7.

As we were nearing the Senior Wing, we heard this loud whoop and then somebody laughing like a maniac just as the side doors to that building flew open. And when this young guy went flying across the little courtyard between buildings like he was trying out for track or something, Taylor got this really frightened look on her face and grabbed hold of my arm—very hands-y, this little woman.

But I figured it was that Cody character before she even said anything--knew it for sure when Delores barked, “Get inside!” and shoved me all the way into the building.

Once they’d gotten me safely out of sight, Taylor ran into the nearest room and hit the red intercom button by the front door. And as soon as someone answered, she said, “Intruder, Senior Wing. Cody Parrish” in a firm but pretty calm voice. Grace under pressure—or fire baptized, actually. I’m sure she’d seen just about everything over the years.

Seconds later we heard running footsteps coming at us from different directions including farther inside the building--custodians and security guys, they turned out to be. They looked seriously stressed out, and also like they were maybe trying to stop us from going that way.

But that little woman just pushed past them--I ran after her to be there just in case. And then Caldwell and some other guys came in that side door and joined the foot race. But we all  skidded to a halt when we got to the English hall. There was all kinds of debris thrown out in the hallway in front of her room—books, chairs, posters and student papers ripped to pieces and thrown all over the floor.

When we actually got there, Taylor stopped and stood totally still, like a little statue, staring down at the bike laying half in and half out of the door—or what had been a bike. It was beat up so bad it looked like some kind of abstract art exhibit. And the tires were slashed to ribbons.

This one security dude said, “Fuck…” almost reverently. It was impressive, I have to say. The thing was totally trashed. So was the room.

Delores was the first to step around the battered bike and go in to view the devastation up close and personal. And as she entered the room she put her hand on top of her head and said, “Lord Jesus…” in a way that told me she was, for once, speechless.

I didn’t go in with the others—neither did Taylor. I don’t think either of us could think straight. I mean, I was on the verge of blowing my top because wanton, random stuff like this really chaps my ass. She didn’t even do anything to this guy—not to Danny, either. So I was a little worried that it was me he was really trying to intimidate by doing heinous shit to her. Bad move, if that was the case.

I don’t scare easy. And I could mess up his stupid little life in ways he could never imagine—that’s the thing. The trouble I was in with the courts couldn’t be fixed because of the judge’s personal issues. That happens. You deal with it—he was complicating my life more then he knew, but whenever I hit a wall, I stop and examine it. You’ll either find a crack you can slip through, a weak spot you can break through or a message you needed to heed.

But if I really decided to take this Cody dude down, he would learn what it meant to “rue the day” for sure. And the wall would be impenetrable and impassable. Luckily for him, at that moment, I was more concerned about Taylor. Because she’d gone into some little world of her own to keep from going totally nuts, I think. She had that stare they tell you exhausted combat soldiers get, when they’re right on that edge. Or when they’ve stepped over it, maybe.

When she dropped down to examine the damage closer, I decided to go on in and leave her alone for a minute—everybody else was already in there, probably for the same reason. Most people intuit when someone just doesn’t need to be bothered for a few minutes—there’s the odd dumbass who doesn’t know or care when to shut it, but most of us pick up on cues pretty good.

And when I saw the wreckage, I realized they’d been right about that Cody kid being bat shit crazy. He had destroyed not just the books and whatnot, but everything else in the room, too. And I’m talking total destruction, man. He’d pulled the Smartboard off the front wall and stomped it, pulled the little projector thing on the ceiling that went with it down and threw it up against a wall and broke it into pieces, slashed the corkboards with scissors, yanked the blinds down off the windows, broke the windows with trash cans that were still on top of the built in bookshelves under them, thrown everything in her desk and closet and the little computer room in back on the floor--

“That nasty bastard peed in here,” Delores told us. She was in the back room just standing in the doorway--with both hands on her head now.

Caldwell walked back toward us but Taylor took off running—that sort of crazy running you do when you just want to put as much distance between you and whatever’s going on as you can. Me and Caldwell took off after her, but then he sort of dropped back and said, “Go find ‘er willya? I gotta…”

I didn’t answer or look back, I just kept running because she was worrying me by then. But she didn’t go far—I heard her crying somewhere up ahead. It echoed, sort of, so I knew to head for one of the stairwells. Kids hang out in stairwells a lot—I had. If you sing or shout in them, it’s like this echo chamber and it makes you sound all big and bad. Which is why we like them.

