Even When You Lie to Me (10 page)

“You want to do it now?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said. “Let’s get it over with.”

“That’s a promising start.”

I was finally interviewing Drummond for the newspaper. Our first issue still hadn’t come out, a combination of hardly anyone having written articles and our inability to crack the layout software, although Dev was trying. Drummond was the only new permanent teacher, and I’d put off interviewing him because whenever I tried to, we ended up chatting instead. Besides, I’d already written a column, about why tennis was a metaphor for college admissions.

“It’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m just warning you now that I’m not going into those years at the smelting plant. Some memories are too painful.”

“All right. So where did you go to school?”

“Well, it was mostly on-the-job smelting experience.”

I cocked my head. “That’s your answer?”

“Yes,” he said.

“You want me to write, ‘Tom Drummond, newly hired AP literature teacher, says of his education, “It was mostly based on smelting.” ’ ”

“Are you implying I don’t know anything about, uh”—he turned around in his chair and typed something on the
computer—“extracting
base metals from their ore?”

I was partly happy that he was trying to make me laugh and partly dismayed that he wouldn’t give me a straight answer. Sometimes it felt like he pummeled me with jokes until I gave in and laughed. But I always did eventually. “So just to be clear, in your capacity as my newspaper adviser, you’re encouraging me to lie.”

He rocked back in his chair. “You don’t win Pulitzers without some truth stretching. You think Woodward and Bernstein didn’t embellish a few details? How plausible is it to you that Nixon added a tape recorder to his office just before he began committing crimes?”

“Are you saying this to annoy me or because you think the word
smelting
is funny?”

“Yes.”

I paused. “Okay, next question. Where did you work before this?”

“I told you I wasn’t going into the smelting years.”

I sighed.

“Tom?”

We both looked up. Ms. Anders stood in the doorway, looking at us quizzically.

“Is there something about your past you haven’t told me?” she asked.

“Secret’s out now,” he said. He let his chair drop to the floor and slapped his hands on the table. “What can I do for you, Tracey?” It was strange—and weirdly hot—seeing him turn professional and solicitous in an instant.

She stepped into the room and perched on the edge of a table. “It’s Olivia,” she said. I knew she must mean our principal, Dr. Crowley. “Did you hear about that bullshit directive?”

Drummond glanced at me, and she said, “Oh, sorry, Charlotte. I forgot you were there. Apologies for the swearing.”

She forgot I was there? I was sitting right in front of her. “No worries,” I said. “It does sound like a bullshit directive.” I stood up. “I’ll come back and you can tell me about your smelting days another time.”

I could see Ms. Anders was about to nod me away.

“Don’t be silly,” Drummond said. “I have so many stories. We’ll only be a minute.” He raised his eyebrows at Ms. Anders.

I moved to the other end of the room, desperate to overhear their conversation but worried they’d notice if I did.

I hadn’t seen Drummond interacting with other teachers very often, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. What did they talk about? Students, I assumed, and apparently Dr. Crowley. They were talking in low voices,
conspiratorially,
and occasionally Ms. Anders threw her head back and yelped with laughter. Drummond laughed with that low, private chuckle I thought he reserved just for me. I wondered why I had stayed. I felt sure that they were talking about something so hopelessly adult that I wouldn’t be able to follow it even if I could hear them. It probably involved political humor.

Tracey,
I thought,
how perfect a name.

I watched them from the corner of my eye. She touched him on the shoulder and he smiled. Then she got up—at last!—and said, “Have a good one, Tom.”

“Yep, you too,” he said. He waited until her footsteps had faded, then turned to me and said, “Sorry about that.”

“Everything okay?” I asked as I sat down.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes. Just the usual gossip.”

I smirked as if I had the faintest idea what he was referring to. “What about?”

“The same things bored people at work always complain about.”

“I haven’t been lucky enough to experience that yet.”

“Enjoy it,” he said. “You’ll have plenty of time to experience it when you get older.”

“I’m sure it’s more interesting than the things high schoolers talk about,” I said.

He shook his head. “It’s the same stuff, I’m afraid. It’s just polished to a higher sheen.”

“I doubt that,” I said, “but thanks for trying to make me feel better.”

“It was more of a warning.” He nodded at my notebook. “All right, what’s the next question, Woodward?”

“You never answered where you worked before this,” I said.

