Читать книгу Learning Curve - Terry McLaughlin - Страница 9

HUMILIATION ALERT. Did Kay know about Emily’s adolescent fantasies? Did she suspect they were the real reason for this student teaching assignment? Not that a tiny crush had anything to do with anything, Emily was quick to reassure herself.

“Well, is he?” asked Kay. “A hunk?”

“Oh, yes.” Emily sighed. “He’s definitely still a hunk.”

Kay slipped back into her seat and leaned forward in conspiracy mode. “Rumor had it he was carrying on with Ginny Krubek, all those years ago.”

“Ginny Krubek?” Emily frowned. “Wasn’t she the stylist at The Cow Lick?”

Kay nodded, and then broke a cookie in two and put half on her plate. “The Wiz came roaring into town on his motorcycle late that summer, looking like sin on wheels.”

“I saw him walk out of the post office one morning.” Tall and tanned, so dangerously different than everyone else on the street. “I remember he had a ponytail.”

“He had Ginny cut it off the second week of school.” Kay lowered her voice to a whisper. “That was the same week Patsy Velasco started telling anyone who’d take the time to listen that Wiz had a tattoo. Of course, plenty of people around this town had plenty of time to gossip over information of that nature.”

Gossip temporarily knocked Piaget off the list of priorities. “I never heard anything about tattoos,” said Emily.

“That’s what made Patsy’s news so interesting. She said it wasn’t exactly available for public viewing.”

Imagining middle-aged Patsy Velasco viewing any of Joe’s less public places was doing something nasty to the butterscotch in Emily’s stomach. “Go back to the part about Ginny Krubek.”

“Oh, yes. Well,” Kay said, crossing her arms on the table, “like I said, rumors were flying fast and thick that there was something going on between Wiz and Ginny, too. Ginny was sure talking it up around town, at any rate.”

“Wasn’t there a Krubek in Jack’s class?”

“Yes, Steve Krubek. And the principal back then, Mr. Rockman, was fit to be tied. He threatened to withdraw Wiz’s contract. After all, Ginny’s husband was a school board member back then. I’m sure the poor man was putting a lot of pressure on Mr. Rockman, behind the scenes.”

“I knew there was something weird going on.” Emily drummed her fingers on the table. “I figured there had to be more than one reason Dad was always getting so upset about that new teacher.”

“Your father liked Wiz just fine, in spite of all their political disagreements. I think those two rather enjoyed arguing with each other. Dad used to say Wiz was one of the few intelligent life forms this side of Seattle. He did think Wiz could have been a little more discreet, though. Or at least discouraged Ginny’s attentions. I always thought she was inventing most of what she was spreading around. Maybe even all of it. Who knows for sure?”

Emily finished off the broken cookie. “Why would Wiz put up with Ginny’s big mouth? Or Patsy’s, for that matter?”

“I got the impression that Joseph P. Wisniewski wasn’t the kind of man who would give a hoot what other people said about him. Or thought about him, at any rate. That’s one of the things the women found so exciting.” Kay shook her head and laughed. “Lord, we were all so jealous of Ginny and Patsy back in those days.”

“Even you, Mom?”

Kay straightened in her chair and brushed at the front of her dress. “You forget I’m married to a hunk of my own. I have neither the time nor the inclination to notice anything about another man. Even if he does look like a gypsy with the very devil in his eyes.”

Emily grinned. “That’s still a pretty good description.”

“Oh, I imagine he’s even more attractive now. Men get that chiseled look to their faces when they get a little older. Unless they go doughy. I can’t imagine Wiz ever getting doughy, though. He was already a little chiseled to begin with, and besides, he had plenty of room for some more meat on those bones.” Kay twitched a wrinkle out of the tablecloth. “Is he going gray? Losing his hair?”

“I don’t think gray hair or male pattern baldness are in the picture yet.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Kay shook her head and settled back. “He’s only about ten years older than you, if that. He always did seem so much older, even back then. Some people do, you know.”

Emily thought for a moment about all she’d heard of Joe’s unconventional lifestyle and his reckless choices in women. Living like that would probably age anyone—and not the way a fine wine aged. “Well, he’s had an interesting life.”

“Yes, he certainly has, hasn’t he? Up to and including the moment he decided to settle down to teach at that tiny school in this speck of a town. Why a man like that would ever choose to live in a place like this has always been a mystery to me.”

