Fat School Confidential (23 page)

    “
What we’re saying is if you have a student who asks above and beyond what is expected of you, please refer them to their respective B.C.”

   
There was a “transference” taking place all right—except that in this case, the strong, inappropriate feelings were coming from me. Maybe I should have been the one to seek counseling. But I didn’t have a B.C., and I wasn’t about to seek counsel with any of these women.

   
So Wendy wanting to get away from her peers on a Saturday afternoon and spending some quality time talking to her mentor somehow equaled an unnatural desire. I was beginning to understand her frustration with the staff; how they treated her; that regardless of her own tortured past, they treated her as a perpetrator of sorts.

   
We as staff were forbidden to disclose anything, as it was on a need to know basis. Senior staff had information teachers didn’t need to know, and staff in general had information students didn’t need to know.

   
Maybe I was becoming a little warped in my thinking, but to me, Wendy needed to know.

   
I waited until after dinner to meet with her. I even made sure Bill and Sheila, and by extension, Cindy, weren’t on

campus. After seeing that their cars weren’t on the lot, I hunkered down in my office-oasis. I gave Ellie a call, telling her I’d be late again. She was used to my excuses, but that didn’t make it any easier.

   
While awaiting Wendy’s arrival, I thought about her new-favorite band, Queen. I decided to load a new ringtone into my phone—the opening strains of “Under Pressure.” I didn’t think much of it at the time, but in a few short weeks, that melody was going to come back to haunt me.

   
When Wendy arrived, I wasted no time to let her in on what went on between Bill and I, and at the staff meeting. She, in turn, wasted no time telling me what happened that Saturday afternoon.

    “
Carlos laughed in my face when I gave him the note,” she said.

    “
That fucker told me to give you a note,” I replied.

   
I never used the F-word in front of a student before.

    “
He pretended he didn’t say that. Made it look like he was calling Tom Eccleston.”

    “
Is that all they do around you? Fuck with you?”

   
Wendy nodded, adding, “That’s not all. Later, I was in the fitness room, doing the treadmill. Carlos and Mario were talking to me, wanting to see if I’d move in with them.”

    “
You mean, they want you as a roommate?”

   
Wendy nodded.

    “
That’s kind of disgusting,” I said, thinking about the implications. But I didn’t want to escalate the situation. I didn’t really think Carlos and Mario were serious. “Maybe they’re just bullshitting with you.”

    “
Yeah, well I don’t like it. It’s been going on too fucking long.” Letting out a sigh, Wendy dropped her backpack on a chair, sitting on the one next to it. I stood there, not knowing what to say to calm her down. I went back to my desk, sitting down.

    “
I mean, I’m eighteen years old, and some of the staff are

like nineteen or twenty.”

    “
I know. And they treat you like a little shit like the rest of them.” I was trying to humor Wendy, but it was true: Wendy was an adult, being treated like an irresponsible child. She chuckled at the mention of “little shit.”

    “
What am I gonna do?” she pleaded.

    “
You’ve got to ignore them. And if you can’t, report them.” I thought again of my last suggestion, and added, “Strike that. If you can’t ignore them, let me know.”

    “
How? You’re not always around.”

   
Wendy did have my cell number, but she didn’t have a phone—at least one she’d be able to access to call me without consequence.

    “
Let me work on that. In the meantime, let’s make your time here as bearable as possible. What can I do for you?”

    “
Get me outta here.”

   
I gave a nervous laugh. I remembered when Johnny Giacomo wanted me to drive him home. But he was a kid. And this was different. Much different.

   
And, as if sent by the god of interruption, Elijah had to stop by. Smiling broadly, he appeared to be on cloud nine.

    “
Hey, Mr. Rourke. Hey, Wendy.”

    “
Elijah, what’s up?”

    “
I’m in love.”

   
Wendy and I exchanged glances.

    “
Yeah, who?” I asked.

    “
Oh, he doesn’t go here.”

    “
No?”

    “
No. And he don’t have chicken lips.”

   
Never hearing the term before, I had to inquire. “Chicken lips?”

    “
You know, thin lips. Like yours.”

    “
He does not have chicken lips!” Wendy exclaimed. Elijah giggled, as if he was trying to get a reaction out of her. Whether he intended to or not, Wendy seemed ready to defend me to the bitter end.

    “
Whatever!” Elijah huffed, and headed back to study hall.

   
Did Wendy like my lips? Or was she just standing up for me? Why did she notice enough to say anything?

    “
What’s L.A. like?” she asked, taking out her journal. One thing’s for sure: she didn’t miss a beat.

    “
What do you mean?”

    “
I mean, how do you think a girl like me would do there?”

    “
What. You wanna be a rock star?”

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Maybe,” she replied, a certain cockiness beginning to show. I’ve seen it in her—in class, after acing a test; in fitness, after besting her old time in running the mile (and she was indeed running); and last but not least, in the way she carried herself compared to the other girls. She knew she was better looking, and in better shape than most of them—staff included.

    “
I think you’d do fine. But you might need someone to show you around.”

    “
Exactly. Which got me thinking. You think you could help me look into schools in L.A.?”

