’ll talk to Jenni,” she said. “But then I want to try just confronting Teresa and Jill. As satisfying as justice would be I just don’t want to drag this out any longer than necessary. Those hurt girls are moving on; let’s just let it go. Honestly, I think not having a cheer coaching job will be punishment enough for Teresa.”
Scott wasn’t convinced, but respected Mrs. Peters enough to trust her judgement. “Just promise me if she doesn’t immediately resign, that you’ll let me call the police.”
“I promise.”
“I think I know what’s going on,” Scott said. “As crazy as it sounds, I think Teresa Williams is behind this, and I think Jill – at the very least – is helping her. It’s the only thing that makes sense, particularly in light of Teresa’s ‘you’re a shining star who’s really proved herself’ speech, and the fact that another cheerleader expressed fear. Clearly, the situation with the cheer squad is dysfunctional.”
Mrs. Peters nodded her head, her eyes sad. “I think you’re right. And I think it must have been Jill who was digging that whole. But what should we do?”
“I think we need to talk to Jenni. I think she’s on the edge of this, and knows enough to make all of our evidence come together. But she’s not all in the way Jill is. If we can get Jenni to confirm what we know, we’ll have an eye witness. We can go to the police.”
They were silent for a moment, both processing their disgust and disappointment at the whole situation. Then Mrs. Peters sat up, determination as well as resignation on her face. “I’ll talk to Jenni,” she said. “But then I want to try just confronting Teresa and Jill. As satisfying as justice would be I just don’t want to drag this out any longer than necessary. Those hurt girls are moving on; let’s just let it go. Honestly, I think not having a cheer coaching job will be punishment enough for Teresa.”
Scott wasn’t convinced, but respected Mrs. Peters enough to trust her judgement. “Just promise me if she doesn’t immediately resign, that you’ll let me call the police.”
“I promise.”
...
Scott leaned back in his desk chair, phone at his ear. “So you’re sure?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” said Bill Futch, owner of the lawn care company that Eastbrook contracted to take care of the grounds and athletic fields. “I came out this week to double check and you don’t have a gopher problem. But I do think you may have a vandal problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“When asked the crew that normally goes out to Eastbrook about any sign of gophers, one of the guys said that a couple of weeks ago he saw a girl out in the practice field digging a hole with a post-hole digger.”
“Come again?” Scott said, sitting upright in his chair.
“I know, I know. Seems crazy. And I got onto the guy for not telling me about it, but yeah, he said a pretty girl with blonde hair was out there at 5:30 a.m. digging with a post hole digger.”
“Thanks, Bill,” Scott said, his mind racing.
“Absolutely,” said Bill Futch, owner of the lawn care company that Eastbrook contracted to take care of the grounds and athletic fields. “I came out this week to double check and you don’t have a gopher problem. But I do think you may have a vandal problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“When asked the crew that normally goes out to Eastbrook about any sign of gophers, one of the guys said that a couple of weeks ago he saw a girl out in the practice field digging a hole with a post-hole digger.”
“Come again?” Scott said, sitting upright in his chair.
“I know, I know. Seems crazy. And I got onto the guy for not telling me about it, but yeah, he said a pretty girl with blonde hair was out there at 5:30 a.m. digging with a post hole digger.”
“Thanks, Bill,” Scott said, his mind racing.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
...
A few days later, Stephanie sat in Mrs. Peters office during her study period, chatting as she turned in her parental permission forms for an upcoming choir trip.
“I’m so excited they let me start choir in the middle of the semester,” Stephanie was saying. “I knew I’d get to sing next semester but I really wanted to get to go on this trip. The capital at Christmas! It’s going to be so fun.”
Mrs. Peters smiled as she filed the form and entered in a few things on the computer. “Well, I’m glad for you. I never knew you were that into choir,” she said. “I just always saw you cheering and assumed you were a sports girl.”
Stephanie laughed, although Mrs. Peters noticed a slight flinch at the word “cheering.” “Oh, Mrs. Peters, don’t stereotype,” she said. “I have lots of interests. They were just harder to be interested in during cheering.”
“That’s a shame.”
Stephanie shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal in jr. high, but Mrs. Williams is….different. It turned into more of a commitment.” Stephanie glanced around the room as she said this, her shoulders tensing, but Mrs. Peters took advantage of Stephanie’s candor to push the conversation a little further.
“You know, speaking of cheerleading,” she said, her voice gentle, “I never did ask you want went wrong at that football game, the one where you and Missy got hurt.”
“Oh.” Stephanie shifted in her chair, her hands clenching and unclenching around the strap of her messenger bag. “Well, one key to any dismount is for the person below you to not be holding on as you jump. Usually once you get balanced, the person on bottom just let’s go, or holds on only slightly until they feel you tense for the jump. But on that pyramid there’s more contact so that we’re more stable up high. When I jumped it felt like Jenni didn’t let go in time.”
“How unfortunate,” Mrs. Peters said. She thought about Jenni’s concern that another cheerleader might get hurt. Was it just her closeness to this first – no second – accident?
Stephanie shrugged, “yeah. She must have been distracted or spaced out or something. Whatever. It’s over now.”
Mrs. Peters smiled and nodded. The bell rang and Stephanie stood up to go to her next class. Mrs. Peters stood up to and gave the girl a brief hug before waving her out the door.
“I’m so excited they let me start choir in the middle of the semester,” Stephanie was saying. “I knew I’d get to sing next semester but I really wanted to get to go on this trip. The capital at Christmas! It’s going to be so fun.”
Mrs. Peters smiled as she filed the form and entered in a few things on the computer. “Well, I’m glad for you. I never knew you were that into choir,” she said. “I just always saw you cheering and assumed you were a sports girl.”
Stephanie laughed, although Mrs. Peters noticed a slight flinch at the word “cheering.” “Oh, Mrs. Peters, don’t stereotype,” she said. “I have lots of interests. They were just harder to be interested in during cheering.”
“That’s a shame.”
Stephanie shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal in jr. high, but Mrs. Williams is….different. It turned into more of a commitment.” Stephanie glanced around the room as she said this, her shoulders tensing, but Mrs. Peters took advantage of Stephanie’s candor to push the conversation a little further.
“You know, speaking of cheerleading,” she said, her voice gentle, “I never did ask you want went wrong at that football game, the one where you and Missy got hurt.”
“Oh.” Stephanie shifted in her chair, her hands clenching and unclenching around the strap of her messenger bag. “Well, one key to any dismount is for the person below you to not be holding on as you jump. Usually once you get balanced, the person on bottom just let’s go, or holds on only slightly until they feel you tense for the jump. But on that pyramid there’s more contact so that we’re more stable up high. When I jumped it felt like Jenni didn’t let go in time.”
“How unfortunate,” Mrs. Peters said. She thought about Jenni’s concern that another cheerleader might get hurt. Was it just her closeness to this first – no second – accident?
Stephanie shrugged, “yeah. She must have been distracted or spaced out or something. Whatever. It’s over now.”
Mrs. Peters smiled and nodded. The bell rang and Stephanie stood up to go to her next class. Mrs. Peters stood up to and gave the girl a brief hug before waving her out the door.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
...
Scott was busy fighting fires, essentially handling all of the requests and supposed emergencies that teachers came to them with. Emergencies like “Someone took my overhead projector!” or “I need my desk moved to the other corner of the room!” or “I need these books moved from my car into the classroom!” And his personal favorite “A toilet’s exploded in the third floor boys bathroom!” They were days that tried Scott’s patience. He had just finished cleaning up the mess from a broken water fountain in the arts building and went to check his box, wondering if today would be the day that his patience finally snapped. His spirits lifted momentarily when he saw only one work order in his box. He pulled the order out, read it, and headed to Mrs. Peters’ office.
