Whispers in the Dark (3 page)

I walked into the middle school's main building. The smell of the waxed floor hit
my nose, bringing a smile to my face. The hallway was full of excitement, as students
hugged and laughed with each other. I looked at the different trophy cases along
the hall as I made my way to the teachers' lounge. Even the teachers' lounge was
a sight to see. In the middle of the contemporary lounge sat a wooden table that
could seat eight people. Two cardinal-red swivel chairs sat against the wall, with
an ottoman between them. I could smell coffee brewing on the counter next to a stainless
steel refrigerator. Sitting at the table was an older woman with big, thick reading
glasses who resembled Judi Dench, and a younger, petite African-American woman with
short hair, who looked really familiar.

“Hi,” the older woman greeted me as I walked in.

“Hello,” I responded.

“How can we help you?” she asked, examining me.

“Oh, I'm Adrian Ramirez,” I said. “I'll be teaching the eighth-grade English class.”

“Oh, okay.” The older lady nodded her head. “No one tells me anything around here.
You look so young that I thought you were one of the students. What are you, about
twenty-two or twenty-three?”

“Twenty-six,” I corrected her.

“Oh. Richard loves hiring them young,” the older woman said to the younger woman.

“Yes, he does,” the younger woman replied.

“So, where did you go to school?” the older woman asked.

“UNC . . . Well, the University of North Carolina is where I went for my undergrad,
and West Georgia for grad school,” I answered.

“And high school?” she asked.

“Oh, I went to Newnan.”

“That's where I went,” the younger woman intervened. “What year did you graduate?”

“Wait just a second, Denise,” the older woman interrupted. “I'm still
interviewing
this young man, since I'm just now meeting him. Newnan High School, huh? So, are
you nervous?”

“Nervous? No,” I answered. “I've taught students before. I was a teacher's aide for—”

“Yeah, you're nervous,” the older woman interrupted once again. “I can always tell
with the new ones. He looks nervous, doesn't he, Denise?”

“Yeah, he seems a little nervous,” Denise added.

“I'm not nervous,” I repeated. “I'm excited to be here. First day of school and—”

“Well, nervous or not,” the older woman interrupted again, “I'm going to let you
know now. Make sure you keep your classroom under control and keep those kids busy,
because you don't want Rambo to be walking around and hear your classroom out of
hand.”

“Right.”

“And keep that lesson plan ready, because she will be checking it,” the older lady
warned. “That lady has a three-strike policy, it seems like, doesn't she, Denise?”

“Yeah, I believe it's three strikes,” Denise answered.

“Okay. Wait, who is Rambo?” I asked.

“Mrs. Ramsey,” the older lady answered.

“Oh, the assistant principal?” I said confidently. “I don't think I've met her yet.
Sounds like a beast!”

“Yep, but we call her Rambo,” the older woman informed me, while packing up her paperwork.
“But all right, young man, I have to run. Oh, and one more thing, Mr. Ramirez. Get
to know the staff and other teachers here. Because we're all one big family. Isn't
that right, Denise?”

“Yes, that's right,” Denise answered, smiling.

“Because if you don't, Mr. Ramirez,” the older woman continued, “Rambo will count
that as a strike.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “I will keep an eye out for Rambo, thanks! I didn't get your name.”

The older woman smiled. “Mrs. Ramsey.” Then she walked out the door.

My heart sank into my stomach. I felt so embarrassed.

“She's something else, I know,” Denise said, shaking her head. “No one calls her
Rambo. That's a name she gave herself, to intimidate the students.”

“I wish I would have had a heads-up,” I tell her.

“Yeah, I couldn't say anything,” Denise continued, “She did me the same way. This
is my second year here. She tests all the new teachers like that. Just to see how
much research they've actually done. But it'll be fine. Just be ready at all times
around her.”

“I'll make a mental note of that,” I said. “So you went to Newnan? What year did
you graduate?”

“Two thousand ten,” she answered.

