Amateur Hour

Janice

Janice took a small bite from her mid morning bar, and chewed it, reflecting, as always, on the way protein bars never seemed to quite break down. No matter how long she rolled and crushed each bite between her teeth, there was always a chewy, flavorless lump left, to swallow.

This morning, she was washing them down with hot tea, carried in by thermos bottle. The guard’s inspection of the bottle had been cursory. He had merely lifted it out of the bag, opened it, for a sniff, and handed it back.

She glanced at her desk clock. Her ten-thirty was late, by a couple of minutes, a circumstance that made her unhappy, because she would be obliged to mention it. She hoped he wouldn’t be much later, or she would be obligated to report it. In writing. For the kid’s record. This job sucked.

Thirty seconds later, the door opened on a compact kid, with black eyes and an olive complexion.

“Glad you could finally make it, Mr. Ramirez,” she said.

“Sorry, ma’am. Mr. Miles likes to talk.” He flashed her a charming grin, and took the seat across from her.

“I can’t deny that,” she admitted, with a small smile of her own.

“Smart guy—I like his classes. We’re covering the Renaissance, and I think he could go on for hours, maybe.”

“Yes. Yes, he could,” Janice nodded, trying not to chuckle.

“It’s good, though. A teacher should like his subject.”

“I’ve always thought so,” she agreed. “How can I help you today, Mr. Ramirez?”

“I wanted to see about scheduling one of those aptitude tests. I was going to make an appointment with Mr. Falconi, before he cracked up.”

Janice leaned back a bit, in her chair, not knowing which part of the statement to address. The Ramirez kid was still smiling at her, but there was something about the expression in his eyes, that was like a fisherman watching his line.

She decided to ignore the bait. “What are some of your areas of interest? That would be a good place to start, I think.”

“I like animals. I like to draw—too much. I’m always getting into trouble, for that. I’m good with cars. And, of course, I like pretty ladies, but I can’t see much of a career, in that.” He had the audacity to give her a cheeky wink.

Janice wondered, briefly, if she might not have been wiser to have pursued the topic of Falconi and his ‘crack up’.

“What I really like, is mysteries, though,” he continued. “Maybe I should look into being a private detective, or something.”

“From what I understand, it’s not much like the movies or TV shows.”

“No. But you learn a lot of interesting skills. Photography, fingerprinting, how to trace people… all kinds of stuff. I really like the idea of learning how to find people, with receipts and things like that.”

“Maybe you should consider police training.” It was the second time in as many days that she had made the same suggestion to a student, but she had been joking, with Steph Howard. Guillermo Ramirez seemed to have a bent for it, though.

“I got a record. I mean, sure—it’s a juvie record, but still… Besides, I’d want to help people, not lock them up. Don’t want to walk around in a uniform, with a big, shiny target on my chest, either. If you ask me, that’s why cops are loco. Years spent in uniforms with targets on their chests.”

“My brother-in-law is a retired Deputy. He’s reasonably sane. But I get where you’re coming from. Some people just aren’t meant to wear uniforms.”

“’Zactly. I knew you’d get it. I bet you can’t wait to put on real clothes, when you get home. Mr. Miles, though— I bet he just takes off his blazer and tie, and calls it good.”

Janice smirked a little. The kid had nailed it. Except for changing into his sneakers, that was exactly what Liam did. She turned to her computer, and did a quick internet search.

“It says here that a record could be a problem…but as you said, it’s a juvenile record. I suppose the offenses play a big part, in whether or not it matters, beyond the time it’s expunged. It looks like the place to start, with regard to education would be an associate’s degree in Criminal Justice.”

“Oh.” He was visibly disappointed. “College.”

“It can be done, without, but college is the easiest way. Mr. Ramirez— an associate’s degree isn’t that hard to come by. It might take a little time, but it would be a while before your record would be expunged, anyway. In the end, you’d have a clean record, and a degree in Criminal Justice. What’s not to like, about that?”

“When you put it that way…” His face brightened, a bit.

“Why don’t I get some more information for you, and also schedule the aptitude tests? There’s bound to be lots of career paths that you haven’t considered, that might be equally appealing. It’s good to have choices.”

“I’d like that, ma’am. Thanks.”

“It’s what I’m here, for. And, you’re very welcome.”

The boy rose. “Gotta go, before I’m late for gym. It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Miles.” He dazzled her with his grin, once more, when he reached the door. “Stay sane,” he added, and stepped out.

Janice shook her head. “Seventeen going on thirty,” she mused aloud. It was good to see a student who was intent on the future, beyond what the next week might bring. Maybe there was something to Dr. Starkey’s therapeutic program, at that, at least for some kids.