    “
I thought you were set on going back home to go into nursing?” I asked. Wendy wasn’t set on going to Vassar—like Sarah. Her grades were good, but unremarkable. She also had a great deal of catching up with her credits—hence, the independent studies. But she did have a back-up plan, once she graduated A.O.S.: to apply to a nursing program in St. Louis.

    “
I was,” she replied, finally opening up her journal where she left off. “But maybe I could enroll in a CNA program in L.A.”

    “
What about your family? Wouldn’t your mom be upset?”

    “
She’d kill me.”

   
I chuckled, figuring she was just being dramatic. “Even if she didn’t, she wouldn’t approve the student loans you’d need to support yourself.”

    “
Shit. That’s right. How old would I have to be to apply for the loans myself?”

    “
Twenty-five… I think.”

   
L.A.? What was she thinking? Did she expect me to be her permanent tour guide too? And what about those fucking loans? She wasn’t expecting me to cosign for them, right? I had yet to pay a dime on my own loans, thanks to never making enough to repay them. I couldn’t possibly be expected to take on hers as well. I wasn’t about to let her in on my anxiety. Not yet.

    “
Well, nursing is an excellent fallback. No matter where you go to school. Moby would approve.”

   
Wendy busted out laughing. “Will you stop?”

   
A night res staff, Jerry—a short, scrawny man with bad complexion and oily brown hair—must have heard us.

    “
Everything all right?” he asked, head angling in the doorway.

   
It was then that Wendy had a fit of the giggles. Jerry glanced at her, raised his eyebrows, and walked on. Beside herself and bent over with laughter, she clutched her journal.

    “
What’s going on?” I asked, baffled at her outburst.

    “
Jerry.”

    “
Jerry? What about him?”

    “
He’s all right.”

    “
Then, what was so funny?”

    “
He’s another one. Not like Carlos. But I think he likes me too.”

    “
You think all the guys are after you? Don’t you?”

   
Putting her journal down, Wendy cocked her head ever so, and replied, “That’s because I’m Wendy-Fucking-Barts.”

   
Wendy Fucking Barts. If there was one thing about Wendy I didn’t have to worry about, that was her ego.

   
On the way home, I stopped at the Selma Walmart and picked up two prepaid cell phones. I hid them in the spare wheel well inside the Element—just long enough till I got back to school the next day. Ellie was suspicious of my behavior—but not enough to warrant a vehicle search. In addition to the cell phones, I bought a CD of Queen’s greatest hits.

   
Back home, tucking Bobby in for the night, I was overcome with emotion. Anger and guilt—mostly directed at myself—filled me up inside. Glancing at Bobby’s sleeping body in his little bed, I sensed something was coming soon to tear me away from him. He looked like a little baby again, all curled up—vulnerable. His long lashes swaying in REM sleep, he had no idea of Papa’s troubles. I tried to stifle a tear, but it was no use. When Ellie noticed the wetness under my eyes, I put the blame on allergies. Looking away, I figured if I maintained any prolonged eye contact with her, I wouldn’t be able to stem the flow.

   
The next day, I arrived extra early to do my dirty work with the phones. I was hyperaware of what I was about to do. I was stressed, but elated at the same time.

   
If I backed out now, I thought to myself, I could avoid further trouble.

   
But trouble, like a jealous lover, was determined to pay me a visit anyway.

Chapter 13

Gumby No More

   
The PSA I was asked to script was shot with little revision. Sheila did her business and went back east to her home turf. Bill went back to ignoring me. I never got to see the actual video. Figures. I was just the writer.

   
That was to be the last extracurricular project I was asked to do at A.O.S., thanks in no small part to my own extracurricular activities with Wendy.

   
It was to be yet another rousing dinner in the caf. I walked in, a bit later than usual. Staffs were preoccupied in their little sewing circles, as were the students. Wearing my black down jacket, I snaked my way between the tables, finding Wendy sitting alone. Slipping out of my jacket pocket and into her hands was Queen’s Greatest Hits. She beamed from ear to ear, hiding the goods in the process.

   
Later, in the relative safety of my office, I handed her one of the prepaid cell phones I purchased. We were both standing, face-to-face.

    “
Remember, don’t call my cell. Call this one. I already preprogrammed it with the right number. And I already set it on vibrate—don’t change anything. Got it?”

   
Wendy nodded. She understood if she called me on my regular cell phone, and if staff confiscated her phone, my goose would be cooked. She stuffed the phone in an inside pocket in her track pants.

   
The voice in my head was screaming, “What the fuck are you doing?” You know you’re nuts, right?” “You’ll get caught, for sure!” I didn’t listen. I didn’t want to listen.

    “
So, when can I call you?” she asked.

    “
Anytime. But if it goes straight to voice mail, that means I’ve had to turn off the phone.”

   
Shifting from one foot to the other, Wendy huffed. “What good is that?”

    “
Unless you want to call and have my wife pick it up?” I asked, sarcasm seeping through.

    “
That’s all right,” she replied, sitting down against the wall to write.

   
Whether any of the students or staff knew of our clandestine friendship, they didn’t give us any indication of knowing. Not outwardly at least. Oh, there were the whispers and the sniggers by the kids, and certain res staff seemed suspicious. Carlos was one, but maybe it was because he wanted to get into Wendy’s pants.