Finding Hope in Texas Page 4

  We pulled into the drive and I got out quickly, clomping to the front door and making a bee-line to my room. I had knowledge of makeup, not that I wore a lot, but I could hide most of the redness that was certainly going to turn black. The puffiness would be a problem. Maybe when Mags wasn’t looking I could sneak a steak out of the freezer? Wait, does she have steak? Yes, I concluded, everyone in Texas has steak. It’s like firearms, they practically hand them out at the Red River when crossing the border. The evening was spent nursing my wound in solitary, breaking for leftover pot roast, and reading about the New Deal. FDR, I wish I had your problems.

  The next day, I made a straight-line power walk to Mr. Peet’s room, arriving twenty minutes before class even started. It wasn’t something we were supposed to do. Teachers were allowed until the bell for prep time, so students usually loitered in the foyer. I wasn’t sure a crowded area with a bunch of strangers was a good place to be at the moment, though, so I went to a classroom with a witness in it, no matter how crazy he might be. When I pushed the door open, I saw the teacher staring at his computer screen, his back to me.

  “Darn it,” blurted out Mr. Peet, much to my chagrin. It must have been computer troubles because he didn’t even acknowledge me. He was rattled already, at 7:35 in the morning. I took a step back, thinking that I might just sit in the hallway, that there was no need to bother him.

  “Well, are you coming in or not, New York?” He turned his head and gave me a glare and a grin.

  “If it’s okay with you?”

  “Sure, just leave the door open because of the whole male teacher-female student thing. I don’t need you harassing me behind closed doors.”

  My mouth dropped. Did he really just say that? All I could get out was, “Um, okay.”

  I sat at my desk, the one I had been at for the last two days. I unzipped my backpack as he continued working at his computer. Pride and Prejudice would suit me just fine for the remainder of the time. A good love story was all anyone needed to feel right with the world again. It wasn’t near as depressing as Jane Eyre, even though both end pretty happily. Ah, what went through those Victorian ladies’ minds when they wrote these eclectic novels? They must have gone to high school at Jimmy Carter, for the mood swings of their characters matched the inconsistency of many of those that would sit around me in a few moments, especially Jody. Of course, everyone needed drama in their life, didn’t they? But how much can life be worth living if that is all your life is about? I guess Austen knew about drama, too, but she also knew that in the end, when you got down to the nuts and bolts of things, you really just needed to find someone that would love you for who you were. Maybe that was why Jody was so mad at me. Maybe she had found the love of her life and feared anything that might get in the way, even the new girl that accidentally did so. Maybe she knew how much romance was to come between her and Brad and wanted nothing to change that. Or maybe she was just a witch for lack of better terms.

  Still, I guess that was a cool thing when you thought about it. You know, fighting for your man and all, even though there was no fight to begin with. I wasn’t looking to hook up with Brad. I didn’t even know him besides him being a cute high school boy. Boy, did he look good, though. But I was nothing to him and he was nothing to me. When I put my mind to it, I was nothing to anyone now. My “anyones” were dead, taken in the blink of an eye, and I really didn’t feel like trying to fill that void in my life with a Brad or a John or anyone. I just wanted to be left alone. Just Jane and me. We would be fine.

  “Oh, Jesus, are you reading that?” I must not have noticed when Mr. Peet moved away from his desk and up to his podium. Did he really say Jesus in class? Can’t someone in Texas be stoned for doing such a thing? But I thought I would take the bait and see where it took me.

  “What do you have against Austen?”

  “Oh, not much, except she’s a man-hater. Everything that goes wrong in all her books does so because of men. I mean, do women not make mistakes in life?”

  I smiled. I couldn’t help it. Maybe he had a point. Mr. Darcy, Edward Ferrars, both of them just couldn’t seem to figure out what they wanted in life, even though it was right there in front of them. Or maybe they just didn’t have the...bravado to make such a step until there was nothing else to lose.

  “Well, you start wars based on nothing, you take this when you really wanted that, and let’s not even get started on your egos. I mean, out of the two sexes, yes, it’s your entire fault.”

  I could tell he was surprised at my answer and conclusion. Hadn’t anyone ever given him a direct response before? Oh, wait. If I was to measure his first two classes with that statement then no, no one ever had. But I could see his wheels spinning, trying to come up with something to defend himself and his sex.

  “Well...you know it’s cause we’re just trying to impress you. Think about wars, we do it because we really want to hand over a big hunk of land to our wife and say, ‘Taa-daa.’ Also, chicks dig scars.”

  “Touché,” I relented and shook my head with a smile. I started reading again until I thought about furthering the conversation. “I met your daughter yesterday, Lizzy. We had lunch together.”

  He finished his sentence on whatever he was writing. “You mean, Elizabeth? She always shortens it, thinks it sounds too, well, like your book there: Victorian. So did she tell you not to pay any attention to my goading or that I probably ruined her life before she was born by being a teacher?”