She took a sip of her tea, and made a face. The cup was nearly full, but it had gotten too cold. Well, she could nuke it, in the lounge. As an afterthought, she grabbed the remainder of the protein bar, too and headed out.

*******

The lounge was populated by a bunch of senior teachers whom, she had already learned, were to be avoided. They had a tendency to occupy the armchairs and the sofa, and they weren’t sociable, even with each other. More often than not, they were buried in their books or newspapers. Even the papers were an ostentation, in this day of online news journals.

“Under” teachers were relegated to the tables at the fringe of the room, with their steel and plastic chairs; closer to the plebeian necessities of sink, vending machines, refrigerator and microwaves. Janice walked directly to the microwave closest to the fridge, and popped her tea into it.

While she waited for it to reach the approximate temperature of the planet Mercury, she scanned for any known faces at the tables. She saw none, which wasn’t surprising. At one table was a group of three female teachers, and one open seat. At another, sat a lone male teacher. The other four tables were deserted.

Janice was a sociable creature, but it was as likely as not that the empty chair at the table with the other women was intended for someone who had yet to arrive. The microwave beeped, and she removed her cup. When she turned around, a fourth woman was, indeed, joining the other three.

“You can sit here, if you want,” the lone man had raised his head from his laptop screen, to smile at her. The smile was restrained, but friendly.

“I wouldn’t be disturbing you?” She nodded toward his computer.

“Hardly. Just catching up on my blogs. Please,” he indicated the chair opposite his.

“Thank you,” she smiled, taking it.

“It’s not easy, being new. Ted Billie,” he introduced himself. “No immediate relation to Chief Jim,” he added.

Janice smiled and nodded. She was confused by the reference though the man was clearly Native American. “Janice Miles,” she reciprocated. “Related by marriage to Liam.”

The teacher smiled at this. “The new kids on the block. How do you like the neighborhood, so far? One heck of an HOA we have here, innit?”

Janice slapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh at this irreverence. “That’s the most apt description I’ve heard, yet. How long have you been here, Mr. Billie?”

“Ted. Five years, give or take.”

“That long, and you’re not one of them?” Janice sipped her tea. It was just the right degree of scalding. She half reached for the protein bar, then didn’t.

“You probably should,” he nodded toward the half eaten rectangle. “Rumor has it you have a blood sugar issue. I’m not one of them, because I’m not one of them. That old party, with the paper that was probably published during the Nixon administration? He came along a year after I did.”

“You know, I half expected to see a front page photo of Neil Armstrong stepping out of the Eagle,” Janice grinned.

“Oh, yeah. He’s very retro. His style of struggling to be an individual. The female upper teachers have the advantage of being able to vary their attire. Men can only do so much, with business casual.”

“Are you not one of them, by choice, or because they have some stick up their collective butt.”

“Little of both. The stick isn’t bigotry, if that’s what you’re thinking. They’d drown me in inclusiveness, if I let ‘em.” He paused, to take a sip from his own cup of coffee. “I learned not to drown, when I was five. No, the stick is something much worse, and that’s why I choose not to be one of them.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“No,” he smiled, shaking his head. “Let’s just say it’s something wicked, and leave it at that.”

“I’m a big girl, Ted.”

“Wetlands and innocence. I believe in preserving both.”

“May I ask—Why are you still here?”

“Someone has to teach these kids about good books,” he shrugged. “Bad ones, too, for that matter. Do you like books, Janice?”

“More than I should, probably. Liam and I are both readers. I have to confess that I do read my share of trash.” Her smile was rueful. She was already three quarters of the way through the bodice-ripper that she’d bought from Lisa, a few days ago.

“A little trash never hurt anyone, who recognizes it as trash. There are classic works of literature that are trash. I’ve always thought much of Steinbeck, was trash—but it’s entertaining.”

“It’s depressing!” Janice objected, laughing.

“It’s life, writ large. Hilarious and tragic, at the same time.”

“If it’s life, writ large, wouldn’t that make it genius, rather than trash?”

“A-plus, Janice,” he grinned, closing his laptop. “I’m sorry, but duty calls. Join me any time you want, when I’m here.”

“Ditto,” she smiled. “It was nice to meet you, Ted.”

**************

Steph

Steph had taken every advantage of the new girl privilege of getting lost, in her first two weeks. It had taken her that long to find a way out of the large building that housed the four dormitories, and onto the grounds, that was not covered every inch by cameras.

The route was circuitous, and involved entering some uncomfortable places in what had been the original school, before the modern add-ons. The old school gave her the creeps; it reeked of anger, and despair. Often, she felt followed, as she passed down the old corridors, but frequent and sudden checks showed that she was alone.