“So, a gopher problem,” he said, walking in the open door to her office.
Mrs. Peters smiled at Scott in greeting, but he thought she seemed a little distracted. “That’s what it appears to be anyway. Ms. Williams came in this morning; apparently Jenni Carter badly sprained her ankle while running laps around the practice field during cheerleading practice before school.”
Scott’s eyebrows rose. “Another cheerleader getting hurt,” he said. “You have to admit, Mrs. Peters, this is getting a little ridiculous.”
“So many accidents,” she said, extending her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “What can you even do?”
Scott shut the office door, and sat down on the chair in front of Mrs. Peters’ desk, “Mrs. Peters, you know I’m not one to buy in to conspiracy theories, but this is getting ridiculous. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet! Even the football team hasn’t had this many injuries.”
“What else could it be, but unfortunate accidents?” Mrs. Peters asked.
“Look, I’m just going to say it out loud,” Scott said. “But it really seems to me like some of these accidents – if not all of them – might be deliberate.”
Mrs. Peters shook her head, “I really think you’re jumping to conclusions, Scott. Why would anyone want to do something like that? And who would it be? One of the other cheerleaders? A rival school? It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know,” Scott said. “But neither do a broken foot, a severely sprained ankle, cracked ribs, bruised backs, strained knees…I’ve been around sports my whole life, and I’ve never seen any kind of team suffer these kinds of injuries.”
They sat in silence for a moment, digesting Scott’s words and their implication.
“Maybe you’re right,” Mrs. Peters admitted. “But first we need proof that they aren’t accidents.”
Scott nodded. “Let me look into this gopher thing. And let’s both keep our eyes and ears open. If you get a chance to talk to any of the girls…I don’t know….maybe you can get them to open up a little.”
Scott stood up to leave and Mrs. Peters shook her head sadly, “Scott, I just hope you’re wrong.”
“So, a gopher problem,” he said, walking in the open door to her office.
Mrs. Peters smiled at Scott in greeting, but he thought she seemed a little distracted. “That’s what it appears to be anyway. Ms. Williams came in this morning; apparently Jenni Carter badly sprained her ankle while running laps around the practice field during cheerleading practice before school.”
Scott’s eyebrows rose. “Another cheerleader getting hurt,” he said. “You have to admit, Mrs. Peters, this is getting a little ridiculous.”
“So many accidents,” she said, extending her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “What can you even do?”
Scott shut the office door, and sat down on the chair in front of Mrs. Peters’ desk, “Mrs. Peters, you know I’m not one to buy in to conspiracy theories, but this is getting ridiculous. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet! Even the football team hasn’t had this many injuries.”
“What else could it be, but unfortunate accidents?” Mrs. Peters asked.
“Look, I’m just going to say it out loud,” Scott said. “But it really seems to me like some of these accidents – if not all of them – might be deliberate.”
Mrs. Peters shook her head, “I really think you’re jumping to conclusions, Scott. Why would anyone want to do something like that? And who would it be? One of the other cheerleaders? A rival school? It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know,” Scott said. “But neither do a broken foot, a severely sprained ankle, cracked ribs, bruised backs, strained knees…I’ve been around sports my whole life, and I’ve never seen any kind of team suffer these kinds of injuries.”
They sat in silence for a moment, digesting Scott’s words and their implication.
“Maybe you’re right,” Mrs. Peters admitted. “But first we need proof that they aren’t accidents.”
Scott nodded. “Let me look into this gopher thing. And let’s both keep our eyes and ears open. If you get a chance to talk to any of the girls…I don’t know….maybe you can get them to open up a little.”
Scott stood up to leave and Mrs. Peters shook her head sadly, “Scott, I just hope you’re wrong.”
Friday, October 01, 2010
...
“Jill, please don’t yell at me, but I’m a little scared about the game this weekend.” Jenni Wright’s voice was so low and her eyes kept darting around.
“Jenni what’s the matter?” Jill closed her locker and began walking down the hall toward the courtyard. “Is it because it’s a playoff game? You know the guys are doing really well and that they’ve beat this team before. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”
“No. I mean, yes, of course I’m concerned about the team; we all want them to get to state so bad. No…I’m nervous about the pyramids.”
“Jenni listen to me carefully,” Jill’s voice low, but intense. “No one is going to get hurt. No one. I promise.”
“But how can…”
“No one.”
Jenni stared at Jill. Her eyes widened slightly, but she quickly assumed her mask, sealing away any thoughts or doubts or emotions.
“I guess that’s all I needed to hear,” she said.“See you tomorrow.”
Jill watched Jenni walk out the door, noting that Jenni’s jeans had gotten a little tight over the past few months; maybe it was time to have another nutrition session at one of their practices. Jill gave herself a shake. No matter. She had more important things to think about than Jenni’s weight. She pushed open the door, but instead of heading out to the student parking she turned toward the gym and Ms. Williams office.
“We may have a small problem,” she said, sitting down in one of the plush chairs in Ms. Williams’ office, oblivious to the figure in the corner. Even Ms. Williams had forgotten that Scott was rewiring the outlet.
“Oh?” Ms. Williams’ perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose. “I thought we were done with problems.”
“Well, the big ones yes, but one of the girls talked to me today and she’s pretty concerned that someone else is going to get hurt. I reassured her and I think she understood, but maybe we should take it easy for a while. Also,” she hesitated for a brief moment. “I think Jenni’s put on a little weight.”
Jill watched Ms. Williams closely, knowing that by making a suggestion she was taking a risk, especially a suggestion that amounted to “back off,.” But Ms. Williams surprised her by smiling.
“It’s so wonderful to see you taking ownership of this team,” she said, leaning forward in her leather chair. “Because you are out there with these girls every day I’m going to respect your judgment.”
“Really?”
Ms. Williams laughed, a light, golden sound. “Don’t sound so surprised Jill. You’re ready. You’ve proven that. Jill, you are an amazing girl, bright and intelligent and personable – a real star. I know I’ve told you this a hundred times but you have the potential to go anywhere you want to go. And cheerleading will help you get there. You’re a senior now, and it’s time I trusted you as much as everyone else around here.”
Jill sat up straighter. “I won’t let you down Ms. Williams. You know this squad means everything to me.”
“I know, and I understand like no one else around here does,” she said with another smile. “See you at practice tomorrow.”
“Jenni what’s the matter?” Jill closed her locker and began walking down the hall toward the courtyard. “Is it because it’s a playoff game? You know the guys are doing really well and that they’ve beat this team before. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”
“No. I mean, yes, of course I’m concerned about the team; we all want them to get to state so bad. No…I’m nervous about the pyramids.”
“Jenni listen to me carefully,” Jill’s voice low, but intense. “No one is going to get hurt. No one. I promise.”
“But how can…”
“No one.”
Jenni stared at Jill. Her eyes widened slightly, but she quickly assumed her mask, sealing away any thoughts or doubts or emotions.
“I guess that’s all I needed to hear,” she said.“See you tomorrow.”
Jill watched Jenni walk out the door, noting that Jenni’s jeans had gotten a little tight over the past few months; maybe it was time to have another nutrition session at one of their practices. Jill gave herself a shake. No matter. She had more important things to think about than Jenni’s weight. She pushed open the door, but instead of heading out to the student parking she turned toward the gym and Ms. Williams office.
“We may have a small problem,” she said, sitting down in one of the plush chairs in Ms. Williams’ office, oblivious to the figure in the corner. Even Ms. Williams had forgotten that Scott was rewiring the outlet.
