Fat School Confidential (28 page)

   
The Admin building seemed to be all but deserted by the time I got back. But that was just it. It seemed all but deserted. I felt like a ghost, walking through populated corridors but not seeming to connect with anyone.

   
I went into my office. As I sat down to log into my computer, I received a text message on my cell phone.

    “
solo in 1 of the classrooms next to art room.”

   
I shot back a reply. “anyone with you?”

    “
Suzie.”

    “
for what?”

    “
smoking.”

    “
anyone watching?”

    “
One res staff – Maria.”

   
I was about to send her a response, when she interrupted me with another message. “gotta go.”

   
Why was Wendy “sharing” a solo with Suzie Calder? Did they share cigarettes? And why just one res staff between the two of them? Were they that short-staffed tonight?

   
I logged off the computer. I wasn’t going to get anything done. There were assignments to grade, but I was done grading.

   
Bill passed my doorway. At a brisk clip, he didn’t bother to look my way. Was that intentional? Something was up. Maybe I ought to pack, I thought. Closing my office door, I started taking an inventory of what belonged to me versus what belonged to the school. I separated books on the twin bookcases. I glanced outside; it was getting dark.

   
There was a knock on my door. It was Elijah.

    “
Hey, Mr. Rourke.”

    “
Hey.”

    “
Going to dinner?”

   
Another text message popped up.

    “
finished up with my BC. waiting for Bill n Cindy.”

   
I texted a quick, “ok.”

   
With a sigh, I turned to Elijah and let out a “Why not.”

    “
What’s wrong?”

    “
You know about Wendy, right?”

    “
She’s on solo. So?”

    “
It’s about me. She’s involved with me.”

   
Elijah’s expression turned to one of shock.  Of anyone on campus, Elijah would have long figured it out by now. I motioned him to step outside. Closing the door behind me, I walked with him towards the caf. We plodded down the hallway. Sensing my angst, and no doubt still in shock, he said nothing.

   
The cafeteria was busy but not overly crowded. I tried to put on my best game face. I scanned the room. Nobody seemed clued in on what was going on.

   
Elijah and I picked up our entrees and drinks and sat down across from one another at a near-empty table. Looking past Elijah, I noticed a couple res staff whispering to each other. Were they just looking at me?

   
I leaned across the table, so as not to raise my voice. “Whatever happens, I just want you to know you’ve been one of my best students.”

    “
Don’t talk like that, Mr. Rourke.”

    “
Just say, thank you, Mr. Rourke.”

   
Elijah let out a nervous giggle. “All right. Thank you, Mr. Rourke.”

   
I picked at my food, hungry but consumed with a foreboding that was almost unbearable. The sense I had earlier of the walls closing in on me was still there. For me to lift my head beyond facing my plate, let alone Elijah in front of me, took some effort.

   
My phone vibrated—alerting me to yet another text message. Holding the phone below the tabletop, I glanced down at the screen. The message was from Wendy.

    “
they know.”

   
Looking Elijah in the eye, I raised my head, saying, “They know.” His eyes went wide. Lifting my tray, I stood up. Busing my dishes, I led Elijah out of the caf. “Could you come with me to my office?” I asked. Not saying a word, he nodded.

   
The walk back to my office took forever. Dead man walking, I thought to myself. I wasn’t about to die, of course, but a part of me felt dead to the world. Teaching—that silly, fall-back career I took on years before when I couldn’t do anything else with an art degree, that job I excelled in, that job that made me feel wanted, needed, was done.

   
I was done.

   
I barely had my office door opened when Bill and Cindy arrived.

    “
Thanks, Elijah,” I said, facing him. With downcast eyes, Elijah managed a weak nod. And he was gone.

   
I stepped into my office. Closing the door behind them, Bill and Cindy followed me in.

    “
I need your keys and your ID,” Bill said, dead serious.

   
I went slack-jawed. I wasn’t surprised I was being let go, but I was surprised it was happening this way. Couldn’t I have gone home and gotten a phone call instead?

    “
We found this,” he added, pulling out the confiscated, pre-paid cell phone.

   
Not saying a word, I handed him my picture ID and my office key. Cindy just stood there, looking away. Her eyes were welling up. I stood up to grab my bag. Then Bill let me have it. “If you try to come back on campus for any reason, we will call the authorities.”

   
I must have given him a look. A look that said, “Just you watch.” Why then, did he assume I’d come back?

   
Walking out the door, I stopped to face Cindy. She looked ashamed of me. I wanted to say I was sorry, but thought better of it. I turned and walked out.

   
Getting into my Honda, I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know what to feel. I was just fired from the best job I ever had. A guy with an art degree, teaching without a credential at the first fat school in the whole country.  In the whole wide world. I was second-in-command of a whole department. And just like that, I threw it all away.

