Finding Hope in Texas (5 page)

Loser table
. I had thought of it
myself earlier in the day and now we actually had the name
loser
table
.

Mags was waiting in her Ford POS as I walked
from the gym. The cool breeze gingerly caressed my throbbing eye.
Being punched felt so much like a dream, like it really hadn’t
happened. But it did, and I was afraid that the redness was already
starting to show upon my white skin. When I entered the car, I
turned to make sure that I didn’t make face-to-face contact with my
aunt, but sat at an angle so that she could only see the left side
of my face. Taking a wisp of hair I flapped it over my eye for
further concealment. It was a very normal look for me, having a
little hair in my face, so Mags didn’t even think about me being
quiet. She was probably used to it now from having me around her
home. She did try at least to have a conversation though as I
entered.

“So how was your day?” she asked while
pulling away from the curb and starting a twenty minute jolt back
to her rented box of a house.

“Fine.”

“And did you learn anything?”
Yeah, I
learned I should take self-defense classes to protect myself from
Jody and the rest of the bimbos of Jimmy Carter High.

“Nope.” The usual teenage answer. We haven’t
learned anything at school since the fifties when it was
appropriate to talk about one’s day. Back then they were probably
beaten for not learning anything. Oh, how times have changed. Now
we are beaten for being helped up off the floor by the head
cheerleader’s boyfriend.

“Well, I’m sure it wasn’t all wasted. I
remember that I always had the same answer for your grandparents,
too. Your dad though, well, he always wanted to let them know how
he was doing and his newest accomplishments. They always liked
hearing that about him. Maybe you’re more like me, though.”

More like me?
I didn’t know where the
comparison was coming from. Because I answered no to her mundane
question? Did she really think I was anything like her? If it had
been Mom or Dad sitting in the driver’s seat, I would have spilled
my guts. I would have told them that I tried to make things right
with Jody only to get punched in the eye and that she and her
friends all hated me. That now I was subject to sit at the loser
table with the daughter of the crazy history teacher. I would have
told them all that and more.

And oh, how Mom would have jumped into
action. “Punched? My daughter?” she would have said. I could hear
the tires streak across the pavement as she would have made a hard
U-turn right back to school with Tyler in the back saying something
of the sort, “Oh-oh, Mom’s going to go kick some butt.” Everyone
would have known that this thing doesn’t happen at school, that
parents don’t drop their kids off in the morning for them to be
assaulted out of the sight of the teacher, um coach, in charge.
Things would have changed quickly and for good reason. But back
home, things had no reason to change. This just didn’t happen, and
if it did, those sorts of people were never heard of again at our
prep school. But I just had no reason to tell Mags. She was a
person, a stranger that chose to leave her life behind to follow
one loser after another. And I certainly didn’t want to be compared
to her.
Ick!

We pulled into the drive and I got out
quickly, clomping to the front door and making a bee-line to my
room. I had knowledge of makeup, not that I wore a lot, but I could
hide most of the redness that was certainly going to turn black.
The puffiness would be a problem. Maybe when Mags wasn’t looking I
could sneak a steak out of the freezer?
Wait, does she have
steak?
Yes, I concluded, everyone in Texas has steak. It’s like
firearms, they practically hand them out at the Red River when
crossing the border. The evening was spent nursing my wound in
solitary, breaking for leftover pot roast, and reading about the
New Deal.
FDR, I wish I had your problems.

The next day, I made a straight-line power
walk to Mr. Peet’s room, arriving twenty minutes before class even
started. It wasn’t something we were supposed to do. Teachers were
allowed until the bell for prep time, so students usually loitered
in the foyer. I wasn’t sure a crowded area with a bunch of
strangers was a good place to be at the moment, though, so I went
to a classroom with a witness in it, no matter how crazy he might
be. When I pushed the door open, I saw the teacher staring at his
computer screen, his back to me.

