“Excellent use of neon,” Mrs. Gimple calls to me as I pack up my books. “And I like the rubber bracelets. Ten points, extra credit.”
I smile, knowing I needed any extra credit I could get. The last few weeks have wreaked havoc on my grades. Part of the homecoming week traditions include “Theme Days.” These are notoriously lame, and students aren’t motivated to participate. Extra credit is the only way they can get people involved.
Since we’re celebrating the centennial, each day is a different decade. Monday, '80s. My mother, ever the packrat, pulled out a box of clothing that belonged to my aunt, who was a decade older than her. Rubber bracelets, a gray and pink wide-necked sweatshirt and large, neon-pink, hoop earrings were exactly what I needed to secure extra points in all my classes.
The boys tried. A little. Ezra and Finn in pink Izod shirts, plaid shorts, and loafers with no socks. I find them both strangely attractive like this—channeling their inner “Blane.” Ozzy wore a Stray Cat’s T-shirt. I think he got an extra point. Not like he needs it anyway.
He waits for me outside the door, but I wave him off and walk over to Mrs. Gimple’s desk.
“Kenley,” she says, looking up from the piles of paper on her desk. She’s a disorganized mess. “Can I help you with something.”
I reach into my bag and pull out the old yearbook. “I was doing a little work on the centennial issue of the yearbook and saw that you started teaching here in 1991.”
She looks at the open book and the photo of herself standing in front of blackboard. “Wow, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen that picture. Man, I had a lot of hair—all brown, too. Although that didn’t last long. Teaching made me gray early.”
“Did you start teaching right after college?”
“Actually, I graduated a year early and started the year as a student teacher. Principal Brown hired me full-time after Christmas.”
“Principal Brown? Mr. Russell wasn’t here?”
She laughs. “Oh, he was here,” she flips a page and places her finger on another staff photo. He’s also incredibly young—surprisingly handsome. Under his picture it says Phillip Russell, History. “He went to school at night to get his administrative degree and became the principal about a decade later.”
“Interesting.” It’s possible I’ve fallen into the stereotype of a student that doesn’t fully realize her teachers and administrators have a life outside of school. “I wanted to ask you, for the centennial issue, what do you remember most about your first year?”
It’s a set-up, narrowing it down so specifically, to see if she’ll bring up Jacqueline.
“I remember a lot of things. The football team winning
the state championship, that was huge. Fighting with parents over the reading list. A few had problems with the books I’d chosen.”
I write down her answers.
“I heard that similar to this year, there was a tragedy that happened to a student,” I prompt. A flicker passes through her eyes, but her expression stays blank.
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about?”
“Jacqueline Cates.”
Her jaw sets, and her cheeks turn pink. “Ah, Jacqueline. Yes, that was a tragedy.”
“What do you remember about her death?”
“Not much,” she says absently, as she starts to straighten the papers on her desk. “I was new, I told you that. I didn’t know many students, and there was the fight about censorship, the rest is a blur.”
“You don’t remember anything?”
Her eyes flick to the clock over the door. “Kenley, this is my only free period and I have a lot of work to get to. I’m sure you have a class to attend.” She grabs a square of paper off the desk and scribbles a note. “Take that so you don’t get a tardy.”
“Thank you.” I take the paper from her. “If you remember anything, let me know.”
She gives me a tight smile and the slight dip of her head, gesturing for me to leave.
I walk through the door, annoyed and irritated, and run straight into Ozzy.
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”