Miss Lydia Fairbanks and the Losers Club Page 4

CHAPTER FOUR

  After leaving Inner City Junior High, Miss Fairbanks quickly went to the run-down boarding house where she lived and informed the grateful landlady that eviction proceedings were no longer necessary, since she had a job at last and would be able to pay the rent in two weeks. The old woman just grimaced and grumbled as usual, but from the gleam in her eye at the mention of money, it was obvious she wasn't going to turn Lydia out. She knew she wouldn't find anyone else willing to take the dingy room the foolish girl occupied, at least anytime soon. So the matter was settled, and Miss Fairbanks happily went to her disgusting room where she boiled some water for her regular noodle dinner.

  But this night she didn't stay at home and read a library book as she normally did (she was too poor to own a TV to watch). Even though she knew it was not safe on the streets after dark in this part of town, she also knew she had an important errand to run. And she knew it was something that had to be done tonight, since otherwise she was not likely to have a very pleasant day at Inner City Junior High School tomorrow. And so she wrapped a ragged shawl around her shoulders and went back out on the street. And instead of heading toward the shops or the mall or any other sensible place, she struck out for the seediest part of town instead. There was a certain bar she had in mind ...

  Not that Miss Fairbanks was a drinker. Far from it! The gentle woman had never touched a drop in her life, and didn't intend to start now. Indeed, she didn't even go into the bar at all. Instead, she summoned all of her meager courage and approached the massive hulk of a bouncer who leaned against the door jamb of the entrance. She spoke with him for a few minutes in a quiet voice, and several times during the conversation he raised his eyebrows in surprise. But her errand was successful, and with a glad heart she quickly made her way back to her dingy room, to take up where she had left off in her latest book, which was Tolstoy's 'War and Peace.'

  The first part of Tolstoy's title suited her life well, while the second part was something she had rarely experienced but had long yearned for. However, it certainly seemed unlikely she'd be finding peace at Inner City Junior High School!

  The next day, Miss Fairbanks arrived early and went directly to her assigned Writing classroom. She was so nervous and worried she nearly dropped the bundle of papers she intended to use as handouts in all her classes that day. And when she tried to write 'Lydia Fairbanks' on the blackboard, all she seemed able to produce were odd chicken scratches that were hardly readable. It certainly didn't look like things were starting off well!

  The first bell suddenly rang, making Miss Fairbanks jump. Turning around, she saw that her classroom was still empty. Where were all the students? As if they had read her thoughts, clumps of tough-looking kids started straggling into the classroom. They obviously held off coming in as long as they could. She heard snatches of their conversations as they wandered in. "There she is ... the crazy 'mystic compact' lady ... what do you mean you didn't hear about it--it's all over school! ... naw, it's just a gag ... wait'll she tries it on me! I'll make some prophecies about HER!"

  The bell rang once more, causing Miss Fairbanks to jump again in fright. Several of the students guffawed, since the sight of suffering or fear in others always made them smile. Others completely ignored her and started belting each other, or swearing or throwing things once more. This was apparently standard procedure, and the students didn't want to fail in their daily duty. The intercom suddenly blared--making Miss Fairbanks jump yet again--and the national anthem started to play. None of the students took any notice of it, nor did they stand up and put their hands over their hearts and recite the pledge when it came on after the anthem. And indeed, there was no flag in the room for them to face anyway, since the pole it had once rested on was long since broken.

  "Class, I am Miss Lydia Fairbanks," she said timidly, in a voice that no one heard because of the collective noise. "I will be your writing teacher from now on ..."

  Most of the students didn't pay any attention to her, but a few looked at her with expectant glee, hoping to see her pull out her compact and try her mysticism like she'd done the day before. And it was only too obvious they would be ready for her when she did.

  Miss Fairbanks looked nervously at her watch. It was past the agreed time already, but he hadn't come. What was she to do?

  A shoe suddenly came flying her way, and grazed her head as she tried to duck out of its path. General laughter followed. "Hey, ugly!" cried Arnold Vance, who unfortunately happened to be in this first period writing class. "Aren't ya gonna read our futures out of your silly compact?" Another shoe was thrown her way.

  And then suddenly, without warning, all of the noise instantly stopped and there was complete silence. Without looking around Miss Fairbanks knew he had arrived, and breathed a sigh of relief. Turning, she smiled at the bouncer she had hired the night before at the bar. He had bags under his eyes, and it was obvious this was an hour he'd normally be sleeping, since he had a night job. But half of Miss Fairbank's first paycheck had been too tempting an offer for him to refuse, since all he had to do to earn it was sit silently in her classroom all day.