“Oh?” Ms. Williams’ perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose. “I thought we were done with problems.”
“Well, the big ones yes, but one of the girls talked to me today and she’s pretty concerned that someone else is going to get hurt. I reassured her and I think she understood, but maybe we should take it easy for a while. Also,” she hesitated for a brief moment. “I think Jenni’s put on a little weight.”
Jill watched Ms. Williams closely, knowing that by making a suggestion she was taking a risk, especially a suggestion that amounted to “back off,.” But Ms. Williams surprised her by smiling.
“It’s so wonderful to see you taking ownership of this team,” she said, leaning forward in her leather chair. “Because you are out there with these girls every day I’m going to respect your judgment.”
“Really?”
Ms. Williams laughed, a light, golden sound. “Don’t sound so surprised Jill. You’re ready. You’ve proven that. Jill, you are an amazing girl, bright and intelligent and personable – a real star. I know I’ve told you this a hundred times but you have the potential to go anywhere you want to go. And cheerleading will help you get there. You’re a senior now, and it’s time I trusted you as much as everyone else around here.”
Jill sat up straighter. “I won’t let you down Ms. Williams. You know this squad means everything to me.”
“I know, and I understand like no one else around here does,” she said with another smile. “See you at practice tomorrow.”
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
...
Mrs. Peters had only gotten about a quarter of the way through her to-do stack, when she was interrupted again, this time by Teresa Williams.
“Teresa, hello.”
“Hi Mrs. Peters,” she said with a smile. Mrs. Peters always felt strange when Teresa Williams smiled; it was almost like what she imagined someone would look like if they were possessed. Not that Teresa wasn’t beautiful – her shiny blonde hair, big green eyes, and flawless skin were to be envied, not to mention her perfectly straight and white teeth. No, it was more that the smile only seemed to appear when Teresa was trying to get her way or convince someone to do something for her.
“Can I help you with something?” Mrs. Peters always felt it was best to just get right to the point, although in the kindest way possible.
“Actually, I was hoping to get my varsity girls excused early on Friday next week. It’s an off week for us, but I thought we might do a service project together; Open Arms Ministries is kicking off a food drive that day and I thought it would be a great thing for the girls to help with.”
“I’ll have to check with Mr. Walcott, but that doesn’t sound like it will be a problem.”
“Oh, I already checked, and he said it was fine.”
Mrs. Peters had a tough time keeping her pleasant face on. She tried to like everyone, but Teresa Williams really tried her patience sometimes. “Well, that’s good, but I’m still going to have to confirm that. Protocol you know.”
Teresa’s smile was a bit tight. “Fine. I’ll go ahead and get the ball rolling then.”
She was halfway out the door when Mrs. Peters’ ornery side got the better of her.
“I saw Missy and Stephanie today,” she said. “You must be really upset to lose another two cheerleaders, what with Andrea getting injured just a month ago.”
Teresa’s back stiffened and her chin rose slightly. “Yes, of course. It was a shame, but you know, these things happen. We have a couple of really dedicated junior varsity cheerleaders that I think area ready to move up. We’ll manage just fine.”
“How are the rest of the girls taking it?” Mrs. Peters pushed.
“Oh, they’re fine. Naturally, they are concerned about their friends, but they recognize the risks involved in cheer stunts.”
“Do you think that Missy and Stephanie might join you again for competition season?”
Teresa’s hard smile almost cracked, but years of performing held true. “I think they’ve made their decisions, and I don’t believe they’re coming back. Cheerleading isn’t really a good fit for everyone.”
“Teresa, hello.”
“Hi Mrs. Peters,” she said with a smile. Mrs. Peters always felt strange when Teresa Williams smiled; it was almost like what she imagined someone would look like if they were possessed. Not that Teresa wasn’t beautiful – her shiny blonde hair, big green eyes, and flawless skin were to be envied, not to mention her perfectly straight and white teeth. No, it was more that the smile only seemed to appear when Teresa was trying to get her way or convince someone to do something for her.
“Can I help you with something?” Mrs. Peters always felt it was best to just get right to the point, although in the kindest way possible.
“Actually, I was hoping to get my varsity girls excused early on Friday next week. It’s an off week for us, but I thought we might do a service project together; Open Arms Ministries is kicking off a food drive that day and I thought it would be a great thing for the girls to help with.”
“I’ll have to check with Mr. Walcott, but that doesn’t sound like it will be a problem.”
“Oh, I already checked, and he said it was fine.”
Mrs. Peters had a tough time keeping her pleasant face on. She tried to like everyone, but Teresa Williams really tried her patience sometimes. “Well, that’s good, but I’m still going to have to confirm that. Protocol you know.”
Teresa’s smile was a bit tight. “Fine. I’ll go ahead and get the ball rolling then.”
She was halfway out the door when Mrs. Peters’ ornery side got the better of her.
“I saw Missy and Stephanie today,” she said. “You must be really upset to lose another two cheerleaders, what with Andrea getting injured just a month ago.”
Teresa’s back stiffened and her chin rose slightly. “Yes, of course. It was a shame, but you know, these things happen. We have a couple of really dedicated junior varsity cheerleaders that I think area ready to move up. We’ll manage just fine.”
“How are the rest of the girls taking it?” Mrs. Peters pushed.
“Oh, they’re fine. Naturally, they are concerned about their friends, but they recognize the risks involved in cheer stunts.”
“Do you think that Missy and Stephanie might join you again for competition season?”
Teresa’s hard smile almost cracked, but years of performing held true. “I think they’ve made their decisions, and I don’t believe they’re coming back. Cheerleading isn’t really a good fit for everyone.”
Sunday, September 19, 2010
...
The next few weeks rolled along with no other unusual events at Eastbrook – classes began to dig deeper, the drama program began rehearsals for their fall play, the sports teams practiced and played, and Missy and Stephanie came back to school eager to get back into a normal routine.
“It’s so good to have you back,” Mrs. Peters smiled at the tiny blonde sitting on her couch. “How’s your back”
“Doing a lot better,” Missy said. “I’m off the prescription pain killers; just ibuprofen now. But I’m glad that it’s fall because I have such a wicked bruise. I totally could not be seen in a bathing suit right now.”
“Will you be back on the team in time for basketball season?” It was an innocent question Mrs. Peters thought, so she was shocked to see Missy completely shut down.
“Actually,” she said. “I’m pretty sure that I’m not going to be cheering any more this year. I think it’ll be better if I just take a break for a while. It keeps me pretty busy you know, and I’m taking photography next semester. I’ll probably be glad to have the extra time to spend shooting and stuff.”
“Well that’s great, dear,” Mrs. Peters said, pretending not to notice. “My daughter-in-law loves photography and I’m sure you’ll find it quite fun. Well, here you go.”
Mrs. Peters handed her the official “excused from all tests this week” letter and sent her back to class. Missy smiled – this time with her eyes as well – and waved as she walked out the door, long blond hair swinging.
Very interesting, Mrs. Peters thought. I wonder what Stephanie’s going to say.
“The choir has a pretty heavy concert schedule next semester,” Stephanie said, as her shoulders slumped uncharacteristically and she avoided Mrs. Peters’ eyes. “It’ll be better if I don’t have any conflicts and I’m not in any hurry to test out how my ankle will hold up to a landing.”
Mrs. Peters smiled to try and relax the girl a little. “I look forward to hearing some of those concerts,” she said. “The choir is extremely good this year.”
“Thanks,” Stephanie smiled and her posture unfolded a little. “Umm…I should probably get to class. Thanks for the note.”
