Fat School Confidential (21 page)

    “
No. I can talk. Could I ask you a question?”

   
Another drag. “Okay…?”

    “
Why did you even bother seeing Todd, after the way he treated you, and those crazy stalker-calls?”

    “
I know,” she sighed. I didn’t want to tell her “I told you so,” since I never suggested she avoid him in the first place. I assumed she’d avoid him, simply based on prior experience. But this was a young lady who continued to baffle me.

    “
I am writing about it, though,” she added.

    “
Excellent! And when I said write about your experiences, it could include stuff at A.O.S.”

   
That last bit got a laugh out of Wendy, but it was more of a “Ha!” than the full-throated kind I was used to hearing.

    “
I hate it there. There’s nothing to write about.”

    “
Come on. You sure about that?”

   
I waited for a comeback. And then, “I gotta go.”

   
For whatever reason, she didn’t want to answer my question. I was hoping she’d say, “I’ll write about you, Mr. Rourke!” but she didn’t. I was the one throwing the line this time, and she was either wise to me—or men in general, or she didn’t get what I was aiming at.

   
After a couple quick good-byes, we hung up.

   
It was going to be a long week.

   
I showed up at work just long enough to clean house, do some lesson planning, and have lunch on campus. Just because it was late December, it didn’t mean I could slack off on my program. I found it easier to stick to my program when I ate those not-so-yummy, super-low-fat, controlled meals in the cafeteria.

   
For months and months and months, I logged my meals in my Think and Ink. Wearing my pedometer religiously, I averaged twelve to fifteen thousand steps a day. I was determined to lead by example—not only as a teacher, but also as a fellow Long Term Weight Controller. I often joked about being a Gumby like my student slackers, but deep down, I aspired to be as disciplined as a Boulderer. Not that I craved or needed student privileges like off-campus outings, extra calls home, or access to the Internet. But I craved being thinner. The weight wasn’t coming off as before, but at the very least, this was the second consecutive winter that I didn’t gain weight. And working the program was one more thing to occupy myself with. After all, “Idle hands are the devil's playthings.”

   
My motivation may not have been wholly innocent, that much was certain. But again, if I could occupy my mind and my time and my body with something constructive, so be it.

   
Coincidentally, it was during this time—this limbo between Christmas and New Year’s that Charlie Ross arrived back on campus. The fall months worked wonders on his program back home—and not in a good way. A good fifty or so pounds heavier, Charlie greeted me in passing as I went for a walk around the campus perimeter. His ever-present cheerfulness belied what must have been shame, given that he came back so soon after leaving. The chat was brief between us, nothing more than “Hi, how are ya?” But it was enough for me to see the look of resignation on his face.

   
It was also during this limbo that Elijah made his return. I didn’t catch his look of resignation, as I was home at the time. But I figured he’d have a much harder time masking his disappointment than did Charlie. Demoted to Boulderer, and without his old friends, the former A.O.S. poster boy was now just part of the crowd. He would later confer with me, sharing how Sheila turned her back on him when he tried to talk to her about his weight gain back home; how his scholarship money ran dry and that his drug-addicted dad had to take out more loans; how Bill convinced him to come back, despite not being able to afford it. For weight-loss programs, Elijah didn’t have an alternative back home. But he was unhappy and resentful and had no outlet. A.O.S. was his last chance.

   
For New Year’s Eve, Ellie and I celebrated the way we had since the birth of Bobby—that was, by turning in early. Ellie never drank, and I rarely drank to begin with, so we cuddled in bed and slept through the parties happening elsewhere.

   
I got back to work on the second day of the New Year.

   
Tuesday.

   
The vacationing students were back. That was, most of them.

   
Wendy wasn’t due to return until Friday. Why so late in the week? Did she pay another visit to Todd the Rapist?

   
At the staff meeting, Wendy was mentioned, but only in pointing out her delayed return. I kept quiet. If anyone found out I gave her my cell number and that we talked over Christmas break, I’d be in big trouble. Fired, most likely. But I wasn’t going to start worrying about it.

   
An unexpected addition to the staff meeting was Sheila Skolnick. I knew she’d be back in town for the PSA they were shooting, but for her to share the same airspace as Cindy, the current clinical director, was unusual in my eyes. I was curious, but didn’t make anything more of it at the time. The meeting proceeded without incident. No asides, no innuendo, no student drama. All on the up and up.

   
The first week of the New Year flew by.

   
Then came Friday.

   
I was looking forward to seeing Wendy, but at the same time, I dreaded her return. Were things going to start up again? Should I listen to her problems, or should I refer her to her B.C.? Maybe I ought to take her off my caseload. Yes, that would be the right thing to do. But heeding my intuition was just not registering. Not anymore. As if that part of my psyche—that part of my brain—of my soul, was broken. Or out of order, at least.

   
The morning crawled by with nary a peep from Wendy. Part of me hoped she had changed her mind about A.O.S. altogether and decided to finish her term back home.

   
Back in Illinois.

   
The students were packing up their backpacks and getting ready for lunch, when Wendy arrived. I saw her for an instant, darting down the hall outside my classroom, her luggage and a res staff in tow.

   
My heart skipped a beat.

   
Wendy was back.

   
When class was over and I was in the process of dumping my cart in my office, she stopped by. Maybe it was the way her tracksuit hung off her body, or that I hadn’t seen her in two weeks, but it was apparent she dropped weight. According to her, she might have had a few pounds to lose, but to me, she looked fit and healthy. And gorgeous.