“Ah, right,” he said. “It was Bloomfield High over in Peterborough. Three hellish years teaching freshmen how to parse sentences.”

I looked up and he raised his eyebrows at me. “What?” he said.

I shook my head and tried not to smile. “Nothing.”

“We are actually going to discuss
Pride and Prejudice
today, kids,” Drummond said. “If I hear any groans, I’ll probably just put up with it.”

There was a knock on the door.

“What did you do this time, Drummond?” Frank asked.

“You’re still here, so it couldn’t have been that bad,” Drummond said as he got up.

Dr. Crowley was at the door. They talked quietly for a minute, and then she smiled at us in a perfunctory way and moved inside, toward the windows at the end of the room.

Drummond sat down again. “Dr. Crowley’s going to observe, guys, so let’s not embarrass ourselves quite as much as usual.”

I was immediately anxious on his behalf: what if he got a bad evaluation? They couldn’t fire him, could they? I didn’t want to imagine the rest of the year without him.

“So, any thoughts?” he said.

Everyone was silent.

“Really?” Drummond said. “Not even about Paul Rudd?”

I nudged Lila, who was a reliable breaker of silences, but she shook her head and whispered, “Didn’t do the reading. Jason.”

I wrinkled my nose. “At least you’re getting an education.”

“All right, what about Elizabeth?” he said. “Did you like her? Dislike her?”

Another silence. This never happened; Crowley’s presence had shut everyone up.

Katie had her phone in her lap and was clearly texting someone.

“Katie?” Drummond said. “I bet you identify with Elizabeth.”

Katie looked up guiltily, then scowled when she realized what he’d said. “Identify with her? She’s completely dependent on her parents.”

Drummond raised his eyebrows, and Katie scoffed.

“Are you saying Katie is helpless?” Sean said.

“No, Sean,” Drummond said, but he caught my eye for a moment and I could see he wasn’t as calm as he sounded. Embarrassment for him abraded my stomach, and then a fleeting moment of disgust did too. I hated seeing him not in control. “What makes you say that?”

“Elizabeth is lame,” he said. “She sits around waiting for a guy to marry her.”

“What other options does she have?”

“I don’t know,” Sean said. “She could go out and get a job.”

Drummond laughed, and Sean frowned at him. “Is that really an option for her?”

Sean shrugged. “Some women had jobs. What about their servants?”

“Okay, true,” Drummond said. “But do you think Austen’s condoning this kind of society?”

Sean paused. “What’s condoning?”

I couldn’t stand it. “Elizabeth isn’t helpless,” I said.

All the heads in the room snapped toward me and I had to stop myself from shrinking back. I looked at Drummond for help and he smiled at me pleasantly but didn’t say anything.

“She has some power,” I said.

“What power?” Sean asked.

I tried not to freeze up at Sean’s question. “She uses her intelligence,” I said. “It’s the only real power she has.”

“Yeah, but for what? To get a husband?”

“A husband is power,” I said. “At least for her.”

“What about
love
?” Sean said. Drummond frowned at him and then looked at me, his forehead still creased into worry lines.

“That’s power too,” I said. “Darcy gives her that when he marries her.”

“You mean social capital?” Dev said.

“Yes,” I said, relieved that he’d stepped in.

“That’s true,” he said. “Darcy is her way of getting ahead in the world.”

“But I think she actually loves him too,” Katie said.

“Yeah, she does, but that’s just a bonus,” Asha said.

Then people were talking over each other and I couldn’t keep track of it anymore. I glanced at Drummond. He mouthed, “Told you so.”

When I went in after school, Drummond’s classroom was deserted. It wasn’t a
Truth Bomb
day, but I was meeting Lila so we could go shopping—or rather, so Lila could shop and I could trail behind her, halfheartedly picking up shirts and then putting them down again. I headed for my usual seat, then stopped. I looked at his desk, which was a drab military beige. It was covered in curling stacks of paper and the occasional thumbed-through book. His chair was an old, squeaky metal thing lined with cracked vinyl padding. I sat down in it. It shrieked when I reclined—I smiled, remembering that day we’d talked alone in the classroom—but it was surprisingly comfortable.

“You taking over after my performance today?” Drummond was standing in the doorway. He looked as if someone had popped him and he’d half deflated.

“Crowley hasn’t told you?” I said. “This is awkward.” I gestured at the empty space in front of the desk. “Pull up a chair. I’ll give you some suggestions for improvement.”

