Giving Up the Ghost (6 page)

In the classroom she stood self-consciously beside her desk while twenty-eight students
sauntered in. They barely glanced at her as they milled around, chatting. Even after the second bell
rang, indicating the start of the period, they continued talking.

It was time to instill order. "Take your seats and quiet down," she said, a few decibels
louder than she'd intended.

Most of them looked at her like she was a crazy woman, but they obeyed.

"As you know, I'm Ms. Meyerson, your new English teacher." This time her voice came
out timidly. Gabbie cleared her throat and continued in a stronger tone. "Mrs. Ketchem told me
what you've covered, and we'll continue on from there."

"Where's Mrs. Ketchem?" a tall boy called from the back of the room. "Out on maternity
leave?"

That brought a roar of laughter. Gabbie glanced down at the seating chart. Just as she'd
thought--the wise-guy of period three.

"Jeff Borden," she announced, looking straight into the boy's laughing eyes. "Since
you're so adept at amusing the class, may I assume you're eager to write a five-page report on
humor in American literature?" She flared her nostrils. "And no plagiarism--which means no
copying from any book or web site--or you might be brought up on criminal charges."

The boy's face turned white. "You can't do that! All I said was--"

"I heard what you said. And I asked if I might assume you'd like to write a five-page
report?"

Jeff looked down at the floor without speaking.

"Is that a 'yes'? Because unless you answer me, that's what you're going to do."

Still staring at the floor, he mumbled, "No."

"What's that? I couldn't hear your answer."

Jeff looked up, face red with embarrassment and fury. "I said I don't want to write the
damn--I mean, the paper on humor."

"Then behave yourself." Gabbie kept her tone conversational. "And we'll get along fine."
She looked around at the other students, who were watching her avidly. "The same goes for the rest
or you. I've no time or patience to waste on anyone who doesn't want to learn."

Heads nodded.

Gabbie smiled. "Good. Now that we understand one another, I'll take attendance, and
then we can discuss Chapter Three of The Great Gatsby."

The chapter took place at one of Jay Gatsby's parties. She encouraged them to talk about
the extravagance of his entertainment, allowing them to stray off the subject and compare it to
parties they'd read about out in the Hamptons and in Hollywood. Once she had their attention, she
asked questions: How did Nick meet Gatsby? What kind of a host was he? Why were all sorts of wild
rumors flying around about him?

The discussion grew animated, as most of the students caught on to Jay's bland
personality. "When he makes a date with Nick, is he just being a friendly neighbor or does he have
an ulterior motive?" she said. "And what about Nick and Jordan?"

She assigned them homework--to write three pages about Nick, Jay Gatsby or Jordan
Baker, always backing up their assertions with statements from the text. "Or you might discuss the
parties. Who's invited, who shows up. What kind of host Jay Gatsby is. Why you think he might be
hosting these parties.

"Remember," she said, with a wink, "a good book has its secrets and its mysteries. So far
you know only what Fitzgerald wants you to know. But give it your best shot. Just don't go too far
afield with speculation and conjecture. Stick to the presented facts."

They were intrigued. They were hooked. When the bell rang, many of the students
called out, "Good-bye, Ms. Meyerson. See you tomorrow."

One down, two to go.

The next class was smaller--only twenty-two students--and not as chatty. They took
their seats and stared at her, waiting. Gabbie thought back on the four years she'd taught English,
before she married Paul and gave up her tenure to manage one of his offices. Each class was unique
and had its own personality.

Her fourth period sophomores listened politely as she explained she was here for the
rest of the term because Mrs. Ketchem was out on health leave and that she hoped the transition of
teachers would be as smooth as possible. When she took attendance, she tried to associate each
student's face with his or her name. It would take a few days, maybe a week before she got them
down cold.

"Theodosia Leverette?"

Gabbie's heart leaped in her chest as the tall girl who'd sat at the table next to hers last
night at Logan's raised her hand. She was Jill's daughter. And the silent couple with her were her
parents.

"Present. And it's Theo."