Mrs. Peters shook her head after Stephanie left. Maybe she was reading too much into things, but she’d never seen three girls within two months be excited to be hurt and unable to participate in cheerleading. When Jenni McCormick had sprained her wrist last year she sat in Mrs. Peters office and cried every day until Ms. Williams let her back on the squad. Of course, Jenni had sprained her wrist on a ski trip. Maybe the girls this year were a little traumatized after being injured on the job so to speak.
“It’s so good to have you back,” Mrs. Peters smiled at the tiny blonde sitting on her couch. “How’s your back”
“Doing a lot better,” Missy said. “I’m off the prescription pain killers; just ibuprofen now. But I’m glad that it’s fall because I have such a wicked bruise. I totally could not be seen in a bathing suit right now.”
“Will you be back on the team in time for basketball season?” It was an innocent question Mrs. Peters thought, so she was shocked to see Missy completely shut down.
“Actually,” she said. “I’m pretty sure that I’m not going to be cheering any more this year. I think it’ll be better if I just take a break for a while. It keeps me pretty busy you know, and I’m taking photography next semester. I’ll probably be glad to have the extra time to spend shooting and stuff.”
“Well that’s great, dear,” Mrs. Peters said, pretending not to notice. “My daughter-in-law loves photography and I’m sure you’ll find it quite fun. Well, here you go.”
Mrs. Peters handed her the official “excused from all tests this week” letter and sent her back to class. Missy smiled – this time with her eyes as well – and waved as she walked out the door, long blond hair swinging.
Very interesting, Mrs. Peters thought. I wonder what Stephanie’s going to say.
“The choir has a pretty heavy concert schedule next semester,” Stephanie said, as her shoulders slumped uncharacteristically and she avoided Mrs. Peters’ eyes. “It’ll be better if I don’t have any conflicts and I’m not in any hurry to test out how my ankle will hold up to a landing.”
Mrs. Peters smiled to try and relax the girl a little. “I look forward to hearing some of those concerts,” she said. “The choir is extremely good this year.”
“Thanks,” Stephanie smiled and her posture unfolded a little. “Umm…I should probably get to class. Thanks for the note.”
Mrs. Peters shook her head after Stephanie left. Maybe she was reading too much into things, but she’d never seen three girls within two months be excited to be hurt and unable to participate in cheerleading. When Jenni McCormick had sprained her wrist last year she sat in Mrs. Peters office and cried every day until Ms. Williams let her back on the squad. Of course, Jenni had sprained her wrist on a ski trip. Maybe the girls this year were a little traumatized after being injured on the job so to speak.
Monday, August 16, 2010
...
“You ready to start moving?”
Mrs. Peters glanced at her clock as Scott Cook walked in her office.
“Is it one o’clock already? Monday’s always do fly away from me.”
Scott settled back on her faded couch with a sigh “Well, if you aren’t quite ready,” he said, grinning, “I don’t mind waiting.”
Mrs. Peters laughed, “Don’t get too comfortable on that couch, Scott.”
“Did you make it to the game this weekend?” Scott asked as Mrs. Peters finished boxing up a few books.
“Sure did. Quite exciting wasn’t it?”
“I guess that’s one word for it.”
After a few moments, Mrs. Peters straightened. “Well, I think I’m ready.”
“I’ll get started with your computer then.”
Scott had been working for about 30 minutes when Mrs. Peters stopped him. “Here,” she said, handing him a 20 oz. Dr. Pepper. “You need a break before you start with the book cases.”
“I won’t say no to a Dr. Pepper break,” Scott said with a smile and a thank you as he took the drink.
“Can I ask you a question,” Scott said after a minute.
“Of course.”
“Do you sense anything weird at all about what happened Friday with the accident at the game, or is it just my imagination?”
Mrs. Peters glanced out of her door before she answered. “Honestly…yes. Especially after sitting through the game with Andrea. She had a very unique perspective on the cheer squad; and to being on the sidelines. She's just not upset about it at all. And even more surprising, neither are the other girls who got injured."
Scott raised his eyebrows. "I thought they loved cheerleading. All those girls seem pretty...committed," he said.
Mrs. Peters smiled, "Committed is certainly one way to put it. Andrea threw around a very interesting phrase too…cheer Nazi.”
Scott started laughing. “That’s hysterical. Cheer Nazi. So who was she talking about?”
“Jill and Ms. Williams.”
"That sure fits with a conversation I heard this morning." Scott briefly retold the confrontation between Ms. Williams and Coach Ryan. When he was done, Mrs. Peters shook her head.
"Something about this whole situation with the accident just seems off somehow, even more than the tragedy of two girls being injured during a football game. But I feel like I'm overreacting, and I just can't place my finger on what it is that's bothering me."
"How did Andrea break her foot, again?" Scott asked after a moment of silence.
Mrs. Peters cocked her head. "You know, I don't really know, Scott," she said.
Scott downed the last of his Dr. Pepper and stood up to finish his work. "I wonder if it was related to any cheering activity," he said. "Two injured cheerleaders is sad, but could be a coincidence. Three is practically an epidemic."
"I think I may try to have a chat with Andrea this week," Mrs. Peters said.
Mrs. Peters glanced at her clock as Scott Cook walked in her office.
“Is it one o’clock already? Monday’s always do fly away from me.”
Scott settled back on her faded couch with a sigh “Well, if you aren’t quite ready,” he said, grinning, “I don’t mind waiting.”
Mrs. Peters laughed, “Don’t get too comfortable on that couch, Scott.”
“Did you make it to the game this weekend?” Scott asked as Mrs. Peters finished boxing up a few books.
“Sure did. Quite exciting wasn’t it?”
“I guess that’s one word for it.”
After a few moments, Mrs. Peters straightened. “Well, I think I’m ready.”
“I’ll get started with your computer then.”
Scott had been working for about 30 minutes when Mrs. Peters stopped him. “Here,” she said, handing him a 20 oz. Dr. Pepper. “You need a break before you start with the book cases.”
“I won’t say no to a Dr. Pepper break,” Scott said with a smile and a thank you as he took the drink.
“Can I ask you a question,” Scott said after a minute.
“Of course.”
“Do you sense anything weird at all about what happened Friday with the accident at the game, or is it just my imagination?”
Mrs. Peters glanced out of her door before she answered. “Honestly…yes. Especially after sitting through the game with Andrea. She had a very unique perspective on the cheer squad; and to being on the sidelines. She's just not upset about it at all. And even more surprising, neither are the other girls who got injured."
Scott raised his eyebrows. "I thought they loved cheerleading. All those girls seem pretty...committed," he said.
Mrs. Peters smiled, "Committed is certainly one way to put it. Andrea threw around a very interesting phrase too…cheer Nazi.”
Scott started laughing. “That’s hysterical. Cheer Nazi. So who was she talking about?”
“Jill and Ms. Williams.”
"That sure fits with a conversation I heard this morning." Scott briefly retold the confrontation between Ms. Williams and Coach Ryan. When he was done, Mrs. Peters shook her head.
"Something about this whole situation with the accident just seems off somehow, even more than the tragedy of two girls being injured during a football game. But I feel like I'm overreacting, and I just can't place my finger on what it is that's bothering me."
"How did Andrea break her foot, again?" Scott asked after a moment of silence.
Mrs. Peters cocked her head. "You know, I don't really know, Scott," she said.
Scott downed the last of his Dr. Pepper and stood up to finish his work. "I wonder if it was related to any cheering activity," he said. "Two injured cheerleaders is sad, but could be a coincidence. Three is practically an epidemic."
"I think I may try to have a chat with Andrea this week," Mrs. Peters said.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
...