Kay nibbled a bit more on her cookie and stared out the window. Emily studied her mother, certain now that Kay had just pulled off another fast one. This afternoon’s meandering conversation had ended up precisely where she’d meant it to end. With a subtle warning to steer clear of any involvement with a man who was completely wrong for her daughter under any circumstances.

Emily had already figured things out for herself: Joseph P. Wisniewski was bad news. As a master teacher…well, she was prepared to give him another chance. Or two. After all, he hadn’t wanted her in his classroom. But as a prospect for a romantic relationship outside the classroom? There was no evidence he was capable of anything resembling romance or a relationship.

Not that she should be entertaining thoughts about a romance or a relationship in the first place. Either one would jeopardize this assignment. And she couldn’t disappoint her family again, not with another failed attempt at a professional career, and not with a questionable choice for her personal life.

She flicked a glance at the pig and tried not to wince. Half past time to drag her mind away from tattoos and tackle tonight’s university assignment.

If there was one thing Kay could field like a major league champ, it was a social cue. She peeked at her watch and gasped. “Look at the time! I’ve truly overstayed my welcome. And I’ll be lucky to make it back to the city before that awful rush hour traffic starts up.” She stood to smack a little air kiss near Emily’s left ear. “You’re such a gracious hostess, dear, putting up with this interminable visit from your mother.”

“I enjoyed every minute.”

“Yes, the gossip was delicious.”

“So were the cookies. Thanks.”

Kay turned at the door. “Don’t be a stranger, Em. Let’s get together again, soon.”

“Okay.” Emily gave her mother a quick squeeze. She was pumped up on butterscotch and gossip now, ready to take on Piaget. She could even face the prospect of a discussion on decorating. “How about a shopping trip the weekend after next?”

“Call me.”

“I will.”

Emily stepped out on the crooked little porch and waved as the silver sedan backed into the county road. “I will,” she promised them both.

JOE HEADED THROUGH the main doors of Caldwell High the following week and made an immediate about-face, hoping to escape Volunteer Friday before anyone noticed. No such luck.

“Hey, Wiz!” Sophomore Lindsay Wellek waved him toward a card table wrapped in gaily painted butcher paper and stacked with pamphlets in more somber, politically correct recyclable shades. “A lot of people have been checking us out. I think the Garden Project is really going to take off this year.”

The Garden Project—the sole survivor of his misbegotten attempts at service learning, and the one extracurricular commitment he’d kept to ward off the possibility of a more strenuous assignment. “That’s good to hear,” he said.

He recognized the light in Lindsay’s eyes, that heady mix of altruism and activism that fired the soul with strength and confidence in cause and self. He’d seen it in the mirror, not that many years ago. But now, surrounded by all this energy, with the scent of pledges and possibilities wafting through the corridor and the bustle at the tables humming like the soundtrack for Norma Rae, he felt as if the last embers of his fire had gone cold a lifetime ago.

When had he become more concerned with logistics and permission slips than with the basic joy of being a part of something good? When had he lost the ability to bask in the contentment of counting for something, of mattering to someone?

At what precise moment had he turned into one more member of the establishment?

Hell, he wasn’t even a good bureaucrat. He’d forgotten about this morning’s activities.

“This looks great,” he said. “Did you paint this sign yourself?”

Lindsay’s blush clashed with her red hair. “Yeah.”

“Hey, Wiz.” Matt stopped at the table, shrugged his backpack higher on his shoulder and reached for one of the pamphlets. He studied the information with great care, ignoring Lindsay’s wistful glances.

Joe rolled his eyes at the teen angst tableau. He wanted to say something, to shove Matt off the curb and into the rush of oncoming female traffic, but he reminded himself that matchmaking was against one of his religions.

Besides, he’d nearly been sideswiped himself recently.

He settled a hand on Lindsay’s shoulder. “You need to get yourself into Mrs. Mazza’s art class next semester. I’m sure she’d appreciate having a student with some natural talent for a change.”

Lindsay’s blush deepened, and he gave her shoulder a tiny squeeze before straightening to level a long stare at Matt.

“What?” Matt asked.

“Get your nose out of that pamphlet and enjoy the scenery.”

He turned and started a zigzag path through the crowd, checking in with the club officers stationed at other tables. And noting Emily’s bold, spiky signature on far too many of the sign-up sheets. She was probably deep in chirp heaven this morning, spreading enthusiasm like pepper spray at an Earth First protest. Spreading way too much of her energy far too thin.

