Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Bonnie Tucker was expecting trouble when she and her walking cane thumped down the hall of the high school that afternoon. Not the kind of trouble she’d wound up having, of course. Nowhere near that. But she was a substitute, called in from retirement for a thirty-something rookie who was out sick.
No word on which of the current elder-killing ailments the regular teacher had brewing, so Bonnie’s ever-present oversized shoulder bag—patterned in teal and yellow hibiscus flowers—included a large box of Clorox wipes.
She wasn’t masked, and the only reason she wasn’t masked was because high school freshmen would eat her alive if she showed up masked at a time when nobody was masking. Hell, they might eat her alive anyway.
Maybe not though. She’d taught most of these kids in middle school English.
Oh, she could’ve retired at fifty-five but she’d kept working anyway until two years ago.
She’d had good relationships with the kids back then.
Heck, that fall when the seventh-grade girls all got matching rainbow cellphone covers to support LGBTQIA+ rights, they’d given her one, too. She still used it!
It was April Fool’s Day, so she was hoping to break the ice by fooling them first thing.
She was wearing a brown crocheted shawl and a little pillbox hat with all her hair tucked up underneath.
She walked bent over a cane, thumping it with each step.
Maybe an opening gag would remind the kids that they used to actually like her.
She thumped up to the classroom door, pushed it open, and thumped inside.
Her vision was unfocused, because she’d pushed her round tortoiseshell-framed glasses halfway down her nose.
But she could see in her periphery that the room was already filled with students—some were even sitting at desks.
She didn’t look directly at them. Let them have some fun at her expense.
She heard a couple of muffled laughs and glimpsed some whispering behind hands, but the ones who’d still been standing meandered toward their desks and settled in. So far, so good.
She thump-thump-thumped to the front of the room and wrote her name on the chalkboard in stupidly huge, swooping letters, which drew a few more giggles. Mrs. Tucker, she scrawled.
Then she turned to face them, pushed up her glasses, and took off her hat. Her hair spilled into its usual shoulder-length-with-long-bangs look as she flung off the shawl, under which she was wearing jeans and fuzzy blue sweater and said, “April fools!”
The kids burst out laughing. “Hey! It’s Mrs. Tucker!” one of the girls yelled. Then added, “I had her in seventh grade!”
Several others said, “Hey, me, too!”
There were plenty of new faces, as well, but they were all smiling. Icebreaker successful.
“I’m glad you didn’t get all bent up for real,” another girl said.
“Well, I’m old, but I’m not that old,” Bonnie replied.
“How old?” one of the boys yelled.
Note to self, back right corner’s a scrappy one. “Sixty-three,” she said.
“That’s pretty old, Mrs. Tucker,” said a familiar girl who sat in the center. Sara Leroy still had brown hair and brown eyes, but they’d lost their sparkle. She looked as if something was bothering her.
Bonnie had taught for thirty-eight years. A lot had changed. Too much hadn’t. You could still see a child’s pain in their eyes, and Sara hadn’t had it easy, being raised by a grandmother due to drug-addled parents.
“It is pretty old,” Bonnie agreed. “But I feel I have another twenty in me. Anyway, before we get started, anybody know what kind of illness Miss Taylor has?”
“My mom said flu,” one of the boys answered.
Bonnie went across the room, leaving her prop cane behind, and opened the windows. It was too cold to open them, but she opened them anyway. “Just for a few minutes to clear the germs out,” she said, “since I’m so old and whatnot.” And she winked.
“My mom said she didn’t even get the shot,” a helpful young man with dark curls offered.
And she’s teaching our youth? Bonnie shook her head and rolled her eyes. She got out her phone in its rainbow case and a huge container of Clorox wipes from her shoulder bag. Then she used one of the wipes on Typhoid Taylor’s iPad so she could safely take attendance.
The kids were cooperative. She followed Miss Taylor’s lesson plan, gave them twenty minutes to read a scene from their current novel, Of Mice and Men, then passed out a pre-written list of questions about what they’d just read for classroom discussion.
She had to pry thoughts from most of them, but some had good insights.
Substitute teaching was pretty hellish the few times Bonnie had done it so far, and the pay was pitiful.
But times had changed for her. Everything had changed for her.
A year after she’d retired, Mark had died, and then the economy had crashed, and she just wasn’t ready to give up her home.
