Fat School Confidential (17 page)

   
A few minutes after Carlos’s game of peek-a-boo with me, there was a knock on my door. I opened it.

    “
Mr. Rourke!”

   
But instead of Carlos or any of his buff work buddies greeting me, Wendy—brunette tresses and all—stood there.

    “
Wendy,” was all I could manage to say. I stood aside, propping the door open with the kickstand. She slid past me and sat on a chair near my desk. Wearing a tracksuit, she was dressed for weather much cooler than it was. Come to think of it, she always covered up. But that was often the case with overweight teens. I covered up my fat when I was young. Not that it worked. Wearing a down jacket during band practice in hundred-degree heat came to mind. But Wendy—who, by all appearances, wore her weight well—struck me as someone who’d cover up for reasons other than being overweight. Why did I care anyway?

   
I sat down behind my desk before asking, “How did you know I was here?” She cracked open a math textbook. “I heard Carlos talking to someone.”

    “
Really.”

   
She leaned towards me in her chair, her voice—a near-whisper. “He is such a dick.”

   
Logging off my office computer, I leaned forward. “You know, I have to agree.”

   
Wendy laughed. It might not have been the first time she laughed in my presence, but it was the first time I took any notice of it. Maybe it was because we were alone and in close proximity. Maybe it was because it was getting dark outside. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because her laugh made her sound more like a woman than the teenager she still was.

   
Eighteen, I would tell myself later that night, still qualified as a teenager.

    “
Shouldn’t you be in study hall?” I asked her, finally.

   
Smiling to herself, she paused before glancing my way. “I should.”

   
I was getting nervous.

   
Maybe I ought to turn my computer back on?

   
The one consolation was that my door was propped open. I breathed an internal sigh of relief. Halfway through exhaling, I caught sight of a coed twosome passing by my office. They glanced at Wendy and me, glanced back at each other, whispered something, giggled, and continued on their way.

    “
I don’t want you to get in trouble,” I said to her. I could have just as easily been saying that to myself.

   
Glancing at her textbook, Wendy looked—for a moment—disappointed.

    “
You’re right.” She replied, closing her book. Gathering her belongings, she headed for the door. Following her with my eyes, I wanted her to stay—if only for a few minutes longer.

    “
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here this late anyway,” I said. Shrugging her shoulders, Wendy smiled.

    “
I’ll see you tomorrow.”

   
The conversation with Wendy brief and behind me, I drove home. It was a few minutes past nine o’clock. Bobby would be long asleep. I broke my word with Ellie—and with Bobby. Not that my word was ironclad, but I hated to disappoint them. I had a history of disappointing them. Making the unilateral decision to leave L.A. Unified and the teachers union and all those benefits and our friends and family in Southern California disappointed in ways that would last for years.

   
As expected, Bobby was sound asleep. Ellie was awake but she didn’t want to talk about it. Better to watch TV or surf the web than deal with me and my excuses and needs and issues. That was her way of dealing with me—by not dealing with me. I couldn’t blame her. God only knew how selfish I’d been over the years. But this job, way out in the middle of nowhere, was taking its toll on her.

   
The next day, I wanted to bring up Wendy to Frank Mills, but I thought to myself: If I do that, she’d be taken off my caseload; her independent study work would be redistributed among the other teachers; and last but not least, she’d avoid me like the plague. And how would it look on me? The other students would notice the fallout, to be sure. What would they say, given the chance? Better to keep her around and at arm’s distance than to remove her entirely.

   
Showing up at my office wasn’t improper in and of itself. I’d had other students stopping by my office time and time again, hanging out for more than a few idle minutes. Elijah came to mind. Girls, on the other hand, just knew better. Wendy might not have been on the prowl last night, but given her reputation, she should have known better than to be in the same room with an older man at night.

   
Bullshit. I should have known better.

   
After dodging Wendy for a couple days, I was ready to play it safe and inform her of some ground rules, when she stopped by my office. I was placing teacher textbooks for the after-lunch classes into my rolling cart. She seemed a bit nervous, like she needed to unload something.

    “
Can I talk to you?”

    “
Of course you can. I’m your advisor.”

   
She was wearing a black hoodie and matching sweatpants. Her makeup—the little that she wore—was flawless.

    “
You know Mr. Starks?”

    “
Not intimately,” I said, without a hint of irony. Wendy laughed that laugh of hers. Glancing back towards the corridor, she turned to face me. “Where were you?”

   
She was actually looking for me?

    “
I was around, but busy. Sorry ‘bout that.”

   
We were standing just a couple feet apart, closer than we did the other night. She seemed fine with how close we were, but I was on edge. If Bill or Cindy or Tom or one of the other teachers or a spiteful student saw us—knowing about Wendy’s previous, after dinner visit—then what? Would I get a talking-to from my boss(es)? Or worse?

   
Stepping behind my desk for insurance, I sat down.

    “
So, what about Starks?”

   
At the mere mention of Starks’s name, Wendy’s demeanor suddenly changed. Her voice lowered, her smile disappeared. “I’ve been having problems with a couple of the res staff, and needed to talk to someone.” Her eyes, meeting mine, looked for a reaction. I gave her none. “Anyway, you weren’t around, so I talked to him.”