  “Mmm, we mostly talked about music. She said I played well.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him she thought he ought to calm his teaching methods down for the good of his job. He was a little unorthodox sure, but at least he wasn’t a drone teaching to a test. That was one thing I had heard about enough already from every other teacher, that the state exams were coming up in April and they were going to be especially hard. I mean, who cared? If you taught what you were supposed to teach in a way that would keep a student’s attention, shouldn’t they learn it and be able to pass without being reminded day after day?

  “Oh, what do you play?” he asked.

  “The violin.”

  “Well, very impressive. I never had an ear for music, to play it, anyway. Elizabeth got hers from her mother, so if she says you are good, then I’m sure she is right. She even played the xylophone well as a baby. We could probably use you out in the field someday.”

  “Well, they don’t really do string instruments in the band.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about. Say, what happened to your eye?”

  The bell rang and Mr. Peet walked down the side of the room towards the door to greet the incoming students. It was something all the teachers did really, keeping one eye on the hallway and one eye in their classroom. Certainly, I was glad the bell distracted him before I tried to make up a lie about the swelling around my eye, but I was confused about what he meant by needing me “in the field.” Was there some other band that I didn’t know about here in Texas? I hoped he wasn’t referring to country music. A little was fine, but I didn’t know how much of dead dogs and mommas in prison I could stand. Still, I guess my life right now would have made a good country song—dead family, no friends, crazy aunt. And the violin, sorry, the fiddle down here, was either played too fast because the devil went down to Georgia or Alabama or somewhere, or was played at a pace that left you wanting to kill yourself. I really didn’t want to play it either way. Just give me some classical music and I’d be fine.

  Mr. Peet called the roll quickly by only using our last names as the formalities of the first two days of the semester were over. When he called, “Miss Kilpatrick,” someone in the back of the room said loud enough for everyone to hear, “Back-Slapped,” with laughter rising up at my expense. I began to flush when I felt the penetrating stare of Jody three rows away. Mr. Peet played it coolly, though.

  “Okay, Thompson, if your girlfriend is beating you up again, please let the counselor know.” The laughter was quickly directed at the insti
gator, but Mr. Peet gave me a glance, letting me know that he knew what happened to my eye. He continued with the roll and began the assignment for the day: FDR’s court-packing fiasco.

  “Now, ladies and gentlemen, you know FDR is one of my favorite presidents, but he just really shot himself in the foot with this one. Not that it affected him, being paralyzed and all.” A few of us gave a small snicker, but there was mostly silence. “He had both the legislative branch and the executive branch working for him, but the Supreme Court was standing in the way. That’s why he tried to put more justices up there, so they could get more goals of his New Deal passed.”

  A hand went up. It was Jody. “Yes, Miss Silverton.”

  “Well, that seems logical to me. I mean, he saw what they were doing, getting in the way of progress. It was only right that they do what he said. Like, he was the president and stuff, right?”

  “Yes, but do presidents have all the power?”

  “Well, maybe they should. You said you liked him, Mr. Peet. It’s because he did a good job as president, getting us through that depression thingy and clearing the dust out.”

  “Well, he didn’t actually clear any dust, but yes, I get what you are saying.”

  “So they should have done what he wanted them to do.” She looked directly at me. “They should have known their place in life and stood behind him like they were supposed do or else he had to lay them out.” What a historical analogy. I was now being picked on through FDR. I shied away from Jody’s glare and looked down at my notebook.

  “Miss Kilpatrick,” Oh, God, just leave me alone. “Can you share some Northern Lights on the subject? Did FDR have the right to pack a court that was getting in the way of progress?” Why did you have to call on me, Mr. Peet? What did you want me to say in front of these people?

  I tried to gather my emotions, my breathing, and gave a reluctant sigh. “Um, in my opinion, no, he didn’t have the right.”

  “And why do you disagree with Miss Silverton? You mustn’t have gotten the memo that everyone has to agree with her.” A few people laughed as she glared at the teacher with the big grin on his face. “Just kidding, Miss Silverton. Don’t get your pompoms ruffled. Proceed with it, Miss Kilpatrick.”

  “Well, I guess, it was like you were saying. He already had two of the three branches working for him. With the third, well, he would have had everyone on his side, everyone to do exactly what he and the Democratic Party wanted them to do. And that...that’s not democracy, that’s a dictatorship. Also, look at the timing of this ...”

  “What about the timing?”

  “In Europe, you have Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini, and Franco. In Japan, you have Tojo. All of them were dictators. All of them were for themselves. Did we really want that in the land of the free, even if it was FDR?”

  There was a smile on Mr. Peet’s face. This was not the grin he gave after saying something snide, witty, or downright rude, it was an actual smile, like someone would have after being lost in the desert and taking their first few sips of water. And it was directed at me.

  “I think that is a very good observation, Miss Kilpatrick. I mean, who wants an American dictator? Not that we aren’t finally getting rid of ours this month,” he slighted. Was he calling W. a dictator? I thought all Texans were Republicans. “Which leads me to remind you people that we will be watching the inauguration of the president-elect in the coming weeks as well.”

  “Obama?” someone asked in the back of the room.

  “Yes, that’s who was elected. It’s a pretty historical moment, I think.”