“Darn it,” blurted out Mr. Peet, much to my
chagrin. It must have been computer troubles because he didn’t even
acknowledge me. He was rattled already, at 7:35 in the morning. I
took a step back, thinking that I might just sit in the hallway,
that there was no need to bother him.

“Well, are you coming in or not, New York?”
He turned his head and gave me a glare and a grin.

“If it’s okay with you?”

“Sure, just leave the door open because of
the whole male teacher-female student thing. I don’t need you
harassing me behind closed doors.”

My mouth dropped.
Did he really just say
that?
All I could get out was, “Um, okay.”

I sat at my desk, the one I had been at for
the last two days. I unzipped my backpack as he continued working
at his computer.
Pride
and
Prejudice
would
suit me just fine for the remainder of the time. A good love story
was all anyone needed to feel right with the world again. It wasn’t
near as depressing as
Jane
Eyre
, even though both end
pretty happily. Ah, what went through those Victorian ladies’ minds
when they wrote these eclectic novels? They must have gone to high
school at Jimmy Carter, for the mood swings of their characters
matched the inconsistency of many of those that would sit around me
in a few moments, especially Jody. Of course, everyone needed drama
in their life, didn’t they? But how much can life be worth living
if that is all your life is about? I guess Austen knew about drama,
too, but she also knew that in the end, when you got down to the
nuts and bolts of things, you really just needed to find someone
that would love you for who you were. Maybe that was why Jody was
so mad at me. Maybe she had found the love of her life and feared
anything that might get in the way, even the new girl that
accidentally did so. Maybe she knew how much romance was to come
between her and Brad and wanted nothing to change that. Or maybe
she was just a witch for lack of better terms.

Still, I guess that was a cool thing when you
thought about it. You know, fighting for your man and all, even
though there was no fight to begin with. I wasn’t looking to hook
up with Brad. I didn’t even know him besides him being a cute high
school boy. Boy, did he look good, though. But I was nothing to him
and he was nothing to me. When I put my mind to it, I was nothing
to anyone now. My “anyones” were dead, taken in the blink of an
eye, and I really didn’t feel like trying to fill that void in my
life with a Brad or a John or anyone. I just wanted to be left
alone. Just Jane and me. We would be fine.

“Oh, Jesus, are you reading that?” I must not
have noticed when Mr. Peet moved away from his desk and up to his
podium.
Did he really say
Jesus in class?
Can’t
someone in Texas be stoned for doing such a thing? But I thought I
would take the bait and see where it took me.

“What do you have against Austen?”

“Oh, not much, except she’s a man-hater.
Everything that goes wrong in all her books
does
so because
of men. I mean, do women not make mistakes in life?”

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. Maybe he had a
point. Mr. Darcy, Edward Ferrars, both of them just couldn’t seem
to figure out what they wanted in life, even though it was right
there in front of them. Or maybe they just didn’t have
the...bravado to make such a step until there was nothing else to
lose.

“Well, you start wars based on nothing, you
take this when you really wanted that, and let’s not even get
started on your egos. I mean, out of the two sexes, yes, it’s your
entire fault.”

I could tell he was surprised at my answer
and conclusion. Hadn’t anyone ever given him a direct response
before? Oh, wait. If I was to measure his first two classes with
that statement then no, no one ever had. But I could see his wheels
spinning, trying to come up with something to defend himself and
his sex.

“Well...you know it’s cause we’re just trying
to impress you. Think about wars, we do it because we really want
to hand over a big hunk of land to our wife and say, ‘Taa-daa.’
Also, chicks dig scars.”

“Touché,” I relented and shook my head with a
smile. I started reading again until I thought about furthering the
conversation. “I met your daughter yesterday, Lizzy. We had lunch
together.”

He finished his sentence on whatever he was
writing. “You mean, Elizabeth? She always shortens it, thinks it
sounds too, well, like your book there: Victorian. So did she tell
you not to pay any attention to my goading or that I probably
ruined her life before she was born by being a teacher?”