So, she’d started accepting substitute gigs this year, a step toward life without her partner and other half, she supposed.
A few days a month gave her just enough wiggle room to get by.
This class was her only one for the day, since Miss Taylor and her flu had gone home sick halfway through.
She did well with kids this age, probably because in addition to middle school, she’d taught freshmen and sophomores for a big chunk of her career, and maybe too, because her twin granddaughters were fifteen.
Once the bell rang and all the kids had cleared out, she went around the room to make sure no one had left anything behind. It was something she’d done after every class of her long career as a teacher.
Sara Leroy’s sparkly scrunchy was still on her desk. Bonnie picked it up, then went to the phone on the wall and connected to the office.
Her longtime co-worker Cathy Conroy, whose job was office manager and who practically ran the school, truth be told, picked up. “Hey Bonnie. How’d the class go?”
“I was nervous for nothing, as usual,” she replied. “Do you know where Sara Leroy is heading next? She left something at her desk.”
“Mm, checking. It’s her free period, but she has a session with Mr. Terrence.”
“Mr. Terrence? Is he new?”
“Phillip Terrence,” Cathy replied. “Runs an advanced math clinic. Spends a month in each district around our region, big test at the end. Kids are actually getting their math grades up. Passing his class looks good on college applications, too, so the kids love it. He sets aside time every day for private tutoring sessions for the ones who need extra help. Room 202. That’s upstairs, you remember? ”
“Sure do. Thanks, Cathy.”
Bonnie went upstairs, carrying her prop cane. She’d put everything else in her big teal and yellow hibiscus shoulder bag. It was actually a beach bag, waterproofed canvas with a rubberized bottom. It had room for practically everything she owned.
There were so many things she liked to carry with her since Mark died.
Way more things than she ever used to carry.
She supposed there was some kind of a psychological issue going on there, something about feeling insecure.
That was her biggest flaw, since losing Mark—feeling insecure and kind of lost in the world.
But she’d never been like that before, and she was determined to get back to the strong and confident woman she used to be.
It was just…taking a little longer than she’d hoped.
She started to open the door marked 202, then stilled at Sara’s voice saying, “I don’t want to! I’m not doing it again. I aced this test and you know it.”
Frowning, Bonnie hesitated, not wanting to interrupt something that sounded heated.
“It’s an F, Sara,” said Mr. Terrence. “Unless you help me out.”
“Fail me if you want. I don’t care.” Sara’s footsteps came closer to the door.
“You don’t care about getting into Harvard?”
Her footsteps stopped.
“It’s just a few photos, Sara, in exchange for your whole future.”
“Excuse me,” Bonnie said, because she’d heard just about enough. Photos? Seriously? What is going on here?
She stepped into the classroom, empty but for the man and the girl.
Bonnie looked the man over—mid-forties, six three, maybe. Tall, mostly skinny except for a pot belly. He looked irritated.
Sara looked guilty and that tweaked Bonnie’s nearly untweakable temper.
“Can I help you with something?” Mr. Terrence’s tone was acidic. He looked Bonnie up and down and made it obvious that he found her lacking.
She thought his head was too narrow and his dark eyebrows were so pointy in the middle she was sure it was the result of a bad facelift. His black hair was dyed, and he wore it high in the front, like a wannabe Elvis.
“Sounds like I can help you,” she said, smiling from a clenched jaw, and momentarily feeling less insecure than she had in a year. “You have a disagreement over a test score? I’d be happy to give it a look for myself and weigh in.”
He said, “Yeah, I don’t need any help with my grading from you.”
“I beg to differ.” She strode right over to Sara and plucked the test from her hands. “I’ll take this home and have a look. We can have the superintendent be the final judge if we disagree.”
Sara nodded then glanced back at Mr. Terrence, whose expression was so menacing, even Bonnie got a chill up her spine. What was happening here?
Sara turned around, her expression blank, and as she walked out of the room she took the test back from Bonnie. Without meeting her eyes, she said, “It’s okay, Mrs. Tucker. I just need to do some extra credit work.”
“What kind of extra credit work?” Bonnie asked.
“I have to go.”
The girl hurried away, but her phone sounded off as she passed and when Bonnie looked at him again, Mr. Terrence had his phone in his hand. Did he just text that child?
Bonnie felt her eyes narrow and her heart rate rise. Could this be what it looked like? She had to do something.