This one had double doors leading to it—they’d turned the little hallway between the double doors and the exit door into a sort of storage area or something. And she had fallen against and then slid down the wall back behind some filing cabinets, probably so you couldn’t see her through the little windows in the doors so easily. It was a nice little womb to hide in, for sure.

I peeked in first, and saw one of her little bitty feet sticking out from behind the filing cabinet—they were almost kids’ size, to show you how small and vulnerable she was. And when she didn’t yell at me, I stepped all the way in, but not all the way over to her, just close enough for her to see me if and when she wanted. And she looked up at me with so much pain in her eyes that my knees almost buckled, too—I can’t handle seeing anyone in pain. And a woman in pain does things to me I can’t describe. I’ll explain the deeper reasons for that later, but suffice it to say it has to do with my mother. Her heart hurt all the time. And I should have ulcers by now, from dealing with that look in her eyes 24/7 as a kid.

“I’ve had that bike since…college…” she said. And her voice was paradoxically wistful and…amused. Bemused, I guess is the right word. I mix the two up a lot.

 I said, “Yeah?” and leaned on this old bookshelf next to me trying to be all casual.

And she wiped her eyes and gave me a trembly smile.

“I bought it in England. And I rode it all over Europe that summer. It was…lovely.”

“Wow, really?”                                                             

She nodded the way little kids do when they’re crying and you’re trying to talk to them. And then she let her head fall back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling.

“They’re closing this school in May,” she told God. Just out of the blue—no warning.

“Wait—what?”

“Oh, yes,” she said with a sigh. “Ironic. I moved here hoping to stay put for a while. For a change...”

“But…won’t they, like…transfer you or something?”

“Well, they’re laying off all the probationary teachers in the district. Not just ours.”

“What do you mean, probationary?”

She smiled over at me.

“Ah, yes. That word means something very different to you, doesn’t it?” she said.

“Pro’bly, yeah.”

She thought about it for a minute—I felt like just having to think about something else was helping her get past the madness, so that was good.

“They’re teachers who haven’t been with the district at least four years,” she said—in her teacher voice. “We have no tenure. So they can let us go without due process--that’s…a list of things they have to do before you can be fired or disciplined. We don’t get that. And now that Boomers are retiring in droves, there are lots of newbies. Expendables. Like me.”

“But you’re a good teacher,” I said. “Can’t they, like…put in a good word for you or something? Get you placed somewhere?”

“It’s not allowed. Technically…”

She smirked when she said “technically.”

“But I mean, there’s kids who really need you—where will the kids from DeGrazia go now?”

 “They’ll cram them into classes at other schools. All the class size requirements have been waived, pretty much, because the under-capacity schools have to go. The baby boom is long gone. And there are charter schools, online schools--there just aren’t as many kids in public school as there used to be. So the funding has decreased.”

“So, they don’t care that they’re losing good teachers?”

“I’m not sure there’s anything they can do. This has happened every year for the past few years. There are still people waiting from the first year—good teachers, who haven’t been placed yet, despite everyone’s best efforts. There are rules about that, and not all administrators are willing to break them.”

“Caldwell would, though. Right?” I said. It explained why she was so mean to him. Even if it wasn’t his fault.

She smiled and said, “Poor thing—he was trying to give me a head start so I could jump on all the mid-year job announcements from other districts. But he wasn’t supposed to. They have to let me move if I ask, now that it’s official—the rules against that are set aside in these cases. But they don’t want all of us jumping ship with six months to go.”

Something made me say, “I guess that’s kind of cool. That he thought of you.”

“They’re letting most of the APs go, too,” she said with a little sigh. “Everybody gets pink slips—all the administrators, I mean. Some will get schools but the others’ll have to either go back to the classroom or…leave. And there’s not a thing they can do—even in Arizona teachers have a bargaining thing. But admin here can be fired without cause.”

Okay, that I was genuinely shocked to hear.

“How the hell does that happen?” I asked. “I mean, they’re in charge, right? And they have no protection?”

