Authors: John A. Heldt
Dennison brought a hand to his eyes and squinted as he looked around the lounge. He smiled as a burly man with a walrus mustache stood up along the back wall.
"There you are. The bashful gentleman by the pop machine is Mr. John Ramsey. John will instruct metal shop this year and assist Mr. Williams and Mr. Anthony with the wrestling team. John comes to us from Klamath Falls, but he started his teaching career in Concord, California. He says he likes to hunt and fish, restore old cars, and cheer for the Raiders. I'm sure he'll get along just fine with the Seahawks fans in the room."
Several teachers laughed.
"He and his wife, Cheryl, have two children, including one who is a pretty fair volleyball player. Am I right?"
"You are correct, sir," Ramsey said. With a broad smile and folded arms, he appeared ready to take on anyone who disagreed with Dennison's assessment.
"We also have a new head custodian in Mr. Jeremy Merrick," Dennison said, pointing to a thin man of forty who stood near a side table. "As some of you know, Jeremy has worked the past several years at the junior high and was quite a basketball player as a student here at UHS. He and his wife, Amy, have remained active in school affairs and plan to again run the concessions at the varsity basketball games."
As the principal went from one new employee to another and shared tidbits about each with assembled staff, Michelle felt a knot in her stomach tighten. She had no tidbits, or at least any she could share without lying through her teeth or inviting calls to mental health authorities. She would stand out like an alien from another planet –
or a time traveler from another century
.
Michelle relaxed when Dennison moved to Brenda Brown, a part-time library assistant who sat at an adjacent table. Perhaps the quiet, plain-looking woman, who didn't look a day over twenty, had a resume as thin as hers. She groaned when Dennison introduced Brenda as his niece from Salem and someone staff could count on for a variety of volunteer projects.
"And finally, next to Mrs. Zimmerman, we have Miss Michelle Jennings," he said. "She will replace Constance Wainwright as our attendance secretary."
Michelle smiled weakly through a colorless face as she rose slowly from her chair.
"I had the privilege of meeting Miss Jennings for the first time last Friday. She comes to us from Seattle but apparently spent part of her childhood in Unionville. I guess even the big city can't keep a local girl from coming home. Be sure to welcome Michelle and the rest of the new staff when you get the opportunity."
Michelle returned to her chair and faced Marsha, a squat fortyish woman in the mold of Cass Stevens. As the school's personnel secretary, Mrs. Zimmerman was likely the only person in the room, besides the principal, who knew Michelle's work history and her affiliation with the Unionville Women's Home. She seemed to sense the newcomer's angst.
"See, that wasn't so bad," Marsha said. Soft conversations filled the room as the principal returned to his table and went through more papers. "Wayne has a way of making everyone look good. He's also a very fair man. He's not one to make judgments unless people let him down."
Michelle looked at her colleague and let out a breath. She had passed a test.
"Besides," Marsha said. "He likes you."
"Are you sure?"
"Oh, I'm sure."
Marsha lifted her head and swept the lounge with her eyes before returning to Michelle. She raised a brow and smiled.
"And you know what?"
"What?"
"From the faces I see around the room, he's not the only one."
CHAPTER 11: MICHELLE
Wednesday, September 5, 1979
The attendance office was no faculty lounge. Eight by ten with a desk, two file cabinets, an electric typewriter, and a small customer window, the workspace fell somewhere between a gerbil cage and a prison cell on the space-and-comfort scale. But as a place to watch the world go by in a mid-sized American high school, it had no equal.
There was a lot to see on the first day of school, particularly a day you hadn't seen in thirty-one years. Rugby shirts and long-sleeved baseball jerseys were out in force. So were tube tops, gaucho pants, clogs, and feathered hair. Large plastic combs popped out of the pockets of wide-bottomed jeans like daisies in a garden.
T-shirts advertised every product and cause under the sun, including a new graduating class. The first student to bring Michelle a note from a parent sported a tee that read GO TO HELL, WORLD. I'M A SENIOR! His politically incorrect cousin, 80-PROOF AND PROUD, came to the window five minutes later. Each of the cheerful young men planned to begin their last year of public education with morning dental appointments.