It was an order rather than a request. "Certainly," Gabbie said smoothly. "Everyone,
please let me know the name by which you'd like to be called."

That brought a titter of laughter, which Gabbie found a refreshing change from the dull
silence up till now. "Charles Russell?" She looked around the room.

A small elf of a boy raised his hand halfway. "Here, miss."

The mocking tone of the ensuing laughter made Gabbie frown. "We can laugh in here,
but never at anyone's expense. Do you prefer to be called Charlie?"

"Yes, I do. Thank you, miss."

This time she heard the twang in his speech and grinned. "Charlie, tell me, have you ever
lived in South Carolina?"

There was no mistaking the pride that drew back his shoulders and lifted his gaze.
"Born and bred, miss, until we moved here three years ago."

Gabbie felt a warm rush of affection for Charlie Russell. She finished taking attendance
and began discussing chapter three of The Great Gatsby.

When the period ended, she went to the teachers' cafeteria, ate a quick lunch, and
returned to her classroom. Her two sophomore classes had gone as well as she could have hoped.
One more period, and she was through for the day.

By the time the second bell rang, only five students were present. During the next five
minutes, seven more ambled in, each bearing an excuse from a guidance counselor or murmuring
they got back late from lunch because they had trouble finding parking spaces close by.

When the thirteenth student showed up, Gabbie introduced herself and announced that
she expected them to come to class on time or their grades would reflect their tardiness. An
overweight girl, whose tangled shoulder-length hair looked like it hadn't been combed for a month,
cracked her gum.

"And no gum chewing," Gabbie said.

"Mrs. Ketchem let us," the girl whined.

"Right, Lynne," a pretty girl who'd arrived on time said. "As long as we chew
quietly."

Lynne made a face at her. "You're such an AK, April."

"That's enough, Lynne!" Gabbie hated playing policewoman, and she didn't want to
antagonize the class, so she said, "You can chew gum, but crack it one more time and there's no gum
chewing for you or anyone in the class."

She took attendance and noticed that Barrett Connelly was one of the three absentees.
She checked the grade book to see who still had to read essays, then glanced at the seating plan.
"Lynne?" She eyed the gum chewer. "Looks like we're ready to hear your essay. Would you rather
stand at your seat or come to the front of the class?"

Lynne flipped frantically through a notebook, spilling loose papers onto the floor. "Oh,
no!" she moaned. "Where is it? I know it's here."

"My rules are the same as Mrs. Ketchem's. If you don't have your essay when I call on
you, your mark goes down a grade."

"That makes it an F for sure," one of the boys commented. The others burst out
laughing.

Red blotches appeared on Lynne's face as she searched through her book bag. Gabbie
took pity on her. "While you're looking, we'll hear from Heather."

Heather stood at her seat and began reading her essay "Why High School Students
Should Take a Year Off Before Starting College." It was full of platitudes and clichés, and soon
had the other students yawning and doodling in their notebooks. When she finished, Heather
looked up and smiled in anticipation of praise.

"Now that was logical and made its point," Gabbie said. "Any comments?"

The same boy who'd said Lynne would get an F raised his hand. "It's boring!"

Heather's nostrils flared. "Thanks, a lot, Andy. Some friend you are."

"Enough!" Gabbie said. "We're here to learn and to critique each other with
consideration. Now, writing--fresh, original writing--is difficult to create, so we often take the easy
way out by using well-worn expressions. Heather's essay has a good deal of merit. Let's take some
of her points and rephrase them so they sound exciting and new."

April raised her hand. "She could mention one country--like Mexico--and say she wants
to spend time there so she can learn the language and get to know the people."

"Very good," Gabbie said.

"Nah. She should fly to Colombia and become the first female drug lord--I mean lady--of
the land." A maniacal giggle followed.

All eyes turned to Barrett Connelly, standing in the doorway. He tossed a note on
Gabbie's desk and strolled to the back of the room, where he sprawled out in the last seat of the
middle row. He was wearing a black polo and black jeans.