Tonight, as always, she gasped in the humid air of the north Florida night, and gave one more backward look into the blackness behind her, to make certain she hadn’t been followed by something as corporeal as herself.

Nothing, and no one was behind her. Steph closed the door, lifting up on the knob a bit, to do so. It didn’t hang quite true, anymore—if it ever had. She took another deep breath, and smelled the tannin stained river. It was a wet, leafy, organic smell. After the moldering, dusty decay of the old wing, it was like perfume.

The night was overcast and threatening rain; great for concealment as she crossed the opening to the trees, but she hoped she wouldn’t get caught in a shower. The foot trail was just inside the tree line, and she found it with no problem. This was the third time she had taken it.

He would be here, somewhere. Steph began to pick her way along the trail, eyes peeled. She saw the flare of his cigarette, as he took a drag, before she was close enough to see him.

“There’s my little schoolgirl,” he laughed softly, when she was near enough to hear him.

“Up yours. How do you always manage to get here, first?”

“Dorm Daddy has allergies. His meds make him sleepy, so he goes to bed, when we do. That’s his story, anyway.”

“You think he’s lying?”

“I think everyone lies,” he shrugged. “I don’t expect the truth, so I’m never disappointed.”

“That’s grim.”

“Not at all. It’s a pleasant surprise, when someone turns out to be honest.”

Steph couldn’t see his eyes well, but she could feel them, trained on her. She told herself that it was absurd to worry about that. He couldn’t see her any better than she could see him. This didn’t make it any less unsettling.

“Shall we hunt?” she asked, after a moment.

“No need. Found it, already.” He blew out a chestful of smoke, staring at the ground.

“Just how long have you been out here?” she demanded.

“Hour and a half.”

“Are you crazy? Anyone could have seen you!”

“Relax. No one saw me, except Miller. He’s no rat. Besides, he was out of his bunk, too. I signed ‘cigarette’, and he signed ‘phone’. It’s cool. Hope he doesn’t get caught, though.”

Steph sighed, and rolled her eyes. “You say you found it?”

“Yeah.” It was his turn to sigh. “’Way back, toward the old section, close to the river.”

“Show me,” Steph took a step in the direction he’d indicated.

“No.” He grabbed her elbow, in a tight grip. “I said toward the old section, not in it. It… She’s on the bank. The bugs and birds have been at her, already. By morning, the gators will have had the rest.”

Steph was sick. “We have to do something,” she said, in a half-whisper, knowing it was pointless.

“There’s nothing we can do for her, now. I shined my flashlight out on the river, and in the water nearby. Saw a dozen eyes, at least. I got these, then got the hell out of there.”

He had reached into the pocket of his uniform pants and pulled out a necklace and a ring. The necklace was just a gold chain. The ring was too big to have belonged to Jess Greene, and it was unique—a high school class ring.

“The ring was on the chain?” she asked.

“Yeah. I didn’t know kids still did that.”

“She had to keep it hidden.” Steph felt the flatness come over her. Compartmentalization had already begun. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Thought I’d hand it off, to you. If you’re caught with it, at least it would be logical. If I were caught with it, it would just be weird. I could wear the ring, if jewelry were allowed, and pass it off as mine, but…”

“Well, I’m not going to wear it on the chain!” So much for compartmentalization, she thought.

“No, I didn’t think that. But, girls get a little more privacy than boys. You might have a better place to stash it, that’s all.” His voice was placating, and a little concerned.

“All right.” She put out her hand, and felt his fingers brush her palm, as he placed the dead girl’s jewelry into it. She hastily deposited it into the pocket of her jumper, and wiped her palm against the skirt.

“Hey — Man up, Steve,” he quipped. His heart wasn’t in it, this time, however. She could tell.

“Don’t call me that, asshole.” The retort lacked its usual snap. Her heart wasn’t in it, either. “And, by the way, sharing is caring,” she remarked, as he lit another smoke.

He chuckled and passed it to her, then lit another, for himself. A lightning flash brought his face and form into sharp relief, for an instant. “We’d better smoke ‘em, walking,” he said, as thunder rolled, somewhere off to the east.

*******

They beat the rain, just, and parted company in the old wing. For her part, Steph was happy not to have had to walk the entire distance through the old building, again, alone.

Back in her room, she closed the door and turned on her desk lamp, to better examine the ring. She felt a need to study it, to memorize the detail, just in case she had the bad luck to lose it.

It was a gold class ring, from a high school named after a county farther to the south. Class of 2020; Jess Greene’s boyfriend had been four or five years older than she. Had she been a legal adult, that wouldn’t have been problematic, but the girl had been seventeen.