The attendance secretary was similarly struck by what she
didn't
see, such as tattoos, nose rings, knee-length shorts, and baggy pants. She also didn't see smart phones, iPods, and MP3 players. Boom boxes took their place and trumpeted their arrival with anthems like "Highway to Hell," "Rock 'N' Roll Fantasy," and "I Want You to Want Me."
Michelle saw many things on her first day of work, most notably people she hadn't seen in their youthful prime for a very long time. She saw Ellen Price stuff her lunch in her locker, Nancy Bailey wave to a friend, and Heidi Harrison flirt with a foreign exchange student. She had forgotten about André Moreau, lately of Lyons. But there he was in all his Gallic glory.
Michelle even saw Cass Stevens strut down the hall. She held a book in one hand and Jimmy Grant's ass in the other. But the perky cowgirl, dressed in Wranglers and an embroidered shirt, paid no heed to the woman who would never get her two-for-one shots at the Cattle Club. Nor did Scott Richardson when he made his cameo appearance moments later, just before the first bell. Laughing at a crude joke with another football player, he did not even glance at the attendance office, much less its new manager, as he walked past the window.
Michelle reacted to the sight of her one-time boyfriend with mixed emotions. She could readily see why she had fallen for him as a high school girl. Tall and chiseled with wavy brown hair, he was handsome as hell and undoubtedly still the smartest person in every room. But the crude joke reminded her that Scott could also be callous and mean. She did not find that appealing at all and wondered why she had failed to see, or at least acknowledge, that side of him in her first run through 1979.
A few minutes later the halls emptied, first period began, and Michelle tried to make sense of a pile of paperwork. John Ramsey, the metal shop teacher, greeted her warmly as he returned from a meeting with the principal. He had not been the only faculty member to pass through the neighborhood. Desmond Miller had done so shortly after Michelle had set up shop. He had asked if she played an instrument. A community orchestra met on Thursdays. Science teacher Ross Anthony had also said hello, as had Robert Land and foreign language instructors Jack Williams and Thomas Davenport. Male callers had outnumbered females three to one even though they represented barely a third of the faculty.
When the second-period bell rang at nine, Michelle withdrew to her desk, sat down, and tallied ten notes from parents. Some were creative. One mother wrote that her son had volunteered at a soup kitchen and had lost track of time. Two were typewritten. Most offered excuses that Michelle had used at least once as a student. She laughed at the thought of someone arriving late on the first day of school until she remembered that she had done just that as a senior. Suddenly, the notion didn't seem funny. It seemed even less hilarious when she got out of her chair, faced the attendance window, and saw a petite brunette stare at her with piercing blue eyes.
"I'm late. I know it," the girl said. "I'm just here to manage the damage."
Michelle stared at the youth for what seemed like an eternity before pulling herself together and walking to the window.
"Do you have a written excuse from a parent?"
"No. But I do have a note I forged in the parking lot."
Michelle bit her lip and held back a laugh. The girl had game.
The clerk picked up the slip the student had placed on the counter and gave it a look.
"It says here you have the Hong Kong flu."
"I slept in."
Both women laughed.
"What did you miss?"
"English."
"Mrs. Powell?"
"Mrs. Powell."
"Well, I'll tell you what, Miss . . ."
"Preston. Shelly."
"Well, I'll tell you what, Miss Shelly Preston. If you promise to bring me a better note and a better story the next time you're tardy, I'll accept this today."
"Are you kidding?" Shelly asked. Her eyes grew wide.
"No. I am not."
"Wow. Mrs. Wainwright would have never done that."
"I'm not Mrs. Wainwright." Michelle grinned. "I'm Miss Jennings."
Shelly stuffed a few items in a zippered notebook and then looked back at the secretary.
"Thank you, Miss Jennings. You're a lifesaver. You have no idea how crazy my mother gets over stuff like this."
Michelle laughed.
But I do, Shelly Preston. I do.