Mrs. Peters hung up her phone, sat back in her chair and rubbed her temple. It was only 8:30 in the morning, and already it was turning out to be a long day. She had just gotten off the phone with Missy’s parents and would finally be able to give some definitive answers to the steady stream of people coming into her office. Stephanie was able to limp away with a sprained ankle and wrist; but nothing broken. As the cushion to the fall, Missy didn’t fair quite as well; she had a sprained knee, a fractured femur and some bruised ribs. A painful result, but it could have been so much worse. Of course, it went without saying that both girls were on the bench as far as cheering, for the rest of football season for sure, and possibly the rest of the year.
The post puzzling thing about the whole incident – other than why Ms. Williams would allow them to perform such a dangerous stunt – was the girls’ attitudes about being on the sidelines indefinitely. When she’d talked to them that morning, both had seemed relieved. The cheerleaders were such a tight-knit, intense group. You hardly ever saw them apart from another girl on the squad, and on game days they always wore their uniform to school the entire day (Mrs. Peters expected some would wear their uniform every day if they could). Even girls who couldn’t cheer that day for some minor injury or illness showed up in uniform.
Mrs. Peters sighed. Well, there was no use trying to figure out the minds of teenage girls, that she knew.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Monday was a change the light bulbs day. Pretty much everyone at the school, from teachers to students were used to seeing Scott walk into a classroom or office carrying a box of light bulbs or tubes, and tended to just smile at him then forget he was there. He tended to overhear some very interesting conversations. On this Monday, there was plenty of buzz around school about the accident at the football game on Friday; plus a puzzling exchange between Ms. Williams and Coach Ryan, the athletic director.
“Look, I know we talked about this last spring, but last spring we didn’t know that the cross country team would get an invitation to the tournament in New York. It’s really a once-in-a-lifetime chance,” Ryan was saying.
“As is this clinic in Boulder,” Ms. Williams said, her voice icy.
“I understand that,” Ryan countered, “but the cheer squad got to go to Boulder last year – a very expensive trip, by the way – and the cross country team has never had this kind of opportunity. The clinic will be there next year.”
“Yes, but no one cares about cross country,” Ms. Williams replied. Scott glanced at the faceoff, and felt a slight shiver go up his spine at the look on Ms. Williams face. Yikes.
“The athletic department is not run like a popularity contest,” Ryan said, his voice becoming heated.
“Clearly,” Ms. Williams said. “Or you would not be standing in front of me.”
What did that even mean? Scott thought. Obviously, she was trying to take a shot at Ryan’s position as athletic director, but still, that woman had a screw loose.
“You are not changing my mind.”
The silence drew Scott’s gaze again, and again a shiver ran up his spine. “This isn’t over,” she finally said, her voice dripping with ice and venom. She left the room and Scott would have sworn the temperature rose five degrees.
The post puzzling thing about the whole incident – other than why Ms. Williams would allow them to perform such a dangerous stunt – was the girls’ attitudes about being on the sidelines indefinitely. When she’d talked to them that morning, both had seemed relieved. The cheerleaders were such a tight-knit, intense group. You hardly ever saw them apart from another girl on the squad, and on game days they always wore their uniform to school the entire day (Mrs. Peters expected some would wear their uniform every day if they could). Even girls who couldn’t cheer that day for some minor injury or illness showed up in uniform.
Mrs. Peters sighed. Well, there was no use trying to figure out the minds of teenage girls, that she knew.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Monday was a change the light bulbs day. Pretty much everyone at the school, from teachers to students were used to seeing Scott walk into a classroom or office carrying a box of light bulbs or tubes, and tended to just smile at him then forget he was there. He tended to overhear some very interesting conversations. On this Monday, there was plenty of buzz around school about the accident at the football game on Friday; plus a puzzling exchange between Ms. Williams and Coach Ryan, the athletic director.
“Look, I know we talked about this last spring, but last spring we didn’t know that the cross country team would get an invitation to the tournament in New York. It’s really a once-in-a-lifetime chance,” Ryan was saying.
“As is this clinic in Boulder,” Ms. Williams said, her voice icy.
“I understand that,” Ryan countered, “but the cheer squad got to go to Boulder last year – a very expensive trip, by the way – and the cross country team has never had this kind of opportunity. The clinic will be there next year.”
“Yes, but no one cares about cross country,” Ms. Williams replied. Scott glanced at the faceoff, and felt a slight shiver go up his spine at the look on Ms. Williams face. Yikes.
“The athletic department is not run like a popularity contest,” Ryan said, his voice becoming heated.
“Clearly,” Ms. Williams said. “Or you would not be standing in front of me.”
What did that even mean? Scott thought. Obviously, she was trying to take a shot at Ryan’s position as athletic director, but still, that woman had a screw loose.
“You are not changing my mind.”
The silence drew Scott’s gaze again, and again a shiver ran up his spine. “This isn’t over,” she finally said, her voice dripping with ice and venom. She left the room and Scott would have sworn the temperature rose five degrees.
Sunday, July 04, 2010
...
The late morning/early afternoon sun was streaming in the windows of Mrs. Peters’ office, gleaming off the mahogany finish of her desk and filing cabinet and turning the pale yellow walls into sunshine. Outside the nearly floor to ceiling windows, Mrs. Peters could see students crossing Eastbrook’s center courtyard, occasionally stopping to chat with a friend or two. Most associated with Eastbrook affectionaltely referred to this particular courtyard – one of three on the Eastbrook campus as ‘the pig yard’ because of a school legend wherein an agriculture class in the 1950s raised a litter of piglets in the corner of the courtyard. Whether or not this was true not many people knew, but these days no one could imagine anything like that happening in this courtyard. It was one of the first places that visitors saw on a tour of campus, and maintained an appropriately refined appearance – if you didn’t count the occasional boxes of laundry detergent being dumped into the pond by harmless pranksters. It was paved with sandstone and dotted with Japanese maples, dogwoods, and redwoods; a huge old oak tree stood in one corner, a coveted lunch spot or study spot for those with free periods. Several wooden and wrought iron benches were placed throughout the courtyard, and in the center stood the fountain. Mrs. Peters smiled at her view as she stretched and gently worked at a knot in her kneck. The view from her office – for which she’d campaigned several years before landing the coveted space – always made her smile at how perfectly academic it looked.
It had been a long morning, but typical of the first day of school. As the director of student services, Mrs. Peters spent a lot of time dealing with paperwork – forms of all kinds, from registration to waivers to permission slips from everything from extra curricular activities to field trips. She dealt with every special parent request, and oversaw all student-wide assemblies and actvities. There were days when it made her want to lay down and take a nap and days when she wanted to smack more than a few obstinate adults-behaving-like-toddlers. But most days she loved it.
She picked up the pile of late registration forms and set them in her to-go box before grabbing a stack of notes that needed to be delivered to various classrooms. By next week, Mrs. Peters would be sending a student worker off to do that task, but she liked doing it the first day of school.
“Hi Mrs. Peters,” a senior girl waved to her as she passed by the senior lockers.
“Hi, Karen,” she smiled and waved back. Mrs. Peters had known Karen since she was born; her parents were very active Eastbrook alumni. She’d been invited to Karen’s Bat Mitzvah, and her older sister Janey’s wedding. Mrs. Peters had made many of those kinds of connections through the years she’d worked at Eastbrook. In fact, it was part of what she loved most about the job.
Mrs. Peters made her rounds of the school, passing along messages and paperwork as she did, smiling at all the bright and shiny faces. Even the scowling ones seem bright and shiny today, she thought. Drama had yet to present itself – kids liked each other, staff liked each other – or at least had no opinion yet. She relished these serene days, no matter how long or not long it lasted.
