Getting Played

“Hey Lifers. I don’t know when I’ll be ready to post this. It feels more real than it did yesterday, but still . . . surreal. I’m having a baby. It wasn’t planned, it’s totally unexpected, but with every passing minute, I’m happier about it.”

In my mind I imagine a little boy or girl, a toddler, with sun-kissed hair and ocean-blue eyes, and a great smile—with a talent for music. And it’s so bizarre that those could be the only things I know for sure they got from their father. But that may have to be enough.

I look into the camera. “You guys wanted to experience life with Lainey? Well strap in—it’s gonna get nuts.”

Chapter Five

Dean

I admit, I get a kick out of the first day of school—I always did. Maybe it’s the nerd in me, but there’s something exciting about a fresh box of #2 pencils, a clean notebook, a new, unblemished folder.

Okay . . . it’s definitely the nerd in me.

But that doesn’t change the fact that the first day of school is like New Year’s in September—the start of a whole new year—endless possibilities.

I have a personal dress code I stick to for work—it helps me compartmentalize, get into teacher mode and separate myself from the wilder, free-wheeling summer nights with the band. No T-shirts, sweats or hoodies allowed—it’s all button-downs, sweaters, jeans, suits and ties on game day Fridays, and . . . glasses.

I’m notoriously nearsighted. Woman are into the glasses—but generally not on a drummer. Contacts are for the summer, my dark, square frames are for the rest of the time.

They make me look smart—most people subconsciously associate glasses with intelligence. They make me look like a teacher. And when it comes to teenagers—perception is half the battle.

~ ~ ~

The first period final bell is still ringing as I close my classroom door, because my kids are already at their desks.

Standing at the head of the class, I greet my band of brainiacs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to school. I’m sure you’re as excited as I am to explore the never-ending wonders of AP Calculus. It’s going to be a good time, people.”

I scan their eager, awkward, acne-cream tinted little faces as I pass out the syllabus and go through my PowerPoint presentation of how grades will be calculated. All the usual suspects are here—Louis, Min Joon, Hailey, Martin, Keydon, Daisy, Quinn and Diego.

Fun fact: Diego has a twin sister in regular math named Dora. His parents are obviously monsters.

There’s also one new face in the pack: Jason Burrows.

He’s got sandy-colored hair, and a 5 Seconds of Summer-ish, pretty-boy look that girls today really go for. After telling the class to take out their summer packets for review, I lift my chin at Burrows. “I don’t expect you to have it completed. You can—”

He pulls the packet from his folder.

“It’s already done, Mr. Walker. I found it on the school’s website and finished it last night.”

Oh yeah, he’s gonna fit right in.

I call the kids up at random to post their answers to the problems on the board. Most of the answers are close—but wrong. These kids may be the cream of the smart, but they still have a lot to learn.

Daisy Denton, a shy, bespeckled redhead who’s obsessed with butterflies, gets one right on the money.

“Good job, Daisy. You want to ask your question now or later?”

Any student who gets an answer correct in my class gets to ask me a question. Any question, nothing’s off-limits, and I’ll answer it truthfully, no bullshit. It’s a great way to establish rapport and hopefully trust.

“I’ll ask now.” Daisy blushes, merry and bright. “What’s the secret of life, Coach Walker?”

“Starting the year off with an easy one, huh?” I tease.

Her cheeks turn a darker shade of crimson, but she’s smiling.

I adjust my glasses. “The secret of life is . . . good friends, good food, and good music. You have those three—everything else falls into place.”

“What do you consider good music?” Daisy asks.

Technically that’s two questions, but since Daisy is basically a mute most of the time, I don’t point that out.

I hear a sweet, spellbinding voice in my head that, despite my best efforts, I haven’t been able to forget. “I like songs that tell a story. That make me feel. That make me remember.”

“Good music tells a story, Daise. It makes you remember exactly where you were and how you felt when you heard it.”

Some of the kids nod, most of them looking at me like I’m Gandhi and Buddha and Nostradamus all in one. It’s nice to be idolized.

“Okay, summer packet is done.” I smack my hands together and sit down behind my desk, leaning back in my chair.

“Hey—new kid.” Jason Burrows’s eyes go wide and round. I gesture for him to stand. “Do your thing—you know the drill. Tell us about yourself.”

He stands up, wetting his lips, looking a bit nervous. But that’s okay—because if yolks want to make friends, they gotta crack their shells.

“My name is Jason, I’m a Junior, I’m from Bayonne. I’m fourteen—”

“Fourteen?” Louis asks. “That’s young for a junior.”

“Yeah.” Jason nods, shrugging it off. “I skipped a few grades when I was younger.”

That gets their attention.

Because my students may not be football players or track stars—hell, some of them can’t even walk straight. But that doesn’t mean they’re not competitive. Bloodthirsty.

They’d sell their mothers for an extra tenth of a percentage in their GPA. Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan? Pfft—amateurs. My kids wouldn’t have wasted time with a crowbar—they would’ve gone straight for the chainsaw.

Hailey gnaws on the end of her pen. “A few grades? You must think you’re pretty hot stuff.”

“Not so much.” Burrows shakes his head. “I just really like school.”

They look him over, judging and weighing, like sniffing wolves deciding if a loner is going to be a new member of the pack—or lunch.

“Where do you live?” Diego asks.

There’s only about eight thousand residents in Lakeside. Where you live in town can say a lot about who you are. Wealthier families live on the North side of the lake or in the newer homes of Watershed Village; the old timers, like Grams, live below 6th Street, and the rest of the working-class families live everywhere in between.

“On Miller Street, at the end, by the lake.”

Louis practically jumps out of his chair.

“Wait, wait, wait—I saw them doing work on the old boarded up house on Miller Street. That’s where you live?”

I see where this is going—and it’s nowhere good.

“Yeah, it’s not boarded up anymore. My mom does these decorating videos on—”

“Holy shit, have you seen them?” Min Joon asks.

Burrows looks around. “Seen who?”

“The boys in the attic,” Martin says excitedly. Then he goes on to explain the legend of the haunted house of Lakeside. The one Burrows currently lives in.

“If you stand in front of the house at midnight on Friday the 13th and look up at the attic window, you’ll see the ghosts of the two 18th century boys who haunt the house.”

Burrows turns as white as the chalk on the ledge behind me.

“That’s not true,” Keydon argues.

“It’s totally true!” Louis yells. “My uncle saw them—he told me!”

I try to turn it around.

“Okay, guys, let’s get back—”

But they’re on a roll.

“I heard they committed suicide,” Hailey says.

“I heard their mother slit their throats in their beds,” Min Joon insists.

Even quiet Daisy gets in on the act. “I heard it was the nanny and then she hung herself from the top stair railing.”

“Uh . . . I . . .” Burrows looks like he’s going to puke any

second now. Not the best way to make a first impression.

“Hey, guys!” I stand up, clapping my hands. “That’s enough, all right? Let’s bring it in and get back to work.”

I glance at my poor, terrified, new student and do the only thing I can.

I lie.

“The house isn’t haunted. It’s a joke, they’re just messing with you.”

He swallows so hard, I hear it. “Are you sure?”

I look him right in the eyes.

“I swear to God.”

It’s a good lie—God will understand.

And Jason almost believes me. Then, Garrett walks into my classroom.

“Sorry to interrupt, Coach Walker.” He hands me a manila folder. “Here are the revised plays we talked about, for practice later.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, Coach D,” Diego calls. “You know the boarded up house at the end of Miller Street?”

“Yeah, I know it.” Garrett answers.

“What do you think of it?”

“Haunted as hell.”

And the whole classroom explodes.

“I told you!”

“So haunted!”