She’d learn her lesson soon enough. Extracurricular activities were education’s answer to Chinese water torture. They wore teachers down, drip by time-consuming drip.

He hoped she wouldn’t cry on his shoulder when the going got tough, or expect him to bail her out when she started to sink. One more reason he didn’t want a student teacher.

There she was now, pausing at the table advertising winter term cheerleading tryouts, scribbling in the bulging organizer that seemed to be a detachable part of her anatomy. There was no way in hell he’d help her with a cheerleading commitment.

“How’s it going, Wiz?”

He turned in time to catch Mitch Dornley’s admiring glance at Emily’s legs, and he shifted position to block the athletic director’s view. “Fine. It’s going just fine.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

Mitch hesitated, waiting for a response, but Joe let him sweat. He knew what was coming. It was the same routine every year.

“We’ve got another vacancy on the coaching staff, Wiz.”

“That’s tough.”

Mitch hesitated. “It’s a tough one to fill, all right.”

Foreign languages like Innuendo lost a lot in the translation for Mitch. He scratched his bald spot and stuck to his game plan. “It’s the JV girls’ basketball team. They’re a little low on talent this year, since we had to promote a few to fill in the gaps on Varsity. And those girls’ JV teams are always kind of touchy. All those hormones and stuff.”

“Nasty things, hormones.”

Mitch nodded, obviously relieved to have escaped the ravages of estrogen. “I was just thinking…well, you did play hoops in college.”

“I played, Mitch. I didn’t coach.”

“You coached track. The first year you were here.”

“The post-traumatic stress episodes are finally tapering off,” said Joe. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Good morning, Wiz.” Emily breezed into the conversation. “Hi, Mitch.”

“Hey there, Emily.” Mitch arched back and sucked in his gut. “I was just trying to talk The Wiz here into coaching JV girls’ hoops.”

“Really?” Emily seemed surprised. “Why?”

“He played hoops in college.”

“Playing isn’t the same thing as coaching, Mitch,” Emily pointed out. “Coaching takes special skills. Not everyone has them.”

Mitch puffed up again. “That’s right.”

“I coached track once.” Joe couldn’t explain why that had popped out. Maybe the puffing was contagious.

“You did?” She stared up at him. “Imagine that.”

“Can’t you?”

She smiled politely. “Not really, no.”

Sheesh, where was a little chirpiness when a fellow needed it? “Well, I did. My first year here.”

“Oh.” Emily brightened. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

The day’s first bell set off slamming locker doors and last-minute pamphlet grabbing.

“Sorry,” Emily said as she turned to go. “Can’t be late taking first period attendance.”

“Catch you later, Wiz.” Mitch jogged up behind Emily, catching her by one arm. He leaned down close to her ear and whatever he said had her laughing and shaking her curls against his shoulder.

Joe stood in the hall, students and staff churning around him like salmon headed upstream to spawn, and watched Emily disappear up the stairs. What in the hell was all that about? What did she mean, she couldn’t imagine him coaching? Didn’t she think he was patient enough? Sensitive enough? Inspirational enough? Did she think he was too lazy? Too irresponsible? Too out of shape?

Okay, so he probably was—or wasn’t—a lot of those things. But just because he thought so didn’t give her the right to entertain the same opinions. She certainly didn’t know him well enough yet to catalog or appreciate the impressive list of his negative qualities. The fascinating backstories, the intriguing layers, the varied nuances—the mud-splattered tapestry of his soul.

He stalked into the office, snatched his mail out of his box and dumped it all into the nearest trash container. He stood there for a moment, visualizing himself kicking the can, imagining the whump of the metal, feeling the thwack against his sandal. Ahh, that was better. Slightly less violent, definitely more mature, and the next best thing to actually putting a dent in the can. Or picking it up and heaving it at the nearest window—or Dornley’s head. Whichever got in the way first.

“Well, if it isn’t another wonderful, wonderful day,” Linda practically purred from behind her counter. “Good morning, Wiz. And how are you doing?”

“Can it, Linda.”

“You’ve already handled that little chore.” She held up a note. “I managed to rescue this before you went through your daily filing routine. You might want to answer it before Blob Dixon threatens to cut off the funding for whatever he’s promising to fund this week.”

