Fat School Confidential (30 page)

   
Some free spirit.

    “
What’s going on?” Wendy asked, stretching and rubbing her eyes. The sun was coming up, and the morning fog was negligible. In other words: a perfect time for driving.

    “
Daniel and Bill called. They want to talk to you,” I said, starting up the car and motioning Wendy to buckle up.

    “
Fuck them. I’m not talking to them.”

    “
You won’t talk to them. You won’t talk to your mom. Didn’t you hear she was going to press charges?”

    “
She can’t do anything. I’m eighteen.”

    “
I know, I know. We’ve been through this. Let’s think this through.”

    “
What’s to think about? Can’t we just go?”

    “
No. Not until we convince them that you’re all right.”

    “
Okay. How?”

    “
Bill mentioned meeting you somewhere in Reedley. Somewhere neutral.”

    “
No fucking way.”

   
Wendy was right. Bill and company would take the opportunity to lure her back on campus—or worse—to the

Fresno Airport to fly her home to Mama Barts. I felt paralyzed to go further. I had to convince my ex-bosses Wendy was with me on her own terms. But how?

    “
Let’s get some breakfast. We can think about how to approach this,” I said to Wendy.

   
I decided to drive back north. For obvious reasons, I didn’t want to stay in Kingsburg. Reedley was out of the question. I

figured the Denny’s in Selma was enough out of the way. We sat down and ordered: Wendy, with the eggs, pancakes (no butter, no syrup) and juice; and me, with the Grand Slam. Other than the fact that we were on the lam, everything about our little meal together seemed normal and almost routine. Like the ideal L.T.W.C. she was conditioned to be, Wendy jotted down her meal’s contents in her Think and Ink. As for me, I didn’t give a damn. I figured I could live a little dangerously with the bacon and the sausage—on top of everything Wendy was having.

   
With breakfast behind us, we got back into my car. There was another phone call. It was Daniel. I gestured to Wendy to stay quiet.

    “
It’s Daniel. I’ve got to take it,” I said to her. She pleaded in silence.

    “
Hello?” I answered.

    “
Hi Joe. We need you to bring back Wendy. Her mom contacted the Tulare County Sheriff ‘s Department, as well as state agencies. An alert has been issued. It’s not an Amber Alert, but it’s similar.”

    “
Okay,” I said.

   
It was all I could say.

   
Amber Alert? What the fuck would be “similar” to an Amber Alert? And why would a state agency in California listen to someone in Illinois with an emergency taking place in California? I wasn’t in line with Daniel in bringing back Wendy, but his mentioning of law enforcement scared me shitless. In my whole entire life, I was never in trouble with the law. Other than the handful of speeding and rolling stop tickets I amassed as an adult, and, oh, that time I almost clipped the motorcycle cop pulling me over, I kept fairly straight and narrow.

   
Daniel must have been kidding me about the Amber Alert. I knew full well that sort of thing wouldn’t kick in unless a minor was involved. Wendy, thank goodness, wasn’t. Maybe he was bluffing me. Wendy’s mom might not have been bluffing, but Daniel—Yale grad, lawyer, Healthy Living Academy V.P.—might have been. Still, I had to prove that Wendy left his precious A.O.S. without my influence.

    “
Don’t you want to talk to Wendy to show that she’s doing this on her own?” I asked Daniel. Wendy kept shaking her head, mouthing the words, “No, don’t let me.”

    “
Sure,” Daniel replied. I handed Wendy the phone. “Hello?” she answered. Listening to what Daniel had to say, she responded with, “I’m fine,” then, “It’s my decision,” followed by, “I’m going to L.A.—with Joe.” With the last part, Wendy gave a slight smile. Was she truly happy to be with me, or was she embarrassed referring me by my first name?

   
I drove away from Denny’s, and stopped for gas. Using my debit card as credit, I was able to fill up my tank. By the time Wendy and I dipped our toes in the blue Pacific, my bank account would be gloriously overdrawn.

   
We headed west on Mountain View—away from the freeway.

   
After a couple more exchanges with Daniel and a quick “bye,” Wendy handed me the phone. She fell back in her seat—exhausted.

    “
Yes, Daniel,” I said. I wanted to end the call right then and there. Come to think of it, I wanted to end the call before I took the call.

    “
Listen, Joe. I’m filing a complaint with the state for an ethics code violation.”

    “
Ethics code?” I asked, incredulous.

    “
You’re a teacher, right?” Daniel asked back, but before I could answer, he cut in with “It’s a state law that teachers must abide by. It will lead to your credential being revoked.”

   
Didn’t Daniel remember I had a temporary teaching permit when he hired me? I didn’t even bother to renew it, either. I didn’t have to. Only public schools had that requirement.

    “
Could you at least tell me what the specific code number of this violation is?” I asked, attempting to bluff him back.

   
Silence.

   
And then, “Joe, you’ll need to bring Wendy to the sheriff’s station, just so they can question her.”

    “
Why? Can’t you talk to them?”

    “
It’s out of my hands. Wendy’s mom made that call.”

    “
Let me call you back,” I replied, ending the call. Pounding the dashboard with my fist, I let out a full-bodied “Fuck!” and promptly pulled over.

   
We were still in Selma.

    “
The sheriff is involved,” I said.

    “
How? Why?”

    “
Your mom.”

    “
That fucking bitch.”

    “
Exactly.”