“Ah, boo. You were just a li'l young'un,” I said, jokingly. “I finished in '09. I
remember seeing you. You're the front office secretary, right?”

“That is correct,” Denise said, picking up her folders. “Well, Adrian, I'd love to
chit-chat, but I've gotta run. Oh, and one word of advice. This is a great school
to be teaching at. You're in a great position. Just don't let them see you sweat.
Not Mrs. Ramsey, not the parents, and especially not the students.”

Denise smiled and walked out of the lounge.

Great way to start the day, Adrian
, I thought.

I immediately walked out of the teachers' lounge and down the hallway to my classroom.
Even though Mrs. Ramsey had made me feel like I wasn't prepared, deep down inside
I knew I was. Teaching was in my blood. My grandmother had a way of explaining things
to me that seemed so simple. I realized in middle school that I could do the same
thing. When the kids in my class didn't understand what was going on, they would
come to me, because they knew I could explain it better than the teacher. So I had
a reason to keep my head up.

I reached my classroom and opened the door. It felt cooler in the room than in the
hallway.

Man, it's cold in here
, I said to myself. I noticed a little brown-haired girl with
glasses sitting at a desk near the door, reading a book.

“Oh, hello,” I greeted her, turning on the lights.

“Hello,” she replied, looking up.

I walked to my desk and put my briefcase on top of it. “It's pretty cold in here,
isn't it?”

I unpacked my notes and paperwork, listening for her response, but she didn't say
anything. I looked up to see her looking closely at me.

“I'm Mr. Ramirez,” I introduced myself. “I'll be your English teacher.”

“Oh, okay,” she responded. “I'm Isabelle.”

“You're here early, Isabelle,” I tell her.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Isabelle was still looking at me with a straight face. What else did she want me
to say?

“Well, I'm going to be your new teacher,” I repeated.

“Yeah, you said that already,” Isabelle said, drily. “You look kinda young.”

“Yeah, well, I get that a lot,” I told her.

“Did you just graduate college or something?” Isabelle asked. I could tell she was
probably going to be a little smartass.

“Actually, no, I recently graduated with my master's,” I responded.

“Figures,” Isabelle said drily again, and went back to reading her book.

Yeah, she's going to be a problem, I thought. I hoped the rest of the kids weren't
like this.

“So, what are you reading there?” I started to ask, but was interrupted by the school
bell.

I heard the students flooding up the hallways, and lockers slamming and opening.
Isabelle kept reading her book and didn't look back up at me.

One by one, the students started coming into the classroom. I walked over and stood
outside the door and greeted them as they came in. Standing there took me back to
when I was in middle school. Three girls stood by their lockers, laughing together.
Two of the girls walked into my classroom. A group of guys walked by looking for
their classroom. This is what it's all about!

The warning bell rang.

I walked back into my classroom and stood by the dry-erase board.

The final bell rang.

A few more students walked into my classroom and sat down.

“All right, everyone,” I started, “Welcome back to another school year. I'm Mr. Ramirez.
But you guys can call me Mr. Ramirez.”

A few of the students laughed.

“Well, let me ask this. How's everyone feeling this morning?”

“Ready to go home,” a husky male student answered.

“Ready to go home?” I asked. “You can't be ready to go home. Today's the first day.”

“How old are you?” a blonde-haired girl asked. That caught me off guard. “I mean,
you just look really young.”

“Yeah, did you just get out of college or something?” the girl sitting next to her
asked.

“Well, I just finished grad school,” I answered. “I was just telling Isabelle . .
.”

“What college did you go to?” a male student asked.

“I went to UNC,” I responded. “The University of North Carolina, then the University
of West Georgia for grad school.”

“North Carolina seems kinda boring,” the opinionated blonde girl said. “Did they
party a lot there?”

“Well.” I hesitated, considering whether I really wanted to share that information.
“From what I understand, there were a good amount of parties there.”

“Was it like in the movies?” the blonde girl asked. “Like that boring Facebook movie?”