He grinned at Linda’s pet name for Bob, part owner of Dixon’s Hardware and full-blown parental plague on Caldwell High. Bob also happened to be Joe’s landlord, a fact he repeated every couple of weeks or so, just in case the concept hadn’t yet lodged in the one short-term memory cell of Joe’s brain. “What does he want this time?”

“A parent-teacher conference.”

“It’s only the second week of school.”

“He has some concerns about your student teacher.”

There was another reason he didn’t want a student teacher. Now he was going to have to deal with all the parental concern issues Emily dragged to his classroom door. “He just wants to check her out,” he said. “Up close and personal.”

“Blob and every other red-blooded single male in the school community. Some of the married ones, too.” Linda shot a slitted glance at Kyle’s door, and then rested an elbow on the counter, waving the message. “Tell me, what’s it like mentoring the Student Teacher Most Likely to Cause a Traffic Pileup?”

Joe took the memo and crammed it into his pocket. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

She laced her fingers beneath her chin. “Oh, yeah.”

“Well, for your information—and for Blob Hardware’s, and for anyone else who asks—she’s doing fine. Just fine.” The second bell rang. “She’s up there right now, taking roll. She’ll probably march the troops through maneuvers and drill them on essay responses before I arrive.”

“I’ve heard she’s a take-charge gal. I also hear she’s got a date for every dance-chaperoning duty this fall.”

“Yeah, well, things’ll quiet down once everyone gets used to everyone else.”

“Hmm.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What was that supposed to mean?”

“What?”

“That ‘hmm.’ I know that ‘hmm.’”

“Oh, nothing.” Linda rubbed at a speck on the counter. “Better get up there, Wiz. High school students have been known to eat student teachers and subs for breakfast, especially since most of them don’t eat anything before they get here.”

“I thought that’s what the candy in the snack machines was for.”

“Hyped up on a sugar fix and ready to rumble,” said Linda. “Either way, things could get ugly.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think anyone’ll try anything. They’ve been pretty easy on her so far. If I didn’t know better, I might start believing some of these crazy rumors going around.”

“I heard her dad is a three-star general who used to send her to basic instead of summer camp.”

He grinned. “You wouldn’t happen to know where that rumor got started, would you?”

She inspected her nails. “Not a clue.”

“Speaking of military types, how’s Alice?”

“Your department chair? Still AWOL. Having a real tough time with this pregnancy, from what I hear.” She paused. “I don’t think she’s going to make it back at all this year.”

“Damn.” Joe took a deep, resentful breath and let it rush out in despair. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“I guess I’d better get up there.” He glanced at the ceiling. “Things may be nice and quiet right now, but what really worries me are the crazy ideas Ms. Sullivan might be pouring into those empty heads.”

EMILY STARED at all the hands in the air, exhilaration and terror churning in her stomach along with her leftover pizza breakfast. She wished her university adviser was here to observe how well she was directing this American History discussion. And she hoped Joe wouldn’t tell her adviser he wanted her out of his classroom because she directed discussions just like this.

“Does anyone disagree with what Matt just said?” she asked, looking for someone who hadn’t yet had a chance to speak. “Angie?”

“No way!” Angie twisted in her seat to face Matt across the room. “I mean, it’s so obvious that the Boston Tea Party was totally an anarchy thing. You know, like those people who smashed the windows in Seattle.”

“Yeah, but at least those Seattle dudes didn’t wear disguises,” added someone from the back row.

“Starbucks coffee and English tea,” rumbled Joe’s soft voice from the classroom doorway. “Hmm.”

Emily winced at the ominous sound of that hmm. She turned to see him lounging against the wide wood trim. One corner of his mouth slid into a wry grin. The kind of grin that could mask any number of things: irritation, amusement, her imminent dismissal. The kind of grin that scrambled her pulse and scattered her thoughts.

“Guess some people can get a little violent about their caffeine addiction,” he said. “But anarchists? That’s an interesting take on the Sons of Liberty.”

She cleared her throat and pasted on a bright, confident smile to mask her panic. “We were discussing how some British taxpayers might have been angry about the actions and beliefs of some of the American colonists. Considering a different point of view.”

“Is that so?”

“Just for the sake of argument,” she added.

“Well, now. That sounds…fascinating. Sorry I missed it,” he said. “How about a little review of the highlights?”

He slipped his hands into his pockets and settled into one of those deceptively negligent poses. “Just for the sake of argument.”