One side was decorated with a palette and brushes. The other side was evidently a depiction of the school mascot—a caricature cowboy with a ten gallon hat and bowed legs, wearing chaps.

The stone was interesting. Most class rings that she had seen were set with clear stones. This one was black and opaque. Obsidian? Onyx? Probably the latter. Obsidian was a brittle stone, and this one had a gold inlay. Two wavy lines, that might be an astrological symbol. She’d have to look it up, in the library.

With all the customization, it was strange that she found no name inscribed on the inside of the ring. Steph held it closer to the light. Yes, there was evidence of the name, or some inscription, having been removed. It was a smooth, professional job, but there was just the faintest variation in color, where the gold was less oxidized.

The owner hadn’t wanted his name associated with the ring he had given to an underage girl. Hardly surprising. Steph looked around the small room, wondering where to hide the ring and chain. She spotted her bottle of lotion, on the shelf near her bed.

That would have to do, for now, at least. It was a pump dispenser, so it was unlikely anyone would actually open the bottle, and the items wouldn’t rattle, if someone picked it up. She opened the bottle, and dropped the jewelry in. When it had sunk obediently to the bottom, she replaced the cap, and turned off her lamp.

She slipped off her shoes, and settled onto the bed, still clothed. She hadn’t known Jess Greene, but she had, of course. Jess was every girl in this school — young, impetuous, and prone to bad decisions. Pretty much like every fairytale princess, ever.

*************

Liam

Liam gazed at the rumpled figure of his sleeping wife, with a smile on his face that was little short of evil. Spike wriggled in his arms, barely able to contain himself. It was now, or never. In a moment, he’d drop the dog, if he wasn’t careful.

“Get her, Spike! Get her!” Liam urged, releasing the spaniel onto the bed.

Janice awoke with a shriek, then began to laugh at the dog’s attack. Spike was all nose and tongue, and all in her face.

“Aaagh! Call him off! Call him off!”

“Can’t. He doesn’t listen to me.”

“Spike! Down!” Janice giggled, tousling the dog’s fur. “Down. Mommy needs coffee,” she added, when the dog began to settle. Spike regarded her, tongue lolling, as if he were laughing at her. “What time is it? Are we late, for work?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Oh… Thank God!” she exclaimed, flinging back the covers.

“Coffee’s ready, and the toast is in.” A faint ratcheting sound came from the kitchen. “Correction—toast has just popped up.”

He headed out to the kitchen, with his wife in tow, still pulling on her robe. He watched her pour a fresh cup, for herself, and a warm up for him, before she sat down.

“We need a new toaster,” he commented. “This is bordering on burned.”

“Perfect. I want peanut butter, this morning.”

Liam smiled. This was his quirky, optimistic Janice — not the brooding facsimile. He grabbed the peanut butter, for her. “Jelly?” he offered.

“With peanut butter? Never! Sit, Sugar, and tell me what we’re doing, today.”

“What would you like to do?” he asked, then stretched his neck and shoulders, before applying butter and jelly to his toast.

“I’d like to go for a trail ride, today.”

“You would not. You’re scared of horses,” he smiled. “You just want to visit my sister, and tell her how awful I am.”

“You are pretty awful, and the need to talk about it, builds up, you know.”

“We can’t have that, can we?” he asked, around a mouthful of toast. He was pleased by her request. Their last trip to Georgia had acted on Janice like a tonic – at least, while they were there. She could use a little more mood elevation.

“I know it’s only been a week, but…”

“That was one of the draws to come up here, wasn’t it? I could check in with my sister, and you could flirt with her husband,” he teased.

“Now, I was very good, last week—and the temptation was well nigh unbearable.”

“Yes, you were. And, you were better behaved than I was, all the rest of the week, too. Finish your barbarian no-jelly toast, and get dressed. I’ll give Lisa a call.”

******************

“You can come, if you want to ride out, with us,” Lisa was saying, when Janice emerged from the bedroom. “I’d offer to stay home, but we’re shorthanded, today. Two of the horses going aren’t ours, and one of them is a troublemaker we board. Tuck wants to stay close to that one, so he doesn’t disrupt the others. That means I get the guy from the Historical Society, and the lady with the nice boarder.”

“Sounds like it’s not convenient, then.”

“No — come. Janice can ride Luna. She’s gentle as a lamb. You can have Tango. He’s very laid back.”

“Isn’t Luna your horse?” Liam asked, ignoring Janice’s horrified looks and head shaking.

“I can take Rocket, or Will’s new horse. Please come. It’ll be fun.”