“Hi Mrs. Peters.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Peters stopped short, realizing she’d almost run into Scott coming out of the cafeteria. She laughed. “Sorry about that. You’d think I’d have learned by now not to space out when I’m walking somewhere.”
“No worries,” Scott smiled. “How’s your day going?”
“Busy as always, but really well, thanks.” Mrs. Peters motioned to Scott’s box of food. “You headed to eat lunch?”
“Yep.”
“Come keep me company while you do,” she said. “I’m headed back to my office.”
“Sounds better than the closet, that’s for sure.”
“So tell me how Eve is doing,” Mrs. Peters asked as they walked down the hallway.
“Really well,” Scott said. “The new quarter started a few weeks ago, and she has an entirely new group of students. She’s loving that.” Eve taught piano at a music academy.
“Wonderful,” Mrs. Peters replied. “What is it she loves so much about the new students?” They’d arrived at her office. She unlocked the door and turned the light on; Scott explained as he took a seat on Mrs. Peters denim sofa.
“She says that it’s a chance to try some new directions. The students tend to get into one particular groove – same practice techniques, same styles, same ideas. The new students make it more fresh, I guess is one way she puts it.”
“Well, I’m happy she’s getting that chance again.”
“It’s actually unusual for her not to have at least one or two veteran students, Scott said around a bite of meatball; he grabbed his napkin to catch a stray drop of marinara sauce.
They chatted about school and the first day – comparing their individual impressions of the freshman class.
A persistent beeping interrupted their conversation.
“Sorry,” Scott said, glancing at his pager. “Mind if I use your phone?”
“Of course not.”
He threw away his trash on his way to Mrs. Peters’ desk, then picked up the phone that she’d pushed to the edge.
“Hi Judy, it’s Scott…..mmmhh….where……”
Mrs. Peters smiled to herself as she started to organize her afternoon to-do pile. It always amazed her how Scott could keep such an even keel at work, particularly when talking to people. She knew he got frustrated – he knew she was one of the only people he could be honestly frustrated around – but he rarely showed it. He had the best dead-pan face of anyone she’d ever known.
“I’ll take care of it,” he was finally saying. “Is there anything else you know of right now that needs done this afternoon? Sure. Bye.”
“Well, here’s another first,” Scott said with a grin as he hung up the phone.
“How so?”
“Never had to paint over vandalism on the first day.”
“Oh my,” Mrs. Peters said, shaking her head. “You’re kidding me I hope.”
“Sorry,” Scott replied. “A nice, first day of school message painted on the back of the scoreboard.”
“And?” Mrs. Peters raised an eyebrow.
“180 days and counting.”
It had been a long morning, but typical of the first day of school. As the director of student services, Mrs. Peters spent a lot of time dealing with paperwork – forms of all kinds, from registration to waivers to permission slips from everything from extra curricular activities to field trips. She dealt with every special parent request, and oversaw all student-wide assemblies and actvities. There were days when it made her want to lay down and take a nap and days when she wanted to smack more than a few obstinate adults-behaving-like-toddlers. But most days she loved it.
She picked up the pile of late registration forms and set them in her to-go box before grabbing a stack of notes that needed to be delivered to various classrooms. By next week, Mrs. Peters would be sending a student worker off to do that task, but she liked doing it the first day of school.
“Hi Mrs. Peters,” a senior girl waved to her as she passed by the senior lockers.
“Hi, Karen,” she smiled and waved back. Mrs. Peters had known Karen since she was born; her parents were very active Eastbrook alumni. She’d been invited to Karen’s Bat Mitzvah, and her older sister Janey’s wedding. Mrs. Peters had made many of those kinds of connections through the years she’d worked at Eastbrook. In fact, it was part of what she loved most about the job.
Mrs. Peters made her rounds of the school, passing along messages and paperwork as she did, smiling at all the bright and shiny faces. Even the scowling ones seem bright and shiny today, she thought. Drama had yet to present itself – kids liked each other, staff liked each other – or at least had no opinion yet. She relished these serene days, no matter how long or not long it lasted.
“Hi Mrs. Peters.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Peters stopped short, realizing she’d almost run into Scott coming out of the cafeteria. She laughed. “Sorry about that. You’d think I’d have learned by now not to space out when I’m walking somewhere.”
“No worries,” Scott smiled. “How’s your day going?”
“Busy as always, but really well, thanks.” Mrs. Peters motioned to Scott’s box of food. “You headed to eat lunch?”
“Yep.”
“Come keep me company while you do,” she said. “I’m headed back to my office.”
“Sounds better than the closet, that’s for sure.”
“So tell me how Eve is doing,” Mrs. Peters asked as they walked down the hallway.
“Really well,” Scott said. “The new quarter started a few weeks ago, and she has an entirely new group of students. She’s loving that.” Eve taught piano at a music academy.
“Wonderful,” Mrs. Peters replied. “What is it she loves so much about the new students?” They’d arrived at her office. She unlocked the door and turned the light on; Scott explained as he took a seat on Mrs. Peters denim sofa.
“She says that it’s a chance to try some new directions. The students tend to get into one particular groove – same practice techniques, same styles, same ideas. The new students make it more fresh, I guess is one way she puts it.”
“Well, I’m happy she’s getting that chance again.”
“It’s actually unusual for her not to have at least one or two veteran students, Scott said around a bite of meatball; he grabbed his napkin to catch a stray drop of marinara sauce.
They chatted about school and the first day – comparing their individual impressions of the freshman class.
A persistent beeping interrupted their conversation.
“Sorry,” Scott said, glancing at his pager. “Mind if I use your phone?”
“Of course not.”
He threw away his trash on his way to Mrs. Peters’ desk, then picked up the phone that she’d pushed to the edge.
“Hi Judy, it’s Scott…..mmmhh….where……”
Mrs. Peters smiled to herself as she started to organize her afternoon to-do pile. It always amazed her how Scott could keep such an even keel at work, particularly when talking to people. She knew he got frustrated – he knew she was one of the only people he could be honestly frustrated around – but he rarely showed it. He had the best dead-pan face of anyone she’d ever known.
“I’ll take care of it,” he was finally saying. “Is there anything else you know of right now that needs done this afternoon? Sure. Bye.”
“Well, here’s another first,” Scott said with a grin as he hung up the phone.
“How so?”
“Never had to paint over vandalism on the first day.”
“Oh my,” Mrs. Peters said, shaking her head. “You’re kidding me I hope.”
“Sorry,” Scott replied. “A nice, first day of school message painted on the back of the scoreboard.”
“And?” Mrs. Peters raised an eyebrow.
“180 days and counting.”
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
...
“Just put it over there,” Mrs. Lashley, the art teacher, pointed to the far corner of her classroom. Scott nodded and hoisted a card table under each arm, making his way to the spot she’d chosen. The bell rang as a few more students walked into the room, adding their own chatter to the already bubbling room. Every class had been like that; those kids who hadn’t seen each other all summer were catching up, and those who had were keeping up a running commentary and analyzation of the day’s events.
Scott quickly set up the tables and left, nodding at Mrs. Lashley as she waved her thanks. He walked about halfway down the empty hallway before turning to and quietly opening another door.
The fortyish, dark-haired man at the front of the classroom finished his introduction to the junior-level Western Civ. class before handing out a pre-test and then coming over to Scott.
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Richardson,” Scott said.
“Not at all,” Mr. Richardson smiled and waved his hand dismissively. “I know you’ve got to just come when you can.”
“What’s the problem,” Scott asked.
“Two of my power outlets aren’t working,” Mr. Richardson answered, leading Scott over to his desk in the front corner of the classroom.
“Have you tried the others in the room?”
“Yes. And all the lights are working fine as well.”