“Mmm, we mostly talked about music. She said
I played well.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him she thought he
ought to calm his teaching methods down for the good of his job. He
was a little unorthodox sure, but at least he wasn’t a drone
teaching to a test. That was one thing I had heard about enough
already from every other teacher, that the state exams were coming
up in April and they were going to be especially hard. I mean, who
cared? If you taught what you were supposed to teach in a way that
would keep a student’s attention, shouldn’t they learn it and be
able to pass without being reminded day after day?

“Oh, what do you play?” he asked.

“The violin.”

“Well, very impressive. I never had an ear
for music, to play it, anyway. Elizabeth got hers from her mother,
so if she says you are good, then I’m sure she is right. She even
played the xylophone well as a baby. We could probably use you out
in the field someday.”

“Well, they don’t really do string
instruments in the band.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. Say, what
happened to your eye?”

The bell rang and Mr. Peet walked down the
side of the room towards the door to greet the incoming students.
It was something all the teachers did really, keeping one eye on
the hallway and one eye in their classroom. Certainly, I was glad
the bell distracted him before I tried to make up a lie about the
swelling around my eye, but I was confused about what he meant by
needing me “in the field.” Was there some other band that I didn’t
know about here in Texas? I hoped he wasn’t referring to country
music. A little was fine, but I didn’t know how much of dead dogs
and mommas in prison I could stand. Still, I guess my life right
now would have made a good country song—dead family, no friends,
crazy aunt. And the violin, sorry, the fiddle down here, was either
played too fast because the devil went down to Georgia or Alabama
or somewhere, or was played at a pace that left you wanting to kill
yourself. I really didn’t want to play it either way. Just give me
some classical music and I’d be fine.

Mr. Peet called the roll quickly by only
using our last names as the formalities of the first two days of
the semester were over. When he called, “Miss Kilpatrick,” someone
in the back of the room said loud enough for everyone to hear,
“Back-Slapped,” with laughter rising up at my expense. I began to
flush when I felt the penetrating stare of Jody three rows away.
Mr. Peet played it coolly, though.

“Okay, Thompson, if your girlfriend is
beating you up again, please let the counselor know.” The laughter
was quickly directed at the instigator, but Mr. Peet gave me a
glance, letting me know that he knew what happened to my eye. He
continued with the roll and began the assignment for the day: FDR’s
court-packing fiasco.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, you know FDR is
one of my favorite presidents, but he just really shot himself in
the foot with this one. Not that it affected him, being paralyzed
and all.” A few of us gave a small snicker, but there was mostly
silence. “He had both the legislative branch and the executive
branch working for him, but the Supreme Court was standing in the
way. That’s why he tried to put more justices up there, so they
could get more goals of his New Deal passed.”

A hand went up. It was Jody. “Yes, Miss
Silverton.”

“Well, that seems logical to me. I mean, he
saw what they were doing, getting in the way of progress. It was
only right that they do what he said. Like, he was the president
and stuff, right?”

“Yes, but do presidents have all the
power?”

“Well, maybe they should. You said you liked
him, Mr. Peet. It’s because he did a good job as president, getting
us through that depression thingy and clearing the dust out.”

“Well, he didn’t actually clear any dust, but
yes, I get what you are saying.”

“So they should have done what he wanted them
to do.” She looked directly at me. “They should have known their
place in life and stood behind him like they were supposed do or
else he had to lay them out.”
What a historical analogy
. I
was now being picked on through FDR. I shied away from Jody’s glare
and looked down at my notebook.

“Miss Kilpatrick,”
Oh
,
God
,
just
leave
me
alone
. “Can you share
some Northern Lights on the subject? Did FDR have the right to pack
a court that was getting in the way of progress?”
Why
did
you have to call on me, Mr. Peet? What
did you
want me to say in front of these people?

I tried to gather my emotions, my breathing,
and gave a reluctant sigh. “Um, in my opinion, no, he didn’t have
the right.”