  "Class, this is my friend, Mr. Brek," said Miss Fairbanks in her soft voice that could hardly be heard. "He very kindly offered to join me on my first day here, to help while I teach about the business letters you're all going to write." Mr. Brek's eyes bulged in surprise. This crazy little lady hadn't mentioned anything about business letters at the bar last night!

  The eyes of every student were glued on Mr. Brek. No one was laughing or throwing things now. No one said a word. The guy was as big as a tank, and had half a dozen scars on his face and arms. His neck muscles were so bunched and massive they looked like tree roots. His arms looked bigger than tree trunks, and you could easily fit three of the biggest kids inside his chest if there were an opening. When he walked the floor swayed and the room rumbled. And the way he scowled at them all, it was obvious he was just hoping one of them would pop off, so he'd have the chance to get a little exercise.

  "Mr. Brek is one of my oldest and dearest friends," said Miss Fairbanks, causing the bouncer to raise his eyebrows in surprise again. Miss Fairbanks was unable to hide her own smile, since what she'd said was not exactly a lie. She had no friends, and certainly no old or dear ones.

  "He lives nearby, and will be dropping in often to see how I'm doing. I'm afraid he's a bit protective of me, and tends to worry whether I'm safe and all right ..." Which was again true, since he wouldn't get paid unless she was all right. And she planned to pay him to drop in often just to remind her students that he was around.

  Several of the kids gulped, and most of them made mental notes to themselves, to toss out all the mean tricks they'd been planning to play on Miss Fairbanks. No prank was worth having your arm ripped out of its socket.

  "And now class, I will demonstrate the proper procedure for writing a business letter ..." said Miss Fairbanks, turning toward the blackboard. "Afterwards, you will all have the opportunity to write one, and develop this important skill that will probably help you get a job someday, or at least enable you to write a letter to the state employment agency explaining why you're not working ..." There was a collective groan from around the room as the students realized to their horror that they were actually going to have to do some real schoolwork.

  And then Miss Fairbanks proceeded to do precisely what few teachers at Inner City Junior High School had ever achieved, but for which they were all underpaid. She taught. And in the process, not only did her students learn more than they had expected when they'd left home for school that morning, but a certain marginally educated bar bouncer learned a thing or too as well.

  When Principal Clyde popped his head in a little later to see if Miss Fairbanks was still in the land of the living, he was once more pleasantly shocked at the sight of a classroom full of students diligently writing for all they were worth. He was so astounded he nearly fell over backwards into the hall. He also noticed an incredibly massive student seated at
a desk on the far side of the room, also busily writing. The student looked rather old for junior high, but as Principal Clyde knew only too well, there were quite a few students in this school who'd been held back so many times, they were practically old enough for college.

  And so the day went as Miss Fairbanks introduced Mr. Brek as her "oldest and dearest friend" in all of her classes. Her students were marvelously well-behaved all day, allowing her to enjoy her first regular day on the job rather than feel tortured as all the other teachers in that school had done when they started. Principal Clyde kept peeking in at intervals throughout the day to see if the spell had broken, and he was increasingly shocked (and secretly annoyed) that it wasn't. He was completely clueless how she was able to maintain such incredible order where chaos normally reigned. And he was equally mystified at seeing a particularly large student in all of her classes. Perhaps he needed to instruct the school lunch ladies to be more diet conscious in their menus.

  Miss Fairbanks was pleased to see the slouching boy she had spoken with yesterday in her second period class, who she learned was named Brent Llewelyn. He quietly told her after class that he just might drop in after school, since there was no need to get home very fast. Miss Fairbanks also took notice of a number of other nontraditional students in her various classes. For example, there was the overweight boy in third period, who already looked like he might be balding even though he was only 14. His eyes had the appearance of a hurt animal, as students around him held their noses at his 'smell,' or swore at him, or just elbowed him in the ribs. It was all Miss Fairbanks could do to keep her lower lip from trembling as she taught the proper salutation for business letters, while watching his torment out of the corner of her eye.

  And then in fourth period there was a girl wearing a long, flowing dress--in stark contrast to all the other girls who wore jeans and T-shirts. This girl never once raised her eyes or made eye contact, and seemed blessedly unable to hear the many snide comments the kids around her continually made about her dress or her brains, or anything else they found objectionable about her.