She smiled quietly. Sadly. And put her arms up in front of her face. She kept doing these little girl things that tickled me. It was hard to stay all serious because I was enjoying the little interesting things she did. I’d never met anyone quite like her—tough as she was, she had this touch of innocence that that other women her age didn’t have. Like she’d grown up in another country or…on another planet, almost.

And she said, “What a bitch I was today. To him.”

“Well, you had a right.”

She let those arms fall, and said, “You’re very good.”

“At?”

“Humoring me.”

I laughed. And then she said, “Colton, you really don’t belong here. And I won’t stop saying it until you believe it—I will meet with him. Your judge.”

“Look…here’s the thing. He got pressured by some higher ups to dismiss the case. But he didn’t like the interference. And he damned sure didn’t like me. So he couldn’t lock me up because those higher ups can make or break a public official. So he settled for messing with my life a little bit--it’s personal. And the more he gets pestered about it the more he digs in.”

She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

“It’s so unfair…”

“C’mon, really? You’ve seen what happens when you don’t have any juice. I’m walkin’ around pretty much free out here. Your kids get locked up for looking at a cop sideways, or…walkin’ down the street and scaring some old lady in a white neighborhood--that’s unfair.”

The debate ended when we heard people heading down the hallway.

And she looked at me with pleading eyes and said, “Let’s go!”

“What—“

“Just let’s go!” she cried, leaping up and running to the exit doors nearby. But when we got out there, there were even more people than before. Little posses searching the grounds for Cody. And us, too, maybe.

So she went, “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” and took off again. And I took off with her again--we made it to this little portable that was actually two bathrooms set up for the kids out in the Voc. Ed. Wing. That’s about as far away from the main campus as you can be and still be on campus at all.

We locked ourselves in the Girls’ bathroom. The metal signs that used to tell you which was which were long gone, so they’d written it on the doors with permanent marker—some wise guys had scratched that out and written “Bitches” and then “Hoes” (sic) over it, though. And the walls and stall doors were covered with graffiti. Like hearts with the names of lovers in them (yes, street chicks do that silly girl stuff) and really mean shit about this one and that one. “Veronica is a stank ho” was sort of etched into the glass from ‘way back sometime. Some of the gang stuff I couldn’t decipher at all.

It was anger made visual, all that. Voc. Ed. still has this rep as the dumping ground for the “dumb” kids who’ll be asking you if you want fries with that for the rest of their lives. And even though a lot of the kids who do well in the shops will eventually make more money than the ones who go on to college, just the way it’s set ‘way back off by itself like that makes them feel like second-class citizens. Yeah, they need more space for the equipment and all, and it does get really noisy. But the Fine Arts wings where they do music, dance and theater all loud aren’t in the “back forty.” The only other things out that way are the discipline and self-contained special education portables. And kids pick up on that—wouldn’t you?

Taylor squinted at this one crazy complicated gang thing on the mirror and our eyes met when she got to this message that said, “Caldwell kiss my black ass.” And for no reason, we just started laughing like a couple of crazy people.

“What are we doin’?” I asked her.

“Oh, God, I don’t—I bet you think I’ve lost my mind,” she said. Only she was laughing so I knew she hadn’t.

“And I bet you’ve changed yours,” she added. “About being in my class, I mean.”

“Never a dull moment, that’s for sure!”

Her face went white and she froze--there were footsteps getting closer to us. And voices, two-ways hissing static between distress calls. And she yelled, “Don’t come in here!” like something wild in a trap, hissing at the hunter coming to kill it. Startled me, I have to tell you, how she flipped like that.

I went and stood by the door—you could see through this little window kind of high up on it. And she fell back against it and said, “I don’t want this! I don’t want this--God, I wish I could just…fly away somewhere…”

I looked down at her there, so little and defenseless. And this strange calm came over me. I was going to protect her if it was the last thing I ever did in this life. So after the voices and footsteps passed by us, I took out my cell and sent one of the  text “signals” we all have. They’re code words our security and Big Man know. Each one tells them who’s in trouble and exactly what kind of help we want.

And Big Man immediately hit me back in person with, “Where you at, Lil’ Daddy?!”

I could tell he’d been worried—I hadn’t had my phone on most of the time because of the rules and because you couldn’t even get a signal half the time. So I hadn’t checked any messages or anything, either. And that’s not like me at all.

