Means Something – Lizzie McAlpine
gum?” I said, loud enough to be heard across the classroom; the teacher’s voice was really a skill honed over years of practice. It was a balance of total authority, absolute righteousness, and a dash of snark. On the right day, the tone could command a room of rowdy teenagers into order.
However, that day was not today.
“No, Miss,” Jessica argued before returning to her conversation with the other girls crowded around her table, her blonde hair twisting around her finger.
“You know the rules. Put it in the trash.”
She pushed her chair, the legs scraping loudly against the floor before stomping over to the trash can, and spitting the gum directly into the can, her eyes boring into me the entire time. This girl was going to murder me over a piece of goddamn gum.
As she huffed back to her place, she passed some examples of the work that the students were supposed to be studying.
Electric Prisms, an example of the brilliant simultanism work of Sonia Delaunay, featured two large overlapping circles created with arcs of primary and secondary colors placed beside each other. The rest of the area is covered by colors in various shapes–geometric, arcs, rectangles, ovals–all abstract and connected, sewn together like a tapestry of paint and color. It reminded me a bit of a patchwork blanket made of mad shapes and colors.
The challenge for the class was to mimic the style of her art but make it their own with their own shapes and colors. It was something I thought would be easy enough for them to do, but I began to think I might have overestimated the attention span of these teens.
A loud knock pulled my attention from the class, and I looked over to the opening door to see Rob sticking his head into the room. The class instantly fell silent, a few students being shoved by their friends to shut up before they pulled the attention of the principal. Well, at least somebody held some authority with them.
“Hello Ms. Davis, can I have a word?” he asked, pulling the door open further. A buzz of “ooh” rumbled around the room, the students grinning my way.
“When I come back, I’ll be calling some of you up to show what you’ve done so far, so I’d focus if I were you,” I challenged as I walked across the room, weaving in and out of the desks before following Rob out, the oohs making way for whispered curses.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” He spoke as the door closed softly, his expression unreadable. He was older than Hanna and I, I’d never asked how much, but old enough to have a few wrinkles creasing around his eyes.
“Good news, I guess.”
“I found some room in the budget to keep your after-school class going until the holidays. I know it’s not the entire year, but it might give you enough time to find some alternative funding.” He smiled, just as my legs almost gave out with relief. Funding–thank God.
“Rob, I don’t even know–” I began to say, but he was already cutting me off with a wave of his hand.
“Don’t, not until I tell you the bad news.”
I paused, waiting for him to continue. How bad could it be?
“I made room in the budget by putting off some building work that can wait, but it means I have to move a classroom about.”
“Okay, that doesn’t sound like a problem. There’s a classroom just down the hall that’s barely used,” I replied, not seeing the big deal. Sure, the classroom down the hall was a pit, but it meant I got my club. I’m sure if I gave whoever was moving there a hand, we could have the room reasonable in no time. But judging from the grimace on Rob’s face, it wasn’t as simple as that.
“Well… first off, I’m glad you brought that room up, because that’s exactly the one I had in mind…” he trailed off, his hand rising to rub the back of his neck as he broke eye contact, instead staring uncomfortably at the floor. A knot formed instantly in the pit of my stomach, that unease growing and knocking me nauseous. I needed to hear it from him. I would refuse to believe this nightmare otherwise. “But you should know… It’s… Physics.”
The other shoe finally dropped. That meant one person: Ben. Fucking. Bennett.
“I don’t have a choice. It’s this, or no club,” he stated, his hands up in the air defensively.
Currently the only thing keeping that man alive was the distance between us. His classroom being on the other side of campus gave me time to walk off my rage, to get tired before I could track him down and scream at him for whatever atrocity he had committed. Normally, I’d end up passing Hanna’s classroom and get distracted. And Ben Bennett would continue, not realizing how lucky he was to still be kicking.
Moving him down the hall, however, meant that safe distance was removed.
“Are you trying to send me to prison? Because I can hardly walk down the same corridor as him without him reminding me why I want to murder him so much.”
Rob’s eyebrow twerked upwards. “You really hate him that much?”
“He’s impossible to work with. Always has been, always will be. It’s not just that he’s incapable of teamwork, he doesn’t want to get along with me.”
“You aren’t much nicer to him.”
I shook my head. “I doubt that very much. Even since that first day he’s never treated me or my department with any respect. He’s constantly making snide little remarks, singling my department–and music–out for cuts or to give up resources because either he doesn’t think it’s important, or because they are the only two departments with female heads.”
“Olive, he works closely with math and that’s Mariana’s department.”
“Well, there has to be some reason he’s constantly picked on our departments. Is that the behavior I’m supposed to put up with?”
“Do I really need to remind you about the beaker situation?”
Ah crap. Rob must have seen the realization on my face as I tried not to recall the one time I had been close to finally pulling off revenge against Ben.
I had just been informed the field trip I’d been budgeting and scrimping for had been axed completely. Ben had overheard we had enough budget to take the students away somewhere and had suggested it be reallocated to his department. Furious hadn’t covered it. I’d managed to juggle three extra classes so we could afford that trip, and it was gone in the time it took to read one snarky email from the dickhead.