   
I turned the ignition, and drove down the road. As I neared the Mountain View turnoff, I pulled over. I had to let Wendy know.

   
I sent her the message, “Bill fired me.”

    “
where r u?” she responded.

   
I texted back, “Just left.”

   
She responded. “come back in an hour.”

   
I wanted to have Wendy in front of me, so that I could shake some sense into her. I had to type out my frustration instead.

    “
Are you crazy? They’ll have me arrested!”

    “
i’m leaving with you.”

   
She was fucking nuts. But so was I.

   
This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening, I kept telling myself. But it was. Should I continue to drive home, and leave it at that, or turn around and pick up Wendy? I knew the answer long before the question was even a question.

    “
Meet me at the same place as before. By the school. One hour.” I was referring to the spot where I picked her up for our joyride. The practice run.

    “
k.”

   
I drove about a mile before I found a small clearing to hide out for a while. I kept the radio off. I was in no mood to hear anything.

   
I sat.

   
Motionless.

   
Thinking back just a few minutes, I relived getting fired.

   
Fired.

   
I’d never been fired before—from any job. And we’re talking nearly thirty years of working all kinds of jobs, in all kinds of fields. From pool cleaning to pulling weeds to drafting to painting houses to working grip in the movie biz, I did it all.

   
But this. This was a career. And I destroyed it.

   
Forty minutes later, I got a phone call.

    “
Where the fuck are you?” Wendy screamed. She was out of breath.

    “
You said to wait an hour.”

    “
Come now!”

   
I spun around, hauling down Mountain View. Turning back onto Road Forty-Four, I glanced at my rearview mirror, envisioning my family waiting for me. It was about eight o’clock, a little after the time Ellie would be putting Bobby to bed. Most of the time, she’d call me or I’d call her to say goodnight to Bobby, at least on nights when I was “working late at the office.” This was such a night. But she didn’t call. And I was too wrapped up in my own misery to bother calling her.

   
I hit my high beams. With no street lamps to ever guide my way, the road was always dark. But on this night, the road seemed to disappear altogether. Rounding Road Forty-Four onto Road Four-Twenty-Four, I spotted the dim lights of the campus. A lone figure was running towards me.

    “
Shut the lights off!” yelled the figure.

   
It was Wendy. She was running like I’ve never seen anyone at A.O.S. run—staff included. I didn’t see anyone chasing her, and I wasn’t about to wait around either. Donuting the Honda ‘round, I screeched to a halt. Wendy jumped in. I floored it.

   
L.A. or bust.

   
Easier said than done.

Chapter 16

Flight From Fat School

    “
Want to listen to something?” I asked, eyes on the road.

    “
I don’t care.”

   
Ellie hadn’t called yet. Maybe that was a good thing. Was she still upset over Valentine’s Day? What the fuck was I going to tell her now? That I was fired? That I decided to abandon her and my job to shack up with a teenager in Hollywood?

   
That wasn’t the plan. That just wasn’t the plan.

   
I kept glancing at Wendy. Hunched over in a semi-fetal position, with her hood over her head, she stared straight ahead. Little remained of the tough as nails, I-can-handle-anything-cause-my-name-is-Wendy-Fucking-Barts that I came to be fond of. No, what I had here was a scared, run-of-the-mill, teenaged girl.

   
It was a little after Eight Fifteen P.M.

   
I turned on the radio. The last half of “Baba O’ Riley” by The Who played. There might have been some irony in that, but given the state of things, I couldn’t see it. Driving a notch above the speed limit, I headed towards Highway Ninety-Nine. There was little fog and the visibility was good.                                                                                                                                                     

   
I kept glancing sideways and at my rearview mirror. Any minute, a slew of personnel from A.O.S. would be on our tails. It was one thing to be fired from a world famous fat school. It was quite another to leave with one of its most popular students. Then again, maybe I was just being paranoid.

   
I glanced again at Wendy. She was shivering.

    “
Are you all right?”

    “
Do I fucking look all right?”

    “
Want to go back?”

    “
No.”

    “
Maybe I ought to get some blankets.”

   
Giving no reply, Wendy remained huddled. Was she going to be like this the whole way down to sunny southern California?

   
There was a flash of light reflecting off my side and rearview mirrors.

   
High beams.

   
Was someone following us already?

   
Did they want me to speed up or get out of the way?

   
Instead of jumping onto the freeway, I turned left onto Golden State Blvd, which ran parallel. As I turned, a custom, lowered pickup truck pulled up to my side. We both stopped our vehicles. The passenger window of the truck lowered. It was Carlos and Mario, the res staff from school. In the driver’s seat, Carlos gave me a polite nod. Mario smiled, but I didn’t know if he was smiling to be nice or if he was smiling because he was embarrassed and/or uncomfortable to see us. Carlos glanced over to a near-invisible Wendy.

    “
Wendy. You all right?” Carlos asked.