Eight
Trudy
With football starting Friday, the school had been abuzz; the Bruins spirit in the air was inescapable, even for Trudy.
Perhaps that’s why she was sleepless at three o’clock on a Wednesday morning, tossing and turning like a worm on a hot brick.
She finally decided to just get up and go to school early.
She could use the time to inventory chemistry supplies, something she’d promised Miss Duffy she’d do.
In the empty school before the sun was up, every sound she made—her heels snapping against the tile, her keys dangling from her pinky, her cough—echoed through the halls.
After hours, the building lived a secret life few people knew about.
The HVAC system snored inside the walls and behind the bulletin boards, the fire extinguishers, and the posters announcing Bye Bye Birdie!
auditions. Every few moments, a random clang or bang or bump broke the beast’s steady hum.
Just the plumbing, Trudy told herself, pushing aside thoughts about what, or who, might be lurking in the darkness.
It was ridiculous, of course, but her heart beat a little faster and her palms got all clammy.
She couldn’t stop imagining some rabid beast chasing her through the halls, or Jason jumping out with a knife; this was why she never watched scary movies, and why she should’ve never agreed to see Friday the Thirteenth with her sister Emily last month.
“You’re being dumb, Trudy,” she finally said aloud, attempting to commandeer the silence. “There’s no one here. And certainly, no rabid dogs inside a school.” Hearing her own voice echo down the halls calmed her, so she yelled, “HEY!”
HEY . . . hey . . . hey . . . hey . . . the hallways echoed back. She smiled.
She took a breath, yelled again, “Who’s ready for some inventory?”
ORY . . . ory. . . ory. . . ory. . .
She cupped her hands on either side of her mouth, and belted, “I want my MTV!”
VEE . . . vee . . . vee . . . vee . . .
She laughed at herself and yelled again. “Miss Abernathy is the best teacher ever!”
Woof! Woof! Woof!
For a split second, Trudy thought her head was playing tricks on her.
But she quickly came to terms with the unmistakable sound of a literal barking dog.
She made out its darkened figure, galloping full speed right toward her.
A rabid dog. In the school. Her fears had been right all along. She let out a high-pitched scream.
Woof! Woof! Woof! The beast didn’t relent.
“Oh my God!” On her toes, Trudy scuttled to the left, then to the right, caught in a mindless panic like a squirrel in front of a speeding Ford pickup.
She held her hands up to protect her face, her purse flew to the ground as the dog took flight.
Trudy swiped its paws away, so they landed in the middle of her chest instead of on her nose.
Her feet flew out from under her, and she landed butt-first on the floor, the rabid dog on top.
“Bess! Get back here!” an angry man’s voice called. “Bess!” The brown-and-white English Shepherd pinned Trudy to the ground and licked her face, sniffed through her purse, and licked her face some more. The smell of dirty dog—like rotting flowers, burned toast, and Fritos—flooded Trudy’s nostrils.
“Bess! Bad girl! BAD!” Coach Meechum stood over her, his black eyebrows in a scowl. He grabbed Bess by the collar and jerked her back. “SIT!” he yelled.
SIT . . . sit . . . sit. . . sit . . .
“Coach Meechum?” Canine slobber cooled on her cheek. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, which came back smudged with lipstick.
“Miss Abernathy, I’m so sorry.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Trudy—sprawled out on the floor, her legs jutting out from underneath her skirt—tried her best to right herself. Her yellow blouse was half untucked, the contents of her purse scattered. Bess grabbed Trudy’s sandwich.
“Bess! No!” Coach Meechum yelled, “SIT!” Bess sat, but the sandwich was gone—Saran Wrap and all—in three quick alligator chomps. Meechum kneeled and touched her shoulder. “Are you all right? I’m really sorry.”
“I’m fine!” Trudy jerked her arm away.
Quick spots of laughter burst through the coach’s lips. Trudy’s ears became impossibly hot; a bead of sweat trickled down her spine, all the way to the waistband of her panties.
“You think this is funny ?”
At that, Coach Meechum doubled over in unrestrained belly laughs, holding his ribs. “I’m sorry! I know, it’s awful, but your face !” He laughed harder and harder. “I was trying to grab her, but—” Bess jumped on him, knocked him onto his back, and licked him, wagging her tail triumphantly.
Trudy stumbled to her knees while the coach composed himself.
He placed his arm underneath hers. His taut chest steadied her shoulder, his biceps flexed underneath her armpits.
His body perfectly cradled hers and before she knew it, she was standing as if she’d floated upright with no effort at all.
She tucked in her blouse, tried to straighten her skirt, and swiped her hair out of her face.
Coach Meechum let a few lingering giggles escape.