   
The engine still running, we sat there, surrounded by miles and miles of country. Part of me wanted to think the bit about the sheriff was a ruse to get me and/or Wendy to cave. Part of me wanted to think the ruse was real so I could turn myself in and get home to Ellie and Bobby sooner.

   
And then, there was that part of me that was intrigued by an unknown variable.

   
What if?

   
What if we kept going?

   
Who would stop us?

   
We didn’t rob a bank.

   
We didn’t do anything illegal.

   
Right?

   
Wendy let herself out of the car to smoke. Getting out myself, I scanned the sky around us. Blue, with a faint film of cloud cover. I looked down the road before us, and behind.  In every direction.  If anyone was after us, they weren’t exactly visible.  No helicopters or planes or squad cars for miles and miles and miles.

   
Wendy glanced at me.

    “
Whatcha doin’?”

   
Not wanting to answer her just yet, I studied my Honda Element in the bright, Rally Red finish. I couldn’t have picked a more conspicuous vehicle with which to make my escape.

   
What the fuck, I thought.

    “
I’ve had it with them,” I said, heading for the driver’s side.

    “
About fucking time!” Wendy exclaimed, throwing down her cigarette.

   
Buckling up, we cranked up the radio. The second chorus of Queen’s “I Was Born To Love You” kicked in just as I pulled back onto the road. After a few miles, we merged with the Ninety-Nine. We were just north of Kingsburg. Joining the rest of the mid-morning rush of cars and trucks, I kept pace.

   
When we passed through my adopted hometown—with the Swedish coffeepot/water tower to the left of me, I thought again of Ellie and Bobby, and how they were, and what they were doing. I felt an intense tug to come home.  At the same time, I felt an equal and opposing numbing sensation taking hold inside of me.  As if I was out of body.

   
Someone else was driving my Honda. Someone else was sitting next to Wendy. This wasn’t me. This couldn’t be me. It was so unlike me—at least the Joe of the last ten or fifteen years. Joe loved his family too much. He loved teaching. He loved his friends, most of whom would disown him if they knew he was even remotely capable of doing the things this man was doing right now—in Central-California-middle-of-nowhere, of all places. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.

   
Mom wouldn’t know of this. She couldn’t know. She’d have a fucking heart attack and drop dead on the spot if she’d ever found out her first born son was fucking around with a teenager so far away from home. Her home. Los Angeles.

   
What, on God’s green Earth, had become of me?

   
Sitting on a shelf on the dash, the phone kept vibrating.

   
Whatever Bill or Daniel or Wendy’s mom had in mind, I wanted to put enough distance between us before I’d take the call again.

   
It was a little past ten-thirty by the time we passed through Goshen, a tiny little town a quarter of the size of Kingsburg—not that Kingsburg was a bustling metropolis by any stretch. The turnoff to Visalia was a couple minutes away. Determined to stay the course, I stayed on the Ninety-Nine. Tulare was next, followed by a handful of lesser towns: Tipton, Pixley, Delano, and McFarland. It was in McFarland, at the Chevron station on Famoso Road, where we stopped for a bathroom and smoke break. And to check those infernal messages.

   
The first one was from Bill, asking me to call him back. The second was from Daniel, a repeat from Bill. The other messages were from Wendy’s family, and Ellie, respectively. I called Daniel. He was a tad less friendly than the last time we talked.

    “
Joe. Fox News in Fresno picked up the story. Are you going to bring back Wendy?”

   
Fox News? Story? Was he fucking kidding me? Why would a former fat chick escaping a boarding school with her chubby, middle-aged teacher make a newsworthy item?

   
In Central California, it apparently did.

   
Exiting the bathroom, Wendy lit a cigarette. I flagged her down, trying to get her attention. Seeing my distress, she stamped the butt out and ran my way. I told Daniel to hold on, and pushed the “hold” button on the cell.

    “
It’s Daniel. We’re on the news.”

    “
Fuck!”

    “
Talk to him,” I said, handing her the phone.

    “
Are you fucking crazy? Why should I?”

    “
Just take it,” I pleaded. She took the phone. We both got into the car, buckling in.

   
But we weren’t leaving just yet.

   
From the nods and the short answers and the “whys?” Wendy was giving, I could tell things were taking a turn for the worse.

   
Not that they were any better any other time.

   
Hanging up on Daniel, Wendy handed me the phone. She looked ready to explode.

    “
What happened?” I asked, putting the phone down.

    “
He said they reported me having the mind of a thirteen-year-old. Could you fucking believe that?” Wendy laughed through her tears.

    “
What the fuck? Are they crazy?”

   
And alas, therein, lay the rub.

   
The not-quite-Amber-Alert.

   
Daniel, Bill, the clinical team, and Wendy’s mom must have been in cahoots all along to report eighteen-year-old Wendy as missing from a therapeutic boarding school, possibly kidnapped against her will by her much older teacher. Cindy or Sheila must have come up with the added touch of Wendy’s mental “condition.”

   
But, somehow, it didn’t quite add up. Why, if there was an actual alert in place, was there no police presence? I couldn’t see anything. If this was to be a “slow moving chase,” where were all the squad cars? And where was the news van from the Fresno Fox affiliate, KMPH?

    “
Why can’t they just leave us alone?” Wendy cried, hands on her face.

    “
I should’ve picked up the calls when they were coming in. It wouldn’t have come to this,” I replied.