  “Why, cause he’s black?”

  “Well, yes, the first black president in our nation’s history. That, Smith, is what you call his-tor-i-cal. So leave your KKK hood at home, okay?” A few moans went up from Mr. Peet’s audience as it began to set in that they were being forced to watch something that involved the new president. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but it’s my classroom and I get to do what I want. On that note, let’s get back to FDR’s Second New Deal.”

  The rest of the class got back to the normal mundane: Mr. Peet tried to do something fun, talking about social security and the tired students wanted nothing to do with it. This had to be worse than pulling teeth. At least with that you could use some laughing gas to knock the people out.

  Finally, the bell rang, relieving all of the students from the progressive march of our nation for one more day. They would have five minutes until the next adult bored them to death.

  “Miss Kilpatrick, can I see you for a moment?” I stopped in my tracks as I heard my name, turned to face Mr. Peet and went to his podium. “I just wanted to say that that was an impressive answer you gave in class today. Sorry for testing you so soon, I just didn’t want you to get too complacent with all these goof-offs around here.”

  “Thank you. It was just...a shot in the dark.”

  “Well, that’s BS if I’ve ever heard it. You have studied this before and in higher detail, haven’t you?”

  “Well, yes, but you did a good job teaching it again.”

  Mr. Peet smiled and began to write on a piece of paper. It took him a moment to jot down his scribble, not that I feared being late for my next class, but I just wasn’t sure what he really wanted.

  “Miss Kilpatrick, have you ever heard of dual-credit classes?”

  “You mean classes for high school and college credit. Yes, I took a couple last semester at my old school. Why?”

  “Well, if you would, please take this note to Mrs. Tremble. She is the counselor here. I would like you, if you want, to take History 1302. It will get you out of this class of ill repute. Of course, I’m going to have a lot of wrong answers in here if you do want to change over, but that will also give you a class where you can practice dodging left hooks as well.”

  My face reddened, I could feel it.

  “Now, some of our students can apply for grant money to take a DC class. Mrs. Tremble can talk to you about that as well, if you are in need. Altogether it is around $350,” he noted.

  I shook my head understanding. “I’ll, check into it. Thank you.” He smiled and passed me the slip of paper and I headed for the door.

  “I’m glad you found the little burg, Miss Kilpatrick. Please continue with your insights in 1302 as well. Oh, and if you need to see someone about that eye, please let me know.”

  I smiled back at him but continued out of the room, switching on my phone.

  Richard, I need $350 in my bank acct. I am going to take college class. I texted.

  The reply came quick. $350? Is that all? What about books?

  Nope, that’s book, too. It’s junior college, cheap huh?

  Yeah, no problem on the money. Be there in 30 min.

  TY.

  YW.

  As I rounded the corner my phone was slapped out of my hands, and I watched it cascade down the hallway under so many feet. Jody smirked at me, happy that her plan had come to fruition. I sank back, feeling so small compared to her even though we were around the same size. But she had told me yesterday right before the punch: This was her territory and I had to learn my role in it. Answering Mr. Peet’s question probably had not helped either. My timid reaction seemed to do the trick though as she brushed aside me with her patented shoulder bump and moved down the hall. At least I wouldn’t have to deal with her in first period anymore. Now she could answer as many questions wrong as she wanted to. With the danger subsiding, I started my search for the missing cell phone. It didn’t take me long to see that it had traveled much farther than I’d previously thought and was nudged up against the wall. When I turned it over, I saw that the screen had been cracked right down the middle. Grrr! Why do I have to put up with this crap? Is this what Texas public education is all about? Well, I’m certainly getting a lesson. Don’t talk to the head cheerleader’s boyfriend for one. Would Richard take it as a joke if I asked for money for a hit man? I could only shake my head and continue to. Where was I going? Oh, yes, the wonders of English class.
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br />   Mark Twain never had so many problems as a high school girl. He never once had to deal with gossip, hormones, or what fashionable clothes he was wearing in modern day education, and I suspect that if he had been a teacher today, his hair alone with have gotten him laughed out of the profession by unruly sophomores. Still, his characters seemed to have some adolescent troubles trying to free slaves, whitewash fences, or getting lost in caves. Caves? How solitary. Maybe what I needed was Tom Sawyer to help me get lost in a cave for a while. Or maybe I was already there, running my hands down the rough interior rock walls, my eyes dilated, trying to allow any little bit of light in so I might find my path, the path that would lead me out of the darkness and into the light again. Maybe this was the cave of my life, my family’s death being the initial entrance. Now, I had to find my way out again. But down inside, I knew I was still in shock for being lost and I had no clue on where to pick up and start my way out again. Was the path down to Texas a good one? So far, it didn’t seem so. Maybe I should back track; go home to where I knew a few people who cared for me. I wouldn’t stay at my house and would actually sell it as soon as I got the opportunity. There were too many memories that would keep me in limbo. I had to start over and that’s why I came here. I can do this. Maybe this track I was on was the right one, but the journey was just difficult. God, why can’t I find a Tom to help me, lead me in the right direction?