    “
Did he help you?”

    “
Not really.”

   
She was good. She was angling for something, but I wasn’t biting. I let her continue.

    “
I went to his office, and at first I thought he wasn’t in. He opened the door, and had me sit down.”

   
Had me sit down? What was that about? Curiosity getting the better of me, I asked, “Did he keep the door open?”

   
She shook her head. “He sat really, really close.” She gave a little giggle, and added, “Had this intense look when I talked.”

   
Starks was breaking the rules and he knew it. At the moment, I wanted to be the one getting away with it. I tried not to show Wendy my true feelings. Instead, I kept my line of questioning cool and unemotional.

    “
So, what did you talk about?”

   
Wendy finally sat down.

    “
I talked to him about Carlos, how he keeps harping on me during activity after dinner. If I’m at study hall, if I’m on the treadmill, he’s always there, and on my case.” “He’s such an ass.”

    “
What do you mean, ‘he’s always on your case?’”

    “
He’s like, oh, I bet you could run faster if you wore better shorts.”

    “
Better?”

    “
Uh huh. He meant shorter shorts.”

    “
Are you sure he meant that?” I asked her. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe Wendy. I just wanted to make sure she really meant what she said, if there was any reason to report the incident to Carlos’s supervisor—in this case, Tom Eccleston himself. Grim-faced, she nodded.

    “
Do you feel harassed by Carlos?” It was an obvious question, but I was on a mission.

    “
Yeah. No. I don’t know.” She ran her hands through her thick hair.

    “
You okay?”

    “
I can handle it. Carlos is a retard.”

   
I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh.

    “
What about Starks? He shouldn’t have shut the door.”

    “
I can handle him too.”

    “
You sure?”

    “
Yeah.”

   
Glancing at me, Wendy seemed annoyed. Did my look of concern bug her that much?

    “
He didn’t do anything else, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

   
It was obvious she didn’t want me to seem too overprotective. But why the hell did she bring up Starks or

Carlos if she didn’t want a reaction from me? I was having a bitch of a time reading her. I prided myself at being able to read people by their words and/or body language. With Wendy, she was—to paraphrase Winston Churchill—“a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.”

   
Standing up, she asked, “Are you going to be around later?”

    “
Like in, later-later?”

   
She nodded.

    “
No. Got stuff at home to do,” I replied. Wendy gave one last nod, and she was out the door.

   
I wasn’t about to do a repeat and come home late. I had to keep Wendy—and my own feelings for her—at bay for as long as possible. She was going to ask for more and more of my time—I just knew it. I had to focus on my family first. And given Wendy’s student status—let alone my standing as a teacher, I was intent on staying focused.

   
But long after coming home and seeing Bobby off to sleep, after Ellie and I hit the sack, I thought of Wendy.

   
Wendy.

   
About whether she was being harassed by staff or if she was pulling my leg.

   
About her rushing to Starks for help instead of relying on me.

   
About her wanting to talk to me, in my office, after hours.

   
Despite all the contrary evidence presented by senior staff as to her history, I believed her.

   
Her.

   
I wasn’t going to talk to Frank Mills about taking her off my caseload. I wasn’t going to talk to Bill or Cindy about her behavior towards me. I certainly wasn’t going to talk to Carlos or Starks about laying off of her. I figured Wendy could take of herself.

   
Whether I was capable of taking care of myself, that was an entirely different matter.

Chapter 11

Deceptions

   
With our second Halloween in Small Town, U.S.A. just around the corner, Ellie and I were haggling over Bobby’s unfinished costume.

    “
We’ve got to have a backup. I don’t want what happened last Halloween,” I said to her as I sat on the couch. At the controls of her sewing machine, Ellie was hell bent in turning Bobby into yet another original work of mobile art.

    “
I’m buying a backup.”

    “
No, you’re not. He loves my costumes!”

    “
That they don’t fit?”

    “
That’s because I never have enough time. It’s always the last minute with you giving me the money for the fabric. What is it with you?”

   
She was right. It was always the last minute when I’d give her money. But that was because we lived paycheck to paycheck. Even when I made good money with L.A. Unified, we never had enough to save, let alone pay down outstanding debt—not including our student loans.

   
Those loans.

    “
He said he wants to be Superman. Why can’t we just buy the costume?” I pleaded.

    “
I need to make his cape.”

    “
No, you don’t. The costume includes the cape. It even includes those little booty covers.”

    “
Well, are you going to buy it?”

    “
Yeah. When I get paid. At the end of the week.”

   
Ellie shook her head, more out of frustration than disapproval. Differences aside on costume choices, Ellie and I were butting heads on a host of other issues. I was missing out on dinner on an almost regular basis, and, in turn, missing out on quality time with Bobby. I wasn’t exactly taking home more work—that much was obvious. I was spending more time on campus. But without a drama class to act as an excuse buffer, I had to get creative. For several weeks, Bill had me working on a “special project.” One weekend, I needed to clean out an adjacent room to store art supplies. One evening, the students needed some supervision on the newsletter. I was lying through my teeth, and Ellie probably knew it.