“I’m looking forward to this,” he said. He dragged over a chair and sat down.

I settled my feet on his desk. “First of all, always sit like this when you’re addressing the class. It tells us you’re in charge, but you’re also a maverick who doesn’t play by the rules.”

“How many times have you watched
Dead Poets Society
?” he asked.

“Not important,” I said. “You can jump up here”—I rapped on the desktop—“when you really want to inspire us.”

“I guess I’ll have to memorize all of ‘If’ by Kipling,” he said. “I’ve always hated that poem.” He leaned back and looked at the ceiling.

“You were flustered,” I said.

He sighed. “Those were my incredible coping skills under pressure. It’s too bad I didn’t become a pilot.” He held out his hands and shook them as if he were having a seizure. “Steady as a rock.”

“You’d be excellent at bumper cars.”

“I am renowned at a local track for several reasons.”

I picked up a couple of books and pretended to read the blurbs, then tossed them down again. There was something thrilling about looking through his things while he watched. “You really find Dr. Crowley intimidating? I’ve seen her drinking Go-Gurts.”

“I find anyone who’s spent that long in academia suspicious.”

“Why do I find that odd?” I said, and ruffled a stack of marked papers.

“All right, smart-ass,” he said, grabbing them from me. “There’s a reason I teach high school. It’s so I know I’m definitely smarter than most of you.” He looked at me. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“Don’t play dumb when I’m complimenting your intelligence.”

I smiled. “I had to step in when it became clear you were going to give the game away.”

“The game?” he said. “You’re referring to the one in which I appear competent to the outside world?”

“That’s it.”

“Oh, is that where this conversation is headed? You’re uncomfortable with me complimenting you, so you’re insulting me?”

I paused. “Yes.”

He picked up the tennis ball from his desk and tossed it at me. “Typical.”

We were laughing as Lila walked up.

“Hey, nerds,” she said. “What’s so funny?”

“Besides your face?” I said.

“Oh ho,” Lila said. “Good one.” She turned to Drummond. “You have any bon mots for me, dude?”

“Not after today,” he said.

“Oh yeah,” Lila said. “Pathetic performance, really.”

“Lila!” I said.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I was only trying to put in as much effort today as Lila did.”

“I resent that,” she said. “I watched the entire BBC adaptation, which is really long.”

“In between ‘dates’ with Jason?” I asked.

“No. We watch them
on
dates. Or I do. He usually falls asleep.”

“Who’s this Jason character?” Drummond asked.

“He’s Lila’s boyfriend,” I replied, enjoying her face when I said it.

“Not my boyfriend,” she said. “I just spend time with him occasionally on a recreational basis.”

“ 
‘Recreational,’
 ” I muttered.

“Enough with the air quotes, Captain Sarcasm,” Lila said.

Drummond looked at us as we laughed. “This relationship seems fulfilling.”

“He’s very muscular,” she said.

“Why don’t I know this guy?” Drummond asked. “He sounds like an intellectual titan.” He grinned at Lila.

Lila gave him her warm, slow smile back. “He’s not in any advanced lit classes. I’m not entirely sure he can read, come to think of it.”

“He’s on the lacrosse team,” I said. “He’s one of their stars.”

“Lacrosse is a rube’s game,” Drummond said. “I prefer curling. Tactical sweeping.”

“I heard you liked swimming, actually,” Lila said. She had that tilt to her head and cock of her hip that always made me nervous.

Drummond considered her. “Where’d you hear that?”

“I have sources,” she said.

They both laughed. My pulse began to hammer.

“I bet you wear a Speedo, don’t you?” she said. “One of those bright red ones.”

I stood up and tugged on her arm.

“We’re late,” I said.

“We’re talking,” she said.

“Go,” Drummond said. “You kids already spend way too much time in my company.”

Once we were in the hall, Lila whispered, “What was that?”

“What were you doing?” I said. “You were embarrassing yourself.”

Lila stopped. “What the hell, Charlie?
Embarrassing
myself?”

“He looked really
uncomfortable.”

“We were just talking. Jesus.” She started down the hall and I followed.

I let a moment pass, then said, “I had to pull you away. He was clearly getting a dangerously large erection.”

She glanced at me. “Bet it’d look better in a Speedo.”

“True,” I said. “Let’s hope someday we find out for sure.”