“I’ll take a look at it. It might take a day or two to find the problem or fix it,” Scott said.
“That’s fine,” Mr. Richardson said. “As soon as you can is just fine.”
As Mr. Richardson got back to his class, Scott removed the plates and checked the hardware, hoping that the problem would just be a faulty outlet. Of course not. That would be too easy, he thought. He used the current detector he’d brought with him to confirm that there was, in fact, no power coming to the outlet. Quickly putting the plates back on, he stood up and pulled a small spiral notebook out of his back pocket, adding “Outlets. Lamar Building. Room 12. No detectable current” to the growing list. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to call an electrician.
Scott’s next stop was just down the hall from Mr. Richardson’s class, but might has well have been on the moon.
“It’s about time,” Mr. Jones snapped as Scott stepped into the room. Mr. Jones quickly gave his American history class a short reading selection and stepped over to Scott. “I paged you at least an hour ago.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Jones. I got here as quickly as I could,” Scott said, his voice calm and unruffled.
“Hmmph,” Mr. Jones huffed. “Well, I’m not in the mood for excuses. I need three more desks for my students. Three of whom have been sitting on the floor in each of my classes, by the way.”
“I’m on it.”
It was a common first day problem. The class numbers somehow never managed to be exactly right. Late registrations, last minute schedule shifting…it all culminated on the first day of school, and meant a lot of desk hauling for Scott. He put three desks in the Mr. Jones’ room, then proceeded to move four desks from Mrs. Winters’ room to Miss England’s room, rebooted three computers – technically not his job, but the IT guy only came in twice a week, and who else were they going to call? -- and adjusted air conditioning before heading to the cafeteteria for lunch. Not bad for the first day of school, he thought as he walked into the cafeteria. He waved at Mrs. England, the cafeteria administrator, as he grabbed the lunch she’d set aside for him – a meatball sub with chips and a big chocolate chip cookie. He walked quickly to his closet and sat down in his office chair with sigh. Overall not a bad first day of school morning, and at the moment he was caught up. But Scott had been at Eastbrook long enough to know that the peace probably wouldn’t last, and he better take advantage of a short break while he could. And a meatball sub was just the way to do it.
Scott quickly set up the tables and left, nodding at Mrs. Lashley as she waved her thanks. He walked about halfway down the empty hallway before turning to and quietly opening another door.
The fortyish, dark-haired man at the front of the classroom finished his introduction to the junior-level Western Civ. class before handing out a pre-test and then coming over to Scott.
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Richardson,” Scott said.
“Not at all,” Mr. Richardson smiled and waved his hand dismissively. “I know you’ve got to just come when you can.”
“What’s the problem,” Scott asked.
“Two of my power outlets aren’t working,” Mr. Richardson answered, leading Scott over to his desk in the front corner of the classroom.
“Have you tried the others in the room?”
“Yes. And all the lights are working fine as well.”
“I’ll take a look at it. It might take a day or two to find the problem or fix it,” Scott said.
“That’s fine,” Mr. Richardson said. “As soon as you can is just fine.”
As Mr. Richardson got back to his class, Scott removed the plates and checked the hardware, hoping that the problem would just be a faulty outlet. Of course not. That would be too easy, he thought. He used the current detector he’d brought with him to confirm that there was, in fact, no power coming to the outlet. Quickly putting the plates back on, he stood up and pulled a small spiral notebook out of his back pocket, adding “Outlets. Lamar Building. Room 12. No detectable current” to the growing list. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to call an electrician.
Scott’s next stop was just down the hall from Mr. Richardson’s class, but might has well have been on the moon.
“It’s about time,” Mr. Jones snapped as Scott stepped into the room. Mr. Jones quickly gave his American history class a short reading selection and stepped over to Scott. “I paged you at least an hour ago.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Jones. I got here as quickly as I could,” Scott said, his voice calm and unruffled.
“Hmmph,” Mr. Jones huffed. “Well, I’m not in the mood for excuses. I need three more desks for my students. Three of whom have been sitting on the floor in each of my classes, by the way.”
“I’m on it.”
It was a common first day problem. The class numbers somehow never managed to be exactly right. Late registrations, last minute schedule shifting…it all culminated on the first day of school, and meant a lot of desk hauling for Scott. He put three desks in the Mr. Jones’ room, then proceeded to move four desks from Mrs. Winters’ room to Miss England’s room, rebooted three computers – technically not his job, but the IT guy only came in twice a week, and who else were they going to call? -- and adjusted air conditioning before heading to the cafeteteria for lunch. Not bad for the first day of school, he thought as he walked into the cafeteria. He waved at Mrs. England, the cafeteria administrator, as he grabbed the lunch she’d set aside for him – a meatball sub with chips and a big chocolate chip cookie. He walked quickly to his closet and sat down in his office chair with sigh. Overall not a bad first day of school morning, and at the moment he was caught up. But Scott had been at Eastbrook long enough to know that the peace probably wouldn’t last, and he better take advantage of a short break while he could. And a meatball sub was just the way to do it.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Oh what a beautiful morning
As ready as Scott was to for school to end in every spring, he secretly welcomed the students back to Eastbrook. Well…welcomed was a strong word, but he did enjoy the change. He enjoyed the pattern that school in and school out lent to the year, the rhythm it beat out in the lives of those involved in Eastbrook.
Or maybe he was just looking forward to cooler weather.
“Mmmmmm,” he said, walking into the kitchen. “Smells like the first day of school.”
Eve smiled and tilted her head, accepting the kiss he planted on her cheek as she flipped over another pancake.
“The pancakes are about done,” she said, “and the bacon is in the oven staying warm. How do you want your eggs?”
“Fried.”
“Okay. If you could go ahead and get out some plates and glasses that would be great.”
For the past few years – ever since Scott had taken the position as director of facility maintenance at Eastbrook – Eve had cooked Scott a big breakfast on the first day of school. The first time she did it, he’d teased her about not actually being in school, just working at one.
“Yes, but it takes extra energy dealing with all the students and staff and faculty.” She’d said. “Plus, I love you, so stop complaining.”
“I forgot to tell you that Zandra called last night,” Eve said as she plated the eggs and brought everything to the kitchen table. “She asked if we wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow night. They’re grilling.”
“Sure,” Scott said around a mouthful of eggs and bacon. One of life’s rules: never turn down grilling.
They chatted about the upcoming week and whether or not they’d have time to clean out the garage, then Eve glanced at the clock, declared she had to rush to finish getting ready to go to work and took her plate to the kitchen.
“I’ll wash the dishes tonight,” Scott said, putting the last of his breakfast in his mouth before following her. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” Eve said with a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later, then.”
Scott quickly rinsed his plate, finished getting ready and headed to Eastbrook. The faculty and staff parking lot was mostly empty when he arrived, but several teachers had already shown up to get ready for the day, and a few more filed in behind him. He waved to Mrs. Sharon, one of the art teachers, and Mr. Hawkins, the band director, as he headed toward his office. Well, closet, really. But with a desk and a phone and a computer. It was cozy.
Turning on the light, he sat down and checked the calendar blotter on his desk. He’d left the day pretty wide open, anticipating the “emergency” pages he’d get throughout the day. Grabbing his big ring of keys off the hook on the wall, he left the office and went around opening up various buildings and rooms before the masses descended. A couple of hours later, as the students were well into their first hour classes, Scott was changing a lightbulb in the band hall when he got his first page of the day. He glanced at his watch. “Well that’s a new record,” he said to himself, pleasantly surprised. He finished installing the light and putting on the fixture before calling the number – the business office, a number he’d had memorized after just two days on the job.
