Fat School Confidential (12 page)

   
I liked roughing it as much as the next guy, but I didn’t envy these particular campers.

   
Undetected by most of the student body, the handful of S.A.P. students arrived on campus. Lugging duffle bags, these rotund rookies made their way towards the island. Fat camp staffers, Kenny and Kelly, accompanied them. Towheaded and slight of build, Kenny ran S.A.P.’s day-to-day operations when Kelly, his female cohort, wasn’t available. I elected to wait a day or two before meeting up with them and handing the students their first assignments.

   
After giving an awkward introduction to the class, I handed my S.A.P. students their assignments, leaving them and their staff to attend to my regular duties back on the “mainland.” For the next several weeks, I settled into a rhythm with both my regulars and with my newbies on the island. With the newbies, the only drama that developed was the sporadic gunfire heard from a neighboring farm—on the other side of the Kings River. But there were no threats, and the campers were left to do what they were assigned to do.

   
With the bonus I received from developing S.A.P.’s curriculum, I decided it was high time to buy a larger vehicle for the family. Although our Beetle was just under six years old, it was too small for our needs, and quite unreliable. And, having had my mom co-sign the damned thing, I wanted something in my name for a change.

   
Notwithstanding my recent bankruptcy, for the first time in twenty years I was able to purchase a brand new car on my own. The choice: a Honda Element, in “Rally Red”—with satellite radio to boot!

   
Back at work, I was summoned to Bill’s office.

    “
You hear about Johnny?” Bill said, straight and stiff at his desk.

   
Standing before him, I replied, “Only that he went on solo.”

    “
Solo,” as the term suggested, meant solitary confinement. Meted by staff when a student broke a major rule, the penalty isolated the offending party from the rest of the student population for twenty-four to seventy-two hours. The length of time depended on the severity of the infraction. In this case, Johnny having sex with his girlfriend normally meant an automatic, maximum sentence of seventy-two hours. But why would Johnny—a minor—be punished more severely than an eighteen-year-old?

   
Bill corrected me. “Johnny isn’t on solo. He’s at S.A.P.”

   
Before I could even think of reacting, Bill added, “Give him a couple days to get used to his new living arrangement, then bring him his work. Maybe you could coordinate it with his other teachers.”

   
The last suggestion was easier said than done. While most of my colleagues were more than happy to oblige with makeup work, Strumm, on the other hand, was a bit resistant. I met up with him in his office. The door was wide open—probably to give his tiny office a more spacious feel.

    “
Fuck him,” he blurted, before catching himself. A flush of embarrassment spread over his face, as he noticed students ambling by. I closed the door behind me.

    “
He’s failing my class. I don’t see how giving him a few handouts is going to make much of a difference.”

    “
I totally agree. But since he doesn’t have the same distractions as he did here, don’t you think he might be able to focus more?”

    “
On what? Losing weight?”

   
Flashing Michael a knowing glance, I replied, “You know what I mean.”

    “
I doubt Sandy not being around is going to make much difference in his grades. At least Sandy knows her priorities. Johnny’s just her lapdog.”

    “
I think it’s the other way around,” I replied, adding, “Either way, Johnny has got to do something on that island besides losing weight and obsessing over his girlfriend.”

   
With a look of resignation, he handed me a few worksheets.

    “
Tell him if he doesn’t complete these, I’ll fail him until he makes it up in my class, got it?” I nodded, knowing Strumm meant business. I didn’t share the same tough-love attitude as he, but I understood where he was coming from. Maybe I should have taken a page from his playbook and done the same.

   
Honoring Bill’s wishes, I waited until later in the week to get back to the island. With dark clouds rolling in and a wind picking up speed, a storm was fast approaching. Armed with graded assignments for the “old” campers as well as new work for Johnny, I slogged through the brush to the encampment. Johnny was first to spot me.

    “
Mr. Rourke! Mr. Rourke!” Johnny bounded over the unlit fire pit and rushed towards me. Offering a quick, manly hug, he was happy to see me. Then, leaning in, he whispered, “You gotta get me out of here.”

   
With a nervous laugh, I broke away from the hug. Kenny, on duty in front of the shack, ran up to join us.

    “
What’s going on?” Kenny asked, a little alarm in his voice. Was he thinking I was the one doing the hugging? I needed to turn this around—and fast.

    “
Johnny’s just happy to see me, I guess,” I replied. Staring him down, Kenny led Johnny to the compound. I followed suit.

    “
You guys all did better than I thought. Good work,” I said, passing papers back to the students. One of them, Karen, a tomboy with cropped hair and facial piercings, spoke up. “This was easy. Can’t you give us something more challenging?”

   
I thought I gave them something challenging. Wasn’t being a good little Long-Term-Weight-Controller enough of a

challenge? Perhaps Karen was smart enough to see through my veneer of above-board professionalism. No matter, I wasn’t about to trip up. Smiling broadly, I improvised. “I can give you some additional, supplemental material if you like." Trying to come across as cooler than her peers, Karen gave me the slightest nod.

   
Johnny piped in. “Will these assignments count in my regular classes. I mean, back at A.O.S.?”

    “
Of course, Johnny,” I reassured him.

   
Kenny, standing off to the side like a boy scout waiting to receive his next achievement badge, scanned the group. I felt a little uncomfortable in his presence—as if I was conspiratorially lumped together with the students. Did he see through me as well?

   
It wasn’t that I was hiding anything. Sure, I was slumming it a little with the curriculum, but I wasn’t pretending I was anything but my normal, teacher-self. Still, if I felt at all out of place with the regular program, S.A.P. put me in alien territory.