Gabbie looked at the slip of paper. It was from the principal's office, permitting Barrett
back in class. The time stamped on it was fifteen minutes ago. "You're fifteen minutes late," she
said.

"I had to get my essay from my locker," Barrett said. "The damn thing was jammed, so I
went to the custodians' office, but no one was there. I ran into Eddie and he opened my
locker."

His lie was so brazen, Gabbie knew he was challenging her, waiting to see if the new
teacher caved in. "You'll read your essay after Lynne."

"Oh, did I leave out that part? My essay's missing. Someone must have stolen it."

Gabbie shivered as he let loose another maniacal giggle. When he went silent, she met
his gaze. "Your grade is an F, unless by some miracle you happen to find it and read it in class
tomorrow. The highest grade you may receive is a C, as you've already failed to bring it to class
before today."

She shifted her attention to Lynne. "Have you found your essay?"

"Yep." Lynne stood and began to read "Why Movie Stars and Sports Heroes Aren't
Necessarily Good Role Models."

Gabbie listened, consciously ignoring Barrett's fixed stare, which he focused on her
breasts when he wasn't writing feverishly in a small note book. She ignored, too, his occasional
giggle, having decided that reprimanding him would only bring him the attention he so clearly
desired. The other students seemed unaffected by his presence, and were quick to offer their
comments as soon as Lynne finished reading her essay.

When the bell rang, Gabbie contained a sigh of relief that the period was over. Barrett
was the last student to leave the room. As he passed her desk, he said softly, "Never make an enemy
of the person in power."

"What?"

He walked out as if neither of them had spoken.

Shaken, she remained in her seat until students started coming in for the next class. I'll
speak to Tim Jordan about him.

But when she got to the principal's office, the door was closed, indicating he was in
conference. Barrett's guidance counselor was occupied as well. She'd speak to one of them
tomorrow, she promised herself, as she headed to her car.

Gabbie was glad to see it was no longer snowing. The inch or two that had
accumulated overnight was melting under sunny skies. The early afternoon brightness cheered
her.

She told herself she'd done well her first day of school. She'd taught her lessons and
controlled her classes. The kids were fine, except for Barrett Connelly, and she refused to let herself
get spooked by some weird kid with a maniacal laugh.

The rest of the day spread before her. For a moment she was tempted to stop at the
diner for a cup of coffee on the off-chance that Darren Rollins would be there. Her heartbeat
quickened as she considered pumping him for information that might help her find Cam's
murderer. Or perhaps he could give her some vital information about Barrett Connelly.

Bad idea. She sped past the diner. Darren Rollins was the last thing she needed on her
plate. Instead, she drove to the public library.

The library was surprisingly modern, not what she'd expected in a sleepy little town like
Chrissom Harbor. Instead of heading directly to the circulation desk, Gabbie detoured to a
prominent display of recent best sellers. There were several she'd planned to read but hadn't gotten
around to.

She stared wistfully at the several carrels equipped with computers. She'd always used
the computer in the office, never bothering to keep one at home. Now she promised herself her
second purchase would be a tablet--after buying a cell phone. At any rate, the library computer
could probably access old newspaper files. She'd love to see what the local paper had to say about
Cam's death.

When she applied for a library card, she discovered she'd need a copy of her lease to
prove she was a resident. "I'm taking Lydia Ketchem's classes while she recuperates from surgery,"
she told the woman at the circulation desk, "and I'd hoped to get some reference material
today."

"Oh, we can take care of that. I'll just issue you a temporary card, good for two weeks."
Barbara McIntlock, Director, the badge on her shirt read.

"That's wonderful. I promise I'll bring the lease in soon." Gabbie signed both sections of
the card and tucked hers into her pocket. "I really appreciate this."

"Enjoy our facilities, Ms. Meyerson," the director told her with a smile.

Gabbie thanked her and headed for one of the computers, intent on seeing what books
the library had on literary criticism regarding Fitzgerald and The Great Gatsby.

It was only when she felt an urgent pressure on her bladder that she realized she'd been
hard at work for over an hour. She turned off the computer and asked for directions to the ladies'
room.