“It’s good, I’m not hurt or anything. But, listen, there’s this parking lot out by Voc. Ed—“

“You just be listenin’ and get to where you need to be.”

Taylor whispered, “What are you doing?” at me. She looked kind of scared.

I unlocked the door and led her down the ramp.

“Gotta get to that big parking lot—the stadium one,” I told her. “Hang on, okay?”

I didn’t give her a chance to answer. I took her hand and took off. And it was sooo great to hear her laughing as she tried to keep up with me. I ran a little bit slower than normal, so that she could. But we didn’t get far before all the people who’d been looking for her started running toward us from all directions again.

“Cut through the cafeteria!” Taylor said. “Teacher entrance!”

The teacher’s cafeteria was indeed open, and as we went flying through, the cafeteria ladies all spun around and gawked at us.

“You’re gonna have a lot of ‘splainin’ to do, Lucy,” I told Taylor.

It made her laugh again—she was all red-cheeked and alive now. Like she used to be kinda rebellious as a kid, maybe, and running from “authority” was flashing her back to the days when she was wild and free.

We had to run through a sort of loading dock where the food and garbage trucks rolled in, but we got to the big parking lot ‘way faster than we would’ve without the detour. And when I stopped dead in my tracks, she almost ran into me.

“Listen,” I said, in this sort of hushed voice.

“To what?”

“Shhhhhh! Wait for it.”

I shaded my eyes and looked toward the horizon. And then she looked where I was looking…and gaped.

“Is that the police?”

I laughed and winked at her.

“No! That’s your ride,” I said.

She watched the helo start making a wide circle in the sky. Looking for me.

And then she turned to me and said “Who are you?”

I waved my arms but the pilot, Randy, already saw us. He couldn’t have missed us. There was this big ring of people closing in on us—Delo, Caldwell and Price trying to shove through to the front.

Once the helo landed I saw Delo leaning back like from the blades—they all were, actually. But she waved and then held up a shoulder bag and a back pack—Taylor’s, I figured. So I ducked and ran over to get them.

And Lakesha shoved her way up and said, “This you?”

And I smiled and said, “Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

“Sheeeeit, I ain’t even been in a airplane, fool!”

“Start small. C’mon!”

Her girls all started yelling, “I’ll go! I’ll go!”

And she looked back and said, “Anybody goin’ it’s me,” and ducked down to make her way to the helo.

Having picked up one more passenger, I looked at Delores and said, “There’s room for one more.”

“Child, you better git away from me!” she cried. “Take this stuff to my girl. Tell ‘er I’ll check in later on.”

“You did this?” Price asked. I could see LeeAnn in the crowd sort of chuckling. She’d flown with us lots of times already and it still cracked her up that we had it like that.

“She said she wished she could fly away somewhere,” I told Price.

Caldwell shaded his eyes to look at Taylor who was already in the copter with Lakesha. And then we all heard the sound of a motorcycle revving up and taking off.

Cody. Refusing to be outdone.

“He gon’ think twice about messin’ with you,” Delores said. Like a proud mother.

“Somehow I doubt that,” I told her. Our eyes met in reluctant agreement.

“You better lift off,” Caldwell said, in his head man in charge voice. “I’ll call the district so they know it wasn’t an emergency.”

He sounded all official, but he looked really unnerved. I wanted to say something that would reassure him. But then I remembered what she’d said about his kids and Wisconsin and all. He had no right to be thinking about her “that way” if he was married and all. Not that it’d be easy to ignore a woman like that—she was special. I knew that after only a couple of hours.

So I just saluted and ducked down to run for it. And when the helo lifted off, all the kids jumped up and down and cheered—I felt like Spiderman or something as we rose up into the sky.

Until Lakesha grabbed my arm and said, “This thing crash I’m gon’ haunt you up there in Heaven.”

“You sure that’s where we’re goin’?”

“I’m sure wherever we go you gon’ wish you’d never met me,” she said. And then she looked out over the city and her demeanor totally changed.

“I will never forget this day,” she said, sort of more to herself than me.

Didn’t matter who she was saying it to. I looked at Taylor, and she could see from my smile how glad I was to be able to do that for her.

And Taylor smiled like a proud mother, too.

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