“Hey Catherine,” he said when the phone picked up. “It’s Scott.”
“Oh, Thank God,” she said. “It’s a nightmare up here. Two parents got into a fender bender dropping their kids off – late, I might add – causing another fender bender in the parking lot as someone tried to avoid them. Now the street traffic’s backed up and neither one will budge. The police are on their way, but maybe you could come help out?”
Now, that was a new one.
“I’ll be there.”
Or maybe he was just looking forward to cooler weather.
“Mmmmmm,” he said, walking into the kitchen. “Smells like the first day of school.”
Eve smiled and tilted her head, accepting the kiss he planted on her cheek as she flipped over another pancake.
“The pancakes are about done,” she said, “and the bacon is in the oven staying warm. How do you want your eggs?”
“Fried.”
“Okay. If you could go ahead and get out some plates and glasses that would be great.”
For the past few years – ever since Scott had taken the position as director of facility maintenance at Eastbrook – Eve had cooked Scott a big breakfast on the first day of school. The first time she did it, he’d teased her about not actually being in school, just working at one.
“Yes, but it takes extra energy dealing with all the students and staff and faculty.” She’d said. “Plus, I love you, so stop complaining.”
“I forgot to tell you that Zandra called last night,” Eve said as she plated the eggs and brought everything to the kitchen table. “She asked if we wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow night. They’re grilling.”
“Sure,” Scott said around a mouthful of eggs and bacon. One of life’s rules: never turn down grilling.
They chatted about the upcoming week and whether or not they’d have time to clean out the garage, then Eve glanced at the clock, declared she had to rush to finish getting ready to go to work and took her plate to the kitchen.
“I’ll wash the dishes tonight,” Scott said, putting the last of his breakfast in his mouth before following her. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” Eve said with a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later, then.”
Scott quickly rinsed his plate, finished getting ready and headed to Eastbrook. The faculty and staff parking lot was mostly empty when he arrived, but several teachers had already shown up to get ready for the day, and a few more filed in behind him. He waved to Mrs. Sharon, one of the art teachers, and Mr. Hawkins, the band director, as he headed toward his office. Well, closet, really. But with a desk and a phone and a computer. It was cozy.
Turning on the light, he sat down and checked the calendar blotter on his desk. He’d left the day pretty wide open, anticipating the “emergency” pages he’d get throughout the day. Grabbing his big ring of keys off the hook on the wall, he left the office and went around opening up various buildings and rooms before the masses descended. A couple of hours later, as the students were well into their first hour classes, Scott was changing a lightbulb in the band hall when he got his first page of the day. He glanced at his watch. “Well that’s a new record,” he said to himself, pleasantly surprised. He finished installing the light and putting on the fixture before calling the number – the business office, a number he’d had memorized after just two days on the job.
“Hey Catherine,” he said when the phone picked up. “It’s Scott.”
“Oh, Thank God,” she said. “It’s a nightmare up here. Two parents got into a fender bender dropping their kids off – late, I might add – causing another fender bender in the parking lot as someone tried to avoid them. Now the street traffic’s backed up and neither one will budge. The police are on their way, but maybe you could come help out?”
Now, that was a new one.
“I’ll be there.”
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Demise of the Cheer Squad: A Mystery
Writer's note: I'm back! Now for another story in serial form. Enjoy!
“Let me hear your TIGER yell! – Grrr, Grrr – Let me hear your Tiger yell! – Grr, Grr.”
Green and gold pleated skirts swished with each “grr” as the majority of the fans in the stands complied with the perky request – several hundred “tiger claws” may not be intimidating to the opposing team, but they kept the crowd pumped and in the fourth quarter, it was important to stay pumped.
“Okay, Jill, take a break.”
With her smile still turned on to full wattage, Jill McCormick – captain of the cheer squad, homecoming queen, class secretary, prom committee chair and girlfriend of the quarterback – executed her signature air splits which let her squad know that it was time for a quick break.
“Great,” only Jill could hear the voice, instructions coming to her straight from Ms. Williams, the cheer sponsor, through a tiny earpiece concealed behind her glowing blond hair. “Once coach calls the next time out; I want you to do the 10-2 pyramid.”
Jill risked a glance up to the press box, but her smile didn’t falter. Not for the first time did she wish the mike connecting her and Ms. Williams was two-way.
“Okay, team, in positions for the 10-2,” Jill said to the squad, clapping her hands one, two, three.
Sonya and Heidi glanced at each other, eyebrows raised, then turned toward Jill.
“Are you sure about that?” Sonya asked.
“Am I ever NOT sure about something,” Jill said through clenched – but still smiling – teeth. “Do it.”
As the cheer squad reorganized themselves on the sidelines, waiting for a time-out, Andrea Belton watched them closely, carefully critiquing every move.
“Looks like they’re getting ready for a time-out pyramid,” Andrea said to Mrs. Peters who had been sitting next to Andrea and listening to endless cheerleading commentary while wearing a genuine smile throughout the entire game.
“Oh my gosh!” Andrea exclaimed, clutching Mrs. Peters’ arm. “I think they’re going for the 10-2!”
“What’s the 10-2?”
“The pyramid that almost got us disqualified at the last 4A competition.”
Mrs. Peters raised her eyebrows. “Why?” she asked
“It’s pretty dangerous,” Andrea answered. “Really tall, not very stable and the top two levels instead of just one do the complicated dismounts.”
“Why would Jill ask the team to do that? And why would they go along with it?”
“Well you never go along with the captain – that’s pretty much drilled into your head the first day of try-outs. Never rebel against the captain, especially during competition or public performance. As far as why she’s doing a 10-2,” Andrea shrugged. “Jill wants to get noticed and she’s obsessed with doing what no one else is doing. She’s a Ms. Williams clone, really.” Andrea leaned a little closer to Mrs. Peters and lowered her voice. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I think Ms. Williams is a little crazy. Literally.”
“That’s quite an accusation,” Mrs. Peters said. Her voice was only slightly disapproving; Mrs. Peters had been around teenagers long enough to take allowances for youthful exaggeration.
“Yeah, well, you spend every afternoon with her,” Andrea said. She rapped on her cast-encased ankle resting on the seat in front of her. “Sometimes I’m glad that I had an excuse to get out.”
“Surely if you wanted out you could have just quit.”
Andrea laughed. “Mrs. Peters, I don’t think you’re listening to what I’m saying. I’m not really joking.”
Mrs. Peters shook her head, but laughed at what she assumed was still just youthful drama, and watched with Andrea and the rest of the cheering Eastbrook Tigers fans as the Tiger Cheerleaders mounted a pyramid. Andrea was right, Mrs. Peters thought, that is one tall pyramid. The smiles of the girls at the base of the pyramid never faltered, even when their thin shoulders supported another three rows.
“Go Tigers! Go Tigers! Reach – The- Top!”
The crowd gasped as the three girls at the base of the pyramid stood up, still shouldering the rest of the squad. As the crowd cheered, Missy Wright flipped from the top of the pyramid, landing perfectly on her feat in a victory pose. The two girls who had been beneath her prepared for their own flying dismounts, and Mrs. Peters glanced over at Andrea to see her reaction. But at the gasp of the crowd, the look of horror on Andrea’s face and the eerie silence that followed, Mrs. Peters’ focus flew back to the pyramid, now huddle of girls and athletic trainers.
“What happened, Andrea,” Mrs. Peters asked.
“Oh, Mrs. Peters,” Andrea’s eyes were wide and frightened when she turned. “Stephanie didn’t make her jump. I mean, she jumped, but she stumbled or somthing and she didn’t get enough height. It was more of a fall than a jump. And se landed on Missy.”
“Oh dear.”
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