I laughed slightly. “Boring? That was actually a really good movie.” God, this girl
asked a lot of questions. I could see I'd really have to be on my toes at this school.
“But anyway, yes, it was sort of like the Facebook movie. But without all the computer
science stuff. Well, that wasn't my major. But that's enough about me . . .”

“So this is like your first day, huh?” the blonde girl asked.

“Why, yes, it is,” I replied.

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

“Not even a little bit,” I responded quickly, shaking my head. “I'm
excited! I'm
excited to get to know you guys. As a matter of fact, raise your hands if this is
your
first day at this school.”

Three students' hands went up, one of them Isabelle's.

“All right. Do you all mind telling us your names and where you're from? And something
we should know about you?” I asked them.

“All right. I'm Brent Donaldson,” a dark-haired, slim student said. “I'm from Orlando,
Florida, and, umm . . . I'm a baseball player.”

“Baseball, huh?” I said. “What position do you play?”

“Shortstop,” Brent answered.

“Oh, okay. Same position I played. And your name?” I asked the other new student,
an Asian girl.

“I'm Alicia Nguyen,” she said. “I'm from Richmond, Virginia and . . . I like to write
poetry.”

“A poet? Okay. You care to share any of your poetry with us?”

“No,” Alicia said, hastily. “Not right now.”

“Okay, but I'm going to be expecting to hear some of it one day,” I told her.

“Okay.”

“And I saw your hand go up, Isabelle,” I said.

Isabelle looked at me, then said, “I'm Isabelle, and it's my first time here.”

“Okay. Anything you care to share with the class?” I asked. “Like your hobbies or
where you're from?”

Isabelle shook her head and simply said, “No.”

“Okay, well, let's continue introducing ourselves! Who's next?” I asked the class.

“I'll go,” the talkative blonde student said. “I'm Cali Ferris, as most of you know.
I've been going to this school since forever.” She pointed to the girl next to her.
“This is my best friend, Miranda. We're both from Newnan, but we plan on moving to
Los Angeles and becoming actresses. My agent is dying for me to come out there now,
but my parents won't let me. Let me see, what else? Oh, I already have a big fan
following. I already have thirty-five hundred and fifty followers on Twitter, and
I think like four thousand
something friends on Facebook, which I'm hardly ever on,
but y'all can add me. I think almost six thousand on Instagram. I have to check,
I'm not sure. Oh, and my agent is supposed to have my website up next week, so I'll
keep y'all posted on that.”

I couldn't believe this. This little snotty-nosed kid had more followers than I on
everything, and wasn't even in high school yet.

“So, have you acted in anything we may know about?” I asked.

“Have I acted in anything?” Cali repeated, as if she was offended. “Do you not watch
TV? I've been in like millions of commercials since I was four. My dad owns the Ferris
Ford dealership, and I'm always in his commercials.”

Car dealership commercials? I thought, slightly laughing to myself. That's not real
acting.

“All right, Cali,” I said, with a chuckle to myself. I was getting a pretty good
picture of Cali. “Who else?”

“I want to go,” the husky male student said, standing up. The students started giggling,
so I knew he must be the class clown.

“My name is Dorian Fuller and, like, my daddy owns the McDonald's down the street,”
Dorian said, mimicking Cali. The students laughed. “And, like, I have sixteen thousand
followers on Twitter, and I'm at my limit with my Facebook friends.”

Everyone laughed again as Cali balled up a piece of paper and threw it at him. “Shut
up, Dorian! You're so stupid!”

As a teacher, I started thinking of the best way to cut Dorian's mocking off, but
to myself I was thinking, Geez, he's not even that funny. These kids just wanted
something to laugh at, I guessed.

“And, like, I wanna be a singer and sing for all my fans one day,” Dorian continued.
“And tour all over the world with Rihanna.”

As I raised my hand to cut him off, the door opened slowly.

In walked identical twins. The twins were both pale and thin, with long, black hair
and dark bags under their eyes. These twins looked older than the other students.
They looked like they came right out of a gothic novel. This should be interesting,
I thought.