    “
Hey!” I said, greeting her with a hug. Quicker than the one before Christmas, but still.

    “
Going to lunch?” she asked. I nodded, motioning her to step into the hall before locking up.

   
I felt more than a little self-conscious walking with her to the caf, but it wasn’t as if we were holding hands. When we arrived, a long line snaked out the double doors. As a staff member, I was allowed to the front of the line. I didn’t take

advantage of the privilege. Most of the time I didn’t. I decided to wait it out—but not by standing there, shoulder to shoulder with Wendy.

    “
I’m gonna go back to my office.”

    “
You sure?” she asked.

    “
Yeah. I’ll see you in a bit.”

    ‘
In a bit,’ turned out to be just that. I went to my office just long enough to log into my computer, and read emails. Just long enough for the line in the caf to die down. Just long enough for Wendy to sit with her friends in her part of the caf, and me, with the staff. Wasn’t it enough for me to have walked with her to the caf, but to sit down and eat with her too? I was pushing my boundaries with her, and I was but fifteen minutes into our happy reunion.

   
When I went back, she was gone. I practically inhaled lunch.

   
After lunch, Wendy joined me in my office, where she slid a large journal out of her backpack.

    “
See this, Mr. Rourke?”

    “
How can I not,” I replied, marveling at the size and blackness of it. A Hello Kitty diary it was not.

    “
I took your advice. Everything is going in this. I’m writing everything.”

    “
Everything?” I asked, hoping she’d say she was writing about her favorite teacher and mentor in the world. She smiled, replying with, “Don’t worry, I’m writing everything that’s going on here, too.”

    “
Really?” I asked, trying desperately to get something out of her.

    “
Really.”

   
I figured by the way she said “Really,” she was hinting that she was writing about me—somehow. It was juvenile of me to be thinking she ought to write about me, and a rather passive thought at that, but I figured, where was the harm?

   
Glancing at my clock, I noticed that I was late to class. Wendy was doing an independent study with me that period—meaning she was going to hang out in my classroom writing in her journal.

   
We got to the classroom, Wendy taking a seat up front. The rest of the students were seated and ready for class. I avoided eye contact so as not to arouse suspicion. Missy, gunning for teacher’s pet (a position well beyond reach—for her anyway), ran up to me. “Mr. Rourke, can I put the page number and warm-up on the board?” I nodded.

   
The ‘warm-up’ was something I would normally write on the board at the beginning of class, usually a question related to whatever we were reading or doing in class, or an anecdote or word puzzle—anything to keep the kids occupied while I prepared the day’s lesson.

   
This particular class was reading Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar.” Performing was more like it. And to ham it up, Gabriel, fifteen—very tall, very gay—volunteered to read the title role. The rest of them chewed the scenery with equal aplomb—with Gabriel setting the bar. Wendy sat there writing away—smack dab in front of me, taking breaks to laugh at Shakespeare’s tragedy.

   
The class day over and done with, I joined Rodriguez in snack distribution. Grabbing zero calorie fudgesicles from the walk-in freezer by the caf, we stood sentry just outside of it.

The students herded around us in customary fashion. Wendy

hung back. I waved a fudgesicle in her direction. Shaking her head, she frowned.

   
Was she in a bad mood already?

   
I excused myself, leaving ice cream duty to Rodriguez.

   
As I approached Wendy, she turned to walk in the direction of the girls’ dorm. I took her lead and sidled up next to her.

    “
What’s wrong?”

    “
Nothing. I just don’t need the extra calories,” she said, matter-of-factly.

   
We took measured steps, making a U-turn as we neared the dorm. “You gonna be around tomorrow?” she asked. “Not sure,” I answered. “Why?” And, characteristic of what I expected of her, she shrugged. I took it she wanted to spend more time with me. But to what end, I had no idea. She continued on towards the dorm.

   
I joined the rest of the living as they finished off their fudgesicles. Charlie Ross sauntered over to me. Leaning in, he asked, “Who’s your shadow?” I returned his inquiry with another question. “You don’t know Wendy?” Charlie shrugged, rolling his eyes. “She’s on my caseload,” I added. I tried to not make anything of his incredulous look back at me. His bullshit meter must have been detecting high levels coming from my direction.

   
Then I remembered: Charlie must have shipped out of A.O.S. just as Wendy shipped in. Of course he wouldn’t know her. The eye roll was a bit much, but I wasn’t about to grill him.

   
I came back on Saturday. I didn’t exactly have work to do—or work that couldn’t have waited until Monday, but I figured an off-school day would be perfect to catch-up with Wendy.

   
Ellie dropped me off at school. She had plans to take Bobby to see her friend Barbara and her developmentally disabled daughter across town in Kingsburg. Truth be known, I didn’t like Barbara. Good parenting skills aside, she seemed liked everyone else we’d met in the area: conservatively Christian, with her education finishing at high school. She also lacked any sense of humor. Still, I wasn’t going to dissuade Ellie from pursuing a friendship with someone who had little in common with her. Thanks to my constant absenteeism, she could have used the company.

   
On second thought, outside my casual relationships at school, and the occasional phone calls to pals back home, I had no one. Well…

   
I made a beeline to my office. I was looking forward to seeing Wendy but I wanted to get a little work done before seeing her. I passed by Sheila just as I arrived at my door. I asked her if they were shooting the PSA yet. She said they were, but later in the day. She seemed rushed. She always seemed rushed.