  But of course, Miss Fairbanks knew the girl could hear what they were saying perfectly well.

  And then the day was half over. When the bell rang at the end of fourth period, her students handed up their recently completed business letters with a great deal of rustling. Most of them were surprised they'd written anything that day, since they certainly hadn't come to school intending to do so. There was the usual scraping of desks and rampant profanity as the room gratefully spewed out its awful students. The bouncer, Mr. Brek, stood up from where he had been sitting next to the window. He stretched, nearly punching holes in the ceiling by mistake with his massive fists since he was so tall. "Think I'll walk over to Joe's for a burger or two, or maybe three" he said casually after most of the students were gone. "I'll be back in about an hour when your next class starts."

  "Thank you ever so much for helping me this morning," said Miss Fairbanks with sincere gratitude. "I don't know what I'd have done without you!"

  "You'd probably be dead," said Mr. Brek off-handedly. Then he smiled. "This ain't so bad, you know. Kind of reminds me of when I was a punk in school. And all that stuff about how to write a business letter--you know, that ain't so bad either. I never knew how to write one before."

  Miss Fairbanks tried not to cringe at his double use of the word 'ain't' and smiled at him. "You'll hear it all again in the classes this afternoon. And if you come back tomorrow, you'll learn how to write a resume."

  The bouncer shook his head. "Naw," he said as he sauntered toward the door while the floor rumbled under his considerable weight. "One day of this is enough. I need my sleep." Then he disappeared.

  Miss Fairbanks walked around behind her desk and pulled her sack lunch out of the bag she'd brought to school. She knew that venturing to the teacher's lounge through these deadly halls would probably not be wise just yet. The safest place for her was right here, where word was quickly spreading throughout the school that she had a massive 'friend' who could probably knock a person's eyes through the back of their head by just flicking them with his pinky.

  There was a sudden sigh from somewhere in the room. Looking up, Miss Fairbanks was surprised to see the girl with the long flowing dress still seated at her desk. Her eyes were still staring intently at the floor as if the scuff marks covering it were totally fascinating. It certainly looked like the girl had no intention of moving.

  Miss Fairbanks stood up and walked over to sit down next to her. The girl jerked around in surprise, apparently having assumed that Miss Fairbanks had left as well (since she'd never looked up to see). "I'm sorry," she mumbled in a dull voice. "I'll leave now." She started shoving things into her book bag.

  "No, please don't," said Miss Fairbanks. "I mean," she added hastily, "you can go if you really want to. But it would be nice to have some company, rather than to sit here alone."

  The girl stopped shoving things in her bag and looked over at Miss Fairbanks in shock. Her eyes were so glazed and lifeless Miss Fairbanks nearly cried out. She had never seen such dead eyes on a living person before.

  "You want me to stay?" the girl blurted, incredulously. "Why?"

  Miss Fairbanks floundered, not knowing quite how to respond. Finally she said, "I thought maybe we could get to know each other better. I noticed you in class ..."

  The girl's dead eyes fell. "Everyone notices me," she mumbled.

  "Oh, I didn't notice anything bad or wrong," said Miss Fairbanks hastily. She fished around desperately, trying to think of something positive or praiseworthy she could say. "I saw how wonderfully well you concentrated on your writing when you wrote your letter. You weren't hasty like most of the others."

  The girl tentatively looked up at Miss Fairbanks again. "Really?" she asked in a voice so quiet it was hardly audible.

  "Yes," replied Miss Fairbanks with a smile. Suddenly she said, "Are you hungry? Would you like some of my lunch?"

  The girl's eyes instantly fell again. "No, I'm not hungry," she said hastily. Miss Fairbanks found that hard to believe, seeing how gaunt and skinny she was. She pulled an apple from her lunch sack. It wasn't a very good apple unfortunately, since her money was so low she'd had to buy the wormy reject apples from a street vender. But she knew from experience that the non-wormy parts of apples like these were still good.

  "Here," she said, putting the apple on the girl's desk. "Just eat the side opposite the worm holes." The girl looked at the apple in fascination while Miss Fairbanks took out the only other object in her lunch sack--a peanut butter sandwich on stale bread--and broke it in half for the girl. "I don't think I can eat all this," she lied. "Have some."

  The girl slowly reached out to take the half sandwich. She was eyeing Miss Fairbanks warily, still not sure what to think. Miss Fairbanks smiled at her and took a bite of her sandwich half. "What's your name?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

  "Heather," said the girl in a soft voice.

