Zach raced out of the office and onto the curb. No sooner had the door slammed, then the whole office rushed to the window. They stole glances on their way to the water cooler, made excuses to carry around papers, or just planted themselves in front of the window, sipping lukewarm coffee.
“Are we just going leave him there?” a staff member, Mr. Brokeshaw, asked Ms.Nasty. “I mean, I can drive him?”
“No; he has to learn to read instructions. This is not our problem.”
Gentry looked down as the man walked past his door, then stole a look out the window.
“Moron.” he thought to himself, watching Zach pace back and forth while talking on his cellphone. Was this really worth watching?
Gentry just shook his head, and went back to drawing circles. His father sat on the other side of the room, loudly typing on a keyboard.
“There’s no signal on that part of campus. He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, is he?”
“He’s not a tool.” Gentry replied without glancing up.
“I know; I see him …” Ms.Nasty said to the principal, “I’m not sure what he’s doing.”
At this, Gentry stole another glance out the window.
In the middle of the street, Zach stood with arms outstretched, as cars either swerved around and swooshed past him.
“This is ridiculous…” Gentry murmured under his breath, shaking his head. He was about to look away again, when a car screeched to a halt. Zach leaned in to the windshield, then climbed in in to the passenger seat— just as Ms.Nasty raced outside to holler how standing in the street was against the rules.
But the car had already sped off. Gentry held a bemused silence, as his eyes watched it disappear along the horizon. Johnson also stared, closing his mouth with a deep breath and furrowed brow, “He’s something else.”
“He’s mine.”
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Because You Suck: Chapter 22: Part 11
Note: Thanks for putting up with my insanity.
At that moment, the glass door swung open and slammed shut.
Secretary A gave a wry nod towards Secretary B, who quickly glanced up. No one could look away once Zach entered the room—
And the moment he walked through that door, Gentry’s heart skipped a beat.
He looked him over once, peered down, then stole another look. He licked at his dry lips, and began drawing circles on his notepad.
Behind the glasses, high above polite conversation, underneath the creased pants and knee-length skirts… crept unspoken fears and desires. A good secretary was seen, not heard. But the office talked— about others. Through whispers, knowing glances, and the click-clack of private e-mails being written and sent. This was how they maintained a studied silence in his presence, even as they wondered things they would never ask him. What kind of people parented this problem child, any problem child? And every school had a problem child, or a child the office had problems with.
And the office never changed— it had always been a place where memories lingered like a bad smell. High school was not a place for growth or experimentation unless it fit the prescribed categories of normal growth and acceptable experimentation. There were charts and forms for that… everything you didn’t know would be held against you for future reference—
Or used for water cooler conversation. Gentry looked up again, and perched his head on one first.
Zach asked something to the receptionist, and she leaned over the counter just as Ms.Nasty was moving past.
“The Arithmetic Standards Scale?” Nasty said loudly, “I don’t know where that is.”
“It’s today, don’t you have anywhere you can check?”
“Do you have that booklet you were supposed to pick up, along with your test ID?”
Zach promptly turned away and pulled it from his backpack, pushing it into her hands.
She flipped through it casually, then laughed sharply.
“You haven’t even looked through this?”
“Where is the test? Which room?”
“It isn't here. It’s at the Holy Summit Church.”
“--- What the hell’s a math test doing in a Church?”
“It was your job to read the book.” Laughed Ms.Nasty, “What time is it? Ohh. 7:45. That means the test will start in ten minutes … at, 7:55. Good luck getting there.”
At that moment, the glass door swung open and slammed shut.
Secretary A gave a wry nod towards Secretary B, who quickly glanced up. No one could look away once Zach entered the room—
And the moment he walked through that door, Gentry’s heart skipped a beat.
He looked him over once, peered down, then stole another look. He licked at his dry lips, and began drawing circles on his notepad.
Behind the glasses, high above polite conversation, underneath the creased pants and knee-length skirts… crept unspoken fears and desires. A good secretary was seen, not heard. But the office talked— about others. Through whispers, knowing glances, and the click-clack of private e-mails being written and sent. This was how they maintained a studied silence in his presence, even as they wondered things they would never ask him. What kind of people parented this problem child, any problem child? And every school had a problem child, or a child the office had problems with.
And the office never changed— it had always been a place where memories lingered like a bad smell. High school was not a place for growth or experimentation unless it fit the prescribed categories of normal growth and acceptable experimentation. There were charts and forms for that… everything you didn’t know would be held against you for future reference—
Or used for water cooler conversation. Gentry looked up again, and perched his head on one first.
Zach asked something to the receptionist, and she leaned over the counter just as Ms.Nasty was moving past.
“The Arithmetic Standards Scale?” Nasty said loudly, “I don’t know where that is.”
“It’s today, don’t you have anywhere you can check?”
“Do you have that booklet you were supposed to pick up, along with your test ID?”
Zach promptly turned away and pulled it from his backpack, pushing it into her hands.
She flipped through it casually, then laughed sharply.
“You haven’t even looked through this?”
“Where is the test? Which room?”
“It isn't here. It’s at the Holy Summit Church.”
“--- What the hell’s a math test doing in a Church?”
“It was your job to read the book.” Laughed Ms.Nasty, “What time is it? Ohh. 7:45. That means the test will start in ten minutes … at, 7:55. Good luck getting there.”
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