   
Taking several minutes to explain the new assignment, I passed out worksheet packets. No one asked questions. The campers just sat there, maintaining the same sullen expression I noticed when I arrived at camp. From my vantage point, none of the students were happy to be there. Other than Johnny, none of them had an inkling of how the regular A.O.S. program operated, who the students and staff were, or the fact that their parents were paying the same tuition for roughing it in the backwoods of Reedley, California.

   
Back in the warmth of my office, I thought of Johnny’s plea for escape. Was he being mistreated? Doubtful. Both Kenny and Kelly seemed to be accomplished, by-the-book camp leaders, with little room for hidden motives, agendas or power trips.

   
The truth was, Johnny was likely subjected to tougher scrutiny and a less ambiguous set of rules than his peers. From my way of thinking, and despite my own soft spot for the kid, he was getting what he deserved. From his clandestine get-togethers with Sandy, to his pranks directed at res staff, Johnny was nothing but trouble. If Kenny and Kelly had to keep a short leash on him, so be it.

   
I thought again of my own behavior when I lost weight, so many years ago. My behavior was worse than Johnny’s—far worse. If I were here, at A.O.S., I wouldn’t have been placed on solo, nor would I have been sent to S.A.P.

   
I would have been kicked out.

   
But Johnny was the least of S.A.P.’s problems. From what I gathered from the local weather reports, a storm was brewing that could flood the otherwise staid Kings River and turn her into a raging torrent. Kenny and Kelly were ready, willing and able to tackle any emergency—but were the kids ready?

   
Back home, I practiced my monster drawing skills with my son. Wielding a crayon, I sketched out a favorite creation of mine, Foodzilla—my own, extra-large answer to Godzilla. Needless to say, Bobby got a kick out of him. Cocking my head, I listened to the pitter-patter of the rain outside. I thought of my waterlogged charges back on the island. Were they in their tents, or were they clamoring for space in the staff shack? The storm increased in volume and intensity. Thunder rattled the windows. Bobby dropped his crayon and clung to me. Holding him, I made my way to a window and peered

between the blinds. Sheets of rain streamed down at a sharp angle. Winds whipped leaves and debris past me. Glancing down, I caught sight of water already flooding the gutter, surrounding our car in the process.

    “
It’s only rain,” I said to my little guy, brushing his hair to the side and kissing his forehead. His hazel-green eyes—fear and curiosity in a single glance, followed the cascade pouring down.

   
A couple days later, after the storm had passed, I paid a visit to the island. Bill informed me the campers were moved off and onto dry land across the pond, but I wanted to see for myself what became of S.A.P. proper. Apart from a dangerously high and rapidly flowing river surrounding it, the island seemed intact—at least what was left of it. Because of the elevated river level, the island was reduced in size by half. I scanned the land ahead. Brush diminished the view of the campground. I could make out the outline of the shack—but just barely. Nearby floated a red canoe, covered in mud and moored on the mainland side. For a moment I was tempted to paddle over, but after taking into account the danger posed with the swift-moving current, I decided against it.

   
I plodded down a muddy trail by the pond and rounded past the horse stable. An abandoned, one story office building—built long before the rest of A.O.S.—sat unobtrusively in the far northeast corner of the property. Hearing voices, I made my way around the structure. Tucked between the building and a stream below was the new, albeit temporary S.A.P. campground.

   
Looking tired and in no mood for levity, the campers sat at a table eating breakfast. Kenny managed a weak smile while

grilling Egg Beaters over a portable stove. How the Egg Beaters were cooked in the cafeteria was a mystery to me, but here, they at least smelled appetizing. The ones in the caf needed to be drenched in ketchup—and the ketchup was the best thing about it. I could never stomach the stuff—I went into dry-heaves the first time I ate them.

   
Johnny and I exchanged a nod. Passing back their corrected assignments, I figured they could do without new work. I started back to campus when Kenny approached me. He motioned towards the building.

    “
Have you checked out the furniture in here?”

    “
No. Is it any good?”

    “
Most of it’s shit, but some of it is usable. Anyway, Bill said if there’s anything you like, help yourself.”

   
I managed a blasé “Cool,” before entering the space. Given our financial state, my family could seriously benefit from some furniture, but I didn’t want to look desperate. Papers and folders lay strewn about. Whenever this place was abandoned, it was clear nothing valuable was left behind. The few pieces of furniture looked to be in great shape and relatively dust-free. I went from room to room, searching for something salvageable. Finding a detached kitchen cabinet on the floor, I opened the

doors to find the shelves intact. Ellie mentioned needing a bookcase for Bobby’s books. With a little TLC, this would be just right. But it was much too unwieldy for me to load it into my mini-SUV on my own. I was going to need some help.

   
Just after the last class of the day, I trekked back towards S.A.P. Kenny was still keeping sentry. Again at the table, the campers were working on their assignments. Facing the man in charge, I uttered, “I have a favor to ask.”

   
Kenny stepped towards me. “Shoot.”

    “
Could I borrow Johnny for about half an hour or so?”

   
Kenny grinned, as if glad to be rid of Johnny for a little while. Overhearing us, Johnny jumped from his seat, yelling, “Yes!”

   
I glanced at Kenny. He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

   
This wasn’t the first time I asked a student to help me move something. When I taught at Franklin, I asked a student—a senior—to help me load a U-Haul truck and move my family from Glendale to Burbank. I didn’t talk about it, and none of the teachers or administrators got wind of it either. Besides, I paid the kid, so no harm, no foul, right?

   
After loading up the Element with the cabinet, Johnny and I headed for Kingsburg.