CHAPTER 12: SHELLY
Monday, September 10, 1979
Shelly shook the transparent sphere, placed it next to a greeting card on a picnic table, and watched the weather change in New York. She looked at her friend and raised an eyebrow.
"A snow globe?"
"I knew you'd like it," April said as an impish grin swept over her face. "You've always wanted to shake up Manhattan, and now you can!"
Brian spit out his milk and laughed. He wiped his mouth and turned to the comic.
"Will you stop it? I'm trying to finish my lunch."
"I'm sorry, Brian," April said, lifting her nose. "But today is an important milestone in the life of Irene. She's turning eighteen and I need to set the proper mood."
Brian smiled and shook his head. He downed what remained in his half-pint carton of milk, grabbed a plastic bag off the ground, and placed it atop the table, one of ten in a courtyard on the sunny backside of Unionville High School. He pulled a thick book out of the bag and pushed it toward the brunette in the tight designer jeans and pink blouse.
"I got you something too," he said. "Happy birthday, Shelly."
Shelly picked up the book, a hardbound edition of
Writer's Market
, and thumbed through a few of its pages before setting it to the side.
"Thank you, Brian. That was sweet."
Shelly Preston beamed as she looked at her two dearest friends.
April Burke never failed to disappoint at times like this. Smart, witty, and mischievous, she was the life of every party and the one person in the world who could pull her out of any funk. The product of an Irish father and a Native American mother, she had been a part of Shelly's life since moving to Unionville in the third grade.
Brian Johnson had been around even longer. He had been Shelly's friend since infancy. Brian was goofy, studious, and socially inept. But the lanky, bespectacled boy next door had a heart of gold and was someone she could always count on in a crunch.
"Do you have any plans for tonight?" April asked. Her grin returned. "Tonight is Ladies Night at the Full Rack. The 'Studded Tires' roll at eight."
Located ten miles from town near a freeway exit, the Full Rack served the best steak dinners in the county and offered a variety of adult entertainment.
"I would
love
to go," Shelly said, laughing. "We would have a freaking blast. But I could never pull that off on a school night and definitely not on my birthday – not in a million years. Nope. It will be cake and ice cream with Fred and Evelyn, like every year. If I'm lucky, my folks will let me watch
Monday Night Football
at Scott's."
"OK, Miss Shelly Irene. I'll take a rain check," April said. She pouted, turned her head, and smiled again. "Maybe I can take Brian. He needs a little excitement."
"Why would I want to see naked men?"
Both girls laughed.
"Come now, Brian. Live a little!" Shelly said. "What else do you have to do?"
"I have to work, remember?"
"Oh, that's right."
Shelly had forgotten that she had switched shifts with Brian to free up her birthday night, just in case something better than cake and ice cream came along. Each worked three evenings a week at Holiday Lanes, a bowling alley on the west end of town, where they operated the cash register, checked out shoes, and manned the concession stand when the regular took a break.
The birthday girl smiled softly at Brian.
"Don't be so glum. You'll probably have more fun than I do tonight."
"I doubt it, but I'll try," Brian said. He grabbed his milk carton and a crumpled brown paper bag, threw them in a nearby trashcan, and stood up. "See you around, ladies. I have a science project to work on."
"See you, Brian. Thanks again for the book."
"Don't mention it," he said as he walked away.
"I should probably go too." April brushed crumbs off the table and loaded two books in a bag. "I want to soak up more of this sun, but I've got work of my own to complete."
Shelly lifted her head as April stood up and stepped behind the bench she had shared with Brian. She grabbed her friend's hand and smiled.
"Thanks for the snow globe. You're the best."
"You are too," April said. "Happy birthday, Shelly. I'll call you tonight."
Shelly watched her classmate disappear into the school building and then turned to a tuna sandwich she had barely touched. She popped the top of a can of cola, took a sip, and stared past the edge of the courtyard to the student parking lot, near the river, where a boy she knew climbed into a Plymouth Barracuda and drove off. She did not notice a woman staring at her.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" Michelle Jennings asked.
"Not at all," Shelly said. "I should probably be heading to class."
"You can stay if you'd like. I don't mind."
Shelly shrugged.