So naturally, I was out for blood. I wanted to take something from him, and I had thought it would be ironic to take something of his, something he loved, and turn it into art. I’d been scrambling around the science department supply cupboard searching for something to steal when the sound of the door locking behind me startled me, causing me to take a step back into the trolley that held the glassware for the whole department.
“The school’s entire supply of beakers. Gone. In an instant. Because of you and your need for revenge,” Rob stated plainly.
Worse yet, I’d had to replenish the stock out of my own pocket. I swear I’d been forced to pay for some fancy beakers instead of just the regular stock because that shit was expensive. And was there anything worse than personally funding your nemesis’ department?
“That was one time.”
“There were other times, Olive. I need you to both put aside your differences and work together. If you can’t, then I’ll rescind the funding and cut the clubs permanently.”
“How is this even supposed to work?”
It was his turn to shrug. “That’s for the two of you to sort out. This is the solution you wanted. You get your group, he gets his. This gives you both the time you need to find the funding.”
He was right. I knew he was right. But he also knew our history, and he was still asking me to get on with him. For the club. For the students. Could that be enough for me? To let go of the years of anger, years of games and fights. In the end, it had to be. Even if it felt like I was about to pour gasoline all over myself and trust Ben with a pack of matches.
I sighed, resigning myself to my fate as I nodded at him. “Fine. I will try to behave. But you’ve got to give him the same warning,” I fired back, almost trying to imagine Ben’s reaction to it. It was probably pretty similar to my own.
“Already did, and he agreed not to antagonize you anymore.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I grumbled under my breath. One of Rob’s eyebrows twitched upwards. I sighed. “I’ll be good, promise.”
He nodded, his look turning solemn, “I know this isn’t ideal, but I’m trying my best here.”
“I know,” I sent him a small reassuring smile, trying to ignore the twisting in my gut. Then, a question rose up. “Rob?”
“Yeah?” He looked at me, eyebrows raised.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly going dry. “The vice principal role… can anyone apply?”
“Oh,” he replied, suddenly uneasy on his feet. “Technically yes, the application is open to all teachers.” He looked away for a moment, scanning the hall around us before stepping closer. “I should warn you, Olive, as a friend.” My heart paused in my chest, palms turning clammy. “The final decision isn’t up to me. Of course I have sway but there is a panel including the superintendent who will be making the decision.”
“That seems fair,” I replied, my voice matching his hushed tone. Rob’s gaze dipped to the floor for a moment. When it returned to mine, his lips were pressed into a thin line, his brow furrowed.
“They… they have expressed a strong preference for teachers with a STEM background to fill the role, given the importance of those subjects to the parents.”
His words clanged around my brain, my gut wrenching uncomfortably as I drew in a deep, sharp breath.
“I know that’s not what you want to hear, but know if you apply, I’ll treat your application like any other teacher. I don’t want to discourage you from applying. I’d be happy to see you go for it–you are a very impressive teacher. It’s only a warning you’ll have an uphill battle impressing them.”
His words did little to soothe my building frustration: first Ben, now this panel. Why was it so difficult to be taken as seriously as other subjects? As other teachers? I worked as hard, day in and day out, just to be told I wasn’t as good as somebody else, that Art wasn’t important. I wanted to scoff, to tell him to stuff the job and give it to whoever they wanted. But then I’d be at someone else’s mercy. The question begged… whose mercy?
“Have other teachers asked you about the position yet?” the question rolled off my tongue, but with a surge of confidence, I pressed on. “Has… Ben asked?”
He hesitated, pausing so long I was sure I had crossed the line of what our friendship would offer, but then he spoke, voice quieter than before.
“Other teachers have asked, yes.” He ended with a small, sharp nod, his eyes on mine. The certainty of what I had to do became clear.
“Where can I get an application?” I pressed, somehow keeping the shakiness from my voice.
“You know, applying for the role won’t mean you can save the clubs. I mean it when I say there is no more budget,”
I shook my head. “It’s not that.”
He cleared his throat, shooting me a look of doubt. But I clarified, somehow keeping my cool.
“I’m tired of being affected by the changes. I thought maybe in this role, I could affect the change instead. I would be in a better position to help the school.”
That, and over my dead body would I let Ben become vice without a fight.
“The application should be live on our website this afternoon,” Rob said, before smiling slightly, “I look forward to reading your application. You’ve done a lot for your students during your time here,”
“Anyway, thanks. I should get back in there before they start a riot.” I looked away, my focus pulling to inside the classroom where noise was beginning to exceed regular limits.
“Want me to stick my head back in? Threaten a few detentions?” he offered, edging towards the door, but I shook my head.
“Thanks, but I can handle them.”
He nodded, before turning to walk down the hall, but paused for a moment and looked over at me again. “It would be good to have you on the team. Vice Principal Davis has a good ring to it.”
I gave him a small smile, his words doing little to soothe my growing nerves. He returned the smile, before turning completely and walking down the hall. Letting out a deep sigh, I reached for the door handle, resigning myself to my fate, before opening the door and disappearing inside the classroom.