“I’m so thrilled I could amuse you.” Trudy started tucking her blouse. “You scared the daylights out of me. I could have been hurt by that ... mongrel!”
“Aw, c’mon now. Bess here’s just excited. Clearly, she likes you.”
“I think she likes ham sandwiches.” Trudy bent over and began angrily shoving the contents back in her purse. “What in God’s name are you doing with a dog at school?”
“I was running her on the football field,” Meechum said. “And letting her poop all over the visitor sideline.”
Trudy looked at him. Was he serious?
Meechum began to help her, collecting two ballpoint pens and an Olan Mills photo of Pete. “Who’s this little guy?” he asked.
Trudy snatched it from his hands and placed it in her purse.
“Well, lunch is on me and Bess today, of course.”
Bess whined at hearing her name. Meechum told her to sit again, and she obeyed, her eyes darting back and forth between Trudy and the coach.
Trudy looked at him sternly. “Ham and cheese. Lettuce. Tomato. Mustard. No mayonnaise.”
“Yes ma’am.” Coach Meechum saluted. “Anything else?”
“No. Unless you know how to reapply makeup and fix a pantyhose run.”
“What don’t you just take ’em off?”
“Excuse me?”
The coach’s eyes grew three sizes. “That’s not what I meant ... he stammered and scratched his head. “I just ... you don’t need them. They’re—”
“They’re required pursuant to the Bailey Springs High School Faculty Dress Code, something you are obviously excused from.” She gestured at his orange polyester shorts.
“Oh, yeah.” Coach looked down at himself. “I guess so.” He started to back away but smiled. Bess followed him, panting and padding down the hall, tail wagging.
“I’m glad you’re here, Miss Abernathy,” he called over his shoulder.
Trudy, with a heel in one hand and her purse in the other, stopped. “What does that mean?”
“Oh,” Coach Meechum stopped and scratched his head.
“It’s real complicated.” He walked backwards with a smirk.
“It means that I, Coach Shug Meechum, am glad that you, Miss Trudy Abernathy, Chemistry Teacher Extraordinaire, are here, at Bailey Springs High School.” He turned back around and started jogging.
“C’mon Bess, we gotta wrangle us up a ham sandwich.
” Bess’ paws clicked and while Meechum’s sneakers squeaked, a percussive dance ending with the clang of the double doors slamming shut behind them.
After counting and inspecting, Trudy locked the storage closet, pleased that the chemistry supplies were in better shape than she’d expected. She reviewed her notes for Miss Duffy, placed them on her desk, and pulled out her compact to fix her makeup again.
“You got paw prints on your skirt.”
Trudy shrieked at the voice behind her.
“Sorry,” Carter Sissoms said from the doorway. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Carter!” Trudy held her chest, stilled her breathing. “What are you doing here so early?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Actually, I was kind of hoping you’d be here, so I could apologize?” He laid his book bag down at his seat. “For last week.”
Trudy sized him up. “You’ve been absent for a week.”
He nodded. “Use tape.”
“Huh?”
“For the paw prints. Scotch tape will help.”
“Oh.” Trudy looked down at the marks on her skirt. “Good idea.” She tore a piece off the tape dispenser, wrapped it around her fingers, sticky side out, and dabbed her skirt as the paw prints disappeared.
“Turn around.” Carter watched as Trudy spun. “Tuck the blouse in the back and you’ll be good.”
“Carter,” she said after fixing her shirttail. “I know it’s difficult being new, but I want you to know that you can come to me if—”
“Don’t.” Carter waved her off. “Please don’t do that. I’m just not used to a small town. I mean, there’s not even a skating rink or an arcade here.”
“Pickin’s Chicken has Space Invaders and Centipede ,” Trudy offered lamely.
Carter ignored her. “In Dallas, my school was huge; kids stayed in their lanes. But here ... I don’t know, the other day I just needed some air.”
Trudy nodded. She knew exactly how suffocating Bailey Springs could be. “Those jocks can be a bit intimidating; I know.”
“I’m not afraid of them,” Carter said. “I just don’t fit in here, you know? I went from being involved in everything to being a nobody.” He shrugged. “Thankfully, it’s my senior year.”
“You’re not a nobody, Carter. Surely there’s something you like to do.”
He waved her off again. “I’ll just succumb to senioritis early. Coast until May, right? Hey! Maybe I’ll finally see what grades I’m capable of.” He winked.
“Not if you don’t come to class.”
He smirked.
“Seriously though, if you need anything . . .”
Melissa Preston and Kelly Johnson walked in and ended their conversation. “Morning,” they said.
“Hey,” Carter replied, and they took their seats. Trudy excused herself and headed to the teachers’ lounge for coffee.