  "I've always liked that name," said Lydia.

  "I hate it," said Heather without any hesitation. "It's ugly, just like me."

  "Ugly?" said Miss Fairbanks in surprise. "You? Why do you think that?"

  "Because it's true," said Heather. "Everybody knows it. You heard what they were all saying. And even my mother says it. She says it all the time."

  "Oh, that's sad," said Miss Fairbanks. She spoke with such genuine feeling that Heather looked at her in surprise. "What is?" she asked curiously.

  "That your mother says that about you," replied Miss Fairbanks. "I don't think it's true at all."

  "Really?" said the girl. "Do you need glasses? Can't you see well?"

  "No, I can see perfectly well," replied Miss Fairbanks. "And when I look at you I see a very attractive young lady, who tends to worry too much about what others say."

  The girl suddenly started to fidget so much she dropped the peanut butter sandwich on her desk. "That's not true," she said quickly. "I'm not attra
ctive. I'm ugly. And anyone who says otherwise is lying."

  She looked up in sudden embarrassment. "I mean ... I didn't mean ... you're not lying of course," she stammered. "You're just ... mistaken. Because you need glasses and don't realize it."

  Miss Fairbanks smiled in return, not sure how to respond to that. Perhaps a change of subject was in order. "What do you like to do?" she asked.

  "Do?" said Heather, her eyes staring without understanding. "What do you mean?"

  "Is there something that makes you happy when you do it?" tried Lydia again. "Like going shopping, or combing out your hair, or watching mindless TV shows ..."

  The girl stared for a minute, thinking hard. Finally she mumbled, "I like to write," she said simply.

  "Really?" said Miss Fairbanks in genuine pleasure. "How wonderful! Especially since this is a writing class! Do you write poetry or short stories or--"

  "It's garbage," said Heather flatly, picking up her sandwich half and taking a tentative bite. "Everything I write is garbage."

  "I'm sure it's very good," countered Miss Fairbanks. "How could it not be? I'll prove it to you. Do you have something you've written? I'd like to see it."

  "It's garbage," repeated Heather, chewing her sandwich slowly. "Real garbage. I never keep any of it. I throw it away as soon as I write it. So it's all garbage."

  Miss Fairbanks gasped and clutched her hand to her heart. "NO!" she said in profound shock. "That's horrible!"

  Heather dropped her sandwich again, she was so surprised. "Why? It's garbage anyway. Why keep it?"

  "Because ... because ..." stammered Miss Fairbanks, struggling to put her thoughts into words. "Because it's YOU, that's why! Something you write is purely you! It's the most personal, real thing that could ever exist, outside the real you! It's the thoughts of your heart, your secret desires, your hopes and dreams! How could you throw all that away?"

  Heather was staring at her with round, dead eyes. She had stopped chewing, but hadn't bothered to swallow. Clearly what Miss Fairbanks had said was completely new to her, and her mind was struggling to take it all in.

  There was a sudden scraping at the door. Mrs. Jensen, the school secretary was standing there, with some papers in her hand. She was looking at Miss Fairbanks curiously. "I didn't see you in the teacher's lounge, so I thought you might be here," she said. "There are some forms you need to sign, so we can process your paycheck."

  "Of course," said Miss Fairbanks, standing up and walking over to get the forms. "I'll fill them out right away and drop them off later."

  Mrs. Jensen was looking furtively back and forth between Heather and Miss Fairbanks. Then in a soft voice that she apparently hoped would not be overheard by Heather--or maybe she didn't care if it was overheard--she said, "I'd be careful of that one if I was you. She's very strange, and bit scary. Brought a big butcher knife to school once, and no one could make her put it down."

  Miss Fairbanks blinked in surprise, then laughed lightly. "I'm sure there's nothing at all unusual about Heather," she said loudly.

  But Heather was hastily jamming her belongings into her book bag. "I'll be going now," she whispered, heading for the door.

  "Do you have to leave?" said Miss Fairbanks sadly. "It's so nice to have someone to talk to."

  Heather looked at her again with her dead eyes. Then without a word she darted out the door and disappeared.

  Mrs. Jensen rolled her eyes. "Very strange, that one," she repeated, as she also headed out the door. "I'd watch my back if I was you."

  Miss Fairbanks did not reply, but stood silently in the empty classroom, looking sadly at the door.