Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Thanks to Sandee and her bags of damaged crap, I was able to take a few days off until most of the swelling went down. I hated to look in the mirror. I looked like Frankenstein’s monster or something with my face all swollen, one eye turning all shades of purple, my knees and hands scraped raw, bruises all over my neck—like a boa constrictor had given me a full-circle hickey. I was really scared a couple of my teeth were gonna fall out. Every time I chewed on that side, they kind of wobbled around in my gums. But I left them alone, and eventually they tightened up again. I was damn lucky there wasn’t any permanent damage anywhere, considering what I’d been through.

Sandee kept on me to report it to the police, but the longer I waited, the stupider I felt calling them. I knew their first question would be “Why didn’t you contact us right away?” Since I didn’t have a good answer for that, I just didn’t call them. Sandee brought me a little thing of pepper spray that goes right on your key ring, and I put that on to shut her up. It wouldn’t have done me a damn bit of good that night—not the way he grabbed me from behind.

By the fifth or sixth day after the attack I was starting to look kind of normal, so when they called me to sub I said yes. I was afraid that if I said no twice in a row they’d stop calling, and I have to get on full time. Besides, staying in the house all the time with Tristiana had me so freaking crazy, if I didn’t get out, one of us would be dead for sure. I swear, that kid doesn’t know when to leave me alone. She was always trying to sit by me and touch me and shit. Why she liked to rub her hand up and down my arm and rub her thumb on my fingernails, I’ll never know. But it made me nuckin’ futs.

So I took the sub job, but—wouldn’t you know?—it was at the high school. At least they assigned me to the first floor, so I didn’t have to be around bun-head Raylene.

I had a story all worked out about falling off my kid’s bike when I was showing her how to ride—as if Tris even had a bike or the coordination to ride one—just in case anybody asked about the fading bruises, but nobody asked. It’s funny, but when you work as a custodian, it’s like you become the Invisible Person. If there are kids around, they don’t even look at you, any more than they look at a doorway or a chair, unless it’s in their way. Then most of them are likely to just kick it out of the way. Most of the teachers are the same. They don’t even look at a person if she’s got a dustpan and broom in her hand. It really pissed me off at first, but then I found out that if I give them the finger after they pass by me, it makes me feel a lot better. I’m surprised I haven’t worn that digit out by now or else built the muscles up so much that it would look like the Arnold Schwarzenegger of middle fingers.

Barry, the supervisor on first, didn’t care what you looked like as long as the rooms got cleaned. And he at least gives you some credit for having some brains. He showed me where the cleaning cart and stuff was, told me what rooms I had to do, and left me the hell alone. I liked that a lot better than getting a ten-minute lecture on something that’s not exactly brain surgery. Duh, now how do I scrape that gum again, Raylene? Is it from the left to the right or the back to the front? Please enlighten me, oh Bun-Headed Guru of the Cleaning Crew.

I did the bathrooms down by the auditorium first. I guess those don’t get used as much; they weren’t nearly as disgusting as the ones upstairs. Some comedian had pulled all the paper towels out of the holder and left them all over the floor, but at least he hadn’t stuffed them in a urinal or something.

I swear, if I was the principal of that stupid school, I’d make a rule: “If you don’t use the materials correctly, we’ll take them away for a week.” If somebody dumped the paper towels, no paper towels for a week. If somebody put wads of toilet paper in the toilet so it overflowed, no toilet paper for a week. See how the little assholes would like it if they had to carry their own toilet paper with them. Or let ‘em use notebook paper for a while. That’d stop that crap pretty fast, I bet.

I finished the bathrooms and headed for the classroom right across from that next. I went barging right in, dragging my cart in back of me, before I noticed that the teacher was still in there. The overhead lights were off, and he was sitting at the computer real quiet-like, not even moving. I swear I almost jumped a foot when he finally looked up. He was pretty startled, too.
I started to back out—we’re supposed to wait until the classrooms are empty before we clean them—but he said, “It’s okay. You can come in. I’m just finishing something up here. If I’m not in your way, you’re welcome to start cleaning.”

“Uh, thanks. You’re not in my way, but I can wait. I’ve got a couple of other rooms to do . . . .”

“Nah, that’s okay. You’re here now. I’ll be out of here in just a minute or so.”

I shrugged. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

I pulled the cart in the rest of the way and started in on the desks. We had to squirt some kind of cleaning stuff on the tops and wipe them off. We wouldn’t want our little darlings to spread their germs and catch a cold. I was glad I had the rubber gloves; I bet the vinegar in that woulda stung my scraped hands like crazy. At least it was easy to do these desks. Instead of being in rows, they were in a big circle.

I looked around the room as I was doing the desktops. This room was messy but in a kind of comfortable way. Books sat around in untidy stacks with torn paper sticking out for bookmarks. Laminated posters lined the walls—posters from plays the high school kids put on, it looked like. I saw one for Grease and The King and I, The Odd Couple, and a bunch of others.

“Like the posters?”

His voice spooked me so much the spray bottle slipped right out of my hand. It hit the wet desk, skidded across, and flew two feet across the room. I felt like a complete moron.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you! I just noticed you were looking at the posters . . . .” He leaped out of the computer chair and ran to pick up the bottle. He got to it before I did, since I was blocked in by the circle of desks.

“Thanks,” I muttered, taking it without really looking up. I thought I’d felt like a complete moron before, but now I really did. I could feel him staring at me, probably wondering what in hell happened to my face.

“Are you new? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you working here before.”

“I’m subbing. Just for today.” I sneaked a quick look at him. He wasn’t much to look at, kinda short with sandy blonde hair that curled a little at his collar. His beard and mustache had a lot more red in them. It looked weird, as if he dyed his hair or his beard. I didn’t take time to look at him that much, though. I was still feeling like an idiot. “I’ll come back in a little while. I think I’ve . . . got to clean the bathrooms,” I muttered.

“No. That’s okay. You can get done in here. I’ll get out of your way. I’m on my way out anyway. We’ve got a practice for the Variety Show, and I’ve got to be there to help supervise.”
“I don’t mind coming back later.”

“No. Truly. I’ve got to go.” He grabbed a backpack sitting by his computer desk. “Take it easy.”

“Yeah, you, too,” I said, sneaking another peek. He caught my glance and smiled—a real honest-to-goodness smile—before he headed out the door. When he smiled, he actually was kind of cute.
Then I realized, this is a speech and drama room. He’s a speech and drama teacher. Even if I had the slightest interest in somebody just because he had a nice smile—which I didn’t!—this guy was probably gay. They usually are, you know. Those speech and drama guys. And I hadn’t noticed him trying to look at my ass while I was leaning over the desks, so that means something. Anyway, I didn’t have the remotest interest in anybody at the moment!

I finished the desktops; did my wonderful gum check; washed the board, which was clean except for a cartoon some moron had drawn in one corner. It was a caricature of that teacher waving his hands in the air and saying, “Emote, people! Emote!” Whatever the hell that meant.
Oh, yeah, no question, this guy was as queer as a three-dollar bill—no straight guy uses the word “emote.”

It figures that the first person in that whole building who acted like I was a human being would probably only want to be my girl friend.