Fat School Confidential (6 page)

   
The next morning, I had the chance to meet Sheila during a rare lull. We were both in the Admin building. I was in my office, a few doors down from hers. She was finishing up talking with one of the counseling staff, and headed down the corridor. My office door was open. She stopped short of the threshold. In a polo shirt and shorts, she looked healthy.

    “
You’re one of the new teachers,” she said, shaking my hand.

    “
Sheila, right?”

   
Nodding, she replied, “Welcome to Academy of the Sierras.”

    “
Thank you.”

    “
My kids treating you okay?”

    “
So far, so good.”

   
The reality was, with the fall semester yet to begin, I pretty much ignored the students, and I in turn, was ignored by them. Until class actually started, the less I interacted with them, the better. A few years of public school teaching trained me well. Kids will treat a teacher fine if they don’t know him, and especially if they don’t know any of his weaknesses.

   
And the more I kept my weaknesses to myself, the better.

    “
If any of them give you grief, make sure to let me or any B.C. know,” Sheila said, before heading out.

    “
Thanks. I will.”

   
If this were a normal school, students giving a teacher “grief’ would be reprimanded by said teacher, or at worst, sent to the dean’s office. But sending them to counseling?

   
After my encounter with Sheila, I spent a good part of Sunday doing what I could to prepare myself for the next day—the first day of school. Allaying the perfectionist in me, I over-prepared, coming up with secondary lessons in case the primary failed. I devised activities and tiered assignments, depending on each student’s ability level. I made copies of worksheets and puzzles to keep my students occupied—especially the ones who finished their work early. Yes, this was busy work. But until I could figure out what my prospective charges were capable of, I had to keep them on their chubby toes.

   
That night, I struggled to sleep. I was filled with anticipation—and a few questions.

   
Was there subject matter I needed to avoid because the very mention of it would send a student to his or her B.C. for an emergency session? Did I need to see a B.C.? Did I need to exercise with my students? Who was higher on the school’s food chain, Frank Mills or Sheila Skolnick? Would I make friends with any of the other teachers? With staff?

   
In time, the questions would be answered. I had faith. I was ready to teach.

   
But was I ready to learn?

Chapter 5

Let’s Begin With Gumby

   
Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I got out of bed ready to take on the day.

   
It was Monday, September the Twelfth, Two Thousand and Five.

   
I was up well before the students and most of the staff. I showered, dressed, grabbed my messenger bag, jumped into my car and headed for the nearest Starbucks—some eight miles away in Kingsburg. Nearing the school again, I found the road partially blocked by what must have been fifty students. A few walked alone, in various states of physical ability and determination. Most shuffled along in pairs or in groups of three or four, prodded occasionally by a residential staff member. Their eyes vacant and staring at the ground, they seemed half-dead—as if they were super-sized zombies. Weaving around the students, I slowed down to a crawl. Staff herded them to the side of the road. Passing by, I noticed that they all were wearing iPods. No wonder the staff had to corral the kids. They couldn’t hear them.

   
After ingesting possibly the worst tasting breakfast since going to summer camp with the Boys Club in fifth grade, I grabbed my books and supplies and rolling cart from my office and hustled towards Frank Mills’s office. Stepping inside, I found myself surrounded by teachers. I recognized Jack, but not the others. There must have been five of us in that tiny room—two females—one, a thin, pony-tailed blonde in a blouse and skirt; the other a bony brunette in slacks. Frank  entered, followed by a petite Latina woman in capris and a knit top. I gave up my seat for the Latina, while Jack slid over on the couch to accommodate the blonde. I leaned against the wall. After motioning Jack to shut the door, Frank started the proceedings.

    “
Good morning!”

   
Sounding off with not quite as much enthusiasm, we responded in kind.

    “
I’m going to have to be brief with you. We have an interdepartmental staff meeting in a few minutes in the large classroom. First off, are we missing anybody?”

   
Raising her hand, the blonde spoke.

    “
Sam’s finishing up with one of the new students.”

    “
Thanks, Joanie,” Frank replied, before turning to the rest of us. “Today should be fairly easy. Do your introductions, go over class rules and consequences, pass out syllabi, and so forth.”

   
We introduced ourselves. The severe brunette was Theresa Brooke, a recent grad who was about to teach Science. The Latina was Linda Lopez-Davis, who was covering Spanish. The skinny blonde was Joanie Tepper—teaching Culinary. Her husband, Sam was the Fitness coach.

   
With slicked back hair, the last teacher to identify himself had a certain air about himself—a been-there, done-that air about himself.

    “
Michael Strumm. American history, world history, and American government.”

   
Why did he feel the need to rattle off each specific subject? Was he showboating, or was he listing specifics simply because he was an experienced teacher like me?

   
Daniel popped his head into the room.

    “
Showtime.”

   
So much for getting to know my fellow educators.

   
The next meeting took place in the classroom adjacent Frank’s office. B.C.s, teachers, department heads and supervisors were all there. Daniel passed copies of student names. He then took a seat on a stool at the front of the classroom.

    “
To those who aren’t familiar with this, we go down the list of students and see how each of them is doing with their program, studies, and so on. If anything needs addressing, this is where we initially do that.”

   
Opening the show, Daniel motioned to Sheila.

    “
Where do we begin?”

   
Sheila paused, a smile creeping over her face.

    “
Let’s begin with the Gumbies!”

   
At this point, Daniel gave us greenhorns a lesson in what was called the “Summit System.” Depending on the student and his or her personal accomplishments and goals attained while at the school, he or she was given a ranking that related to mountain climbing. After all, this was the Academy of the Sierras. All new students were designated as “Gumbies,” or ‘inexperienced’ climbers. After achieving certain milestones, they rose to become “Boulderers,” “Ascenders,” “Belayers,” and then, finally, the coveted “Yabo,” named after the late great mountain climber, John “Yabo” Yablonski. Depending on their rank, students were given certain benefits and status among the community. Gumbies were given a bare minimum of phone time each week to call home, zero free time outside the dorm, and no off-campus privileges. Boulderers were given

twenty additional minutes of “talk time,” free time outside the dorm, and a weekly off-campus outing to the movies. The higher the rank, the greater the privileges.

   
Of course, with greater rewards came greater challenges. For students to become Boulderers, the second-lowest ranking, they had to accomplish the following: First, they had to walk an average of ten thousand steps a day for two weeks, measured by A.O.S.-issued pedometers. Second, using a small, A.O.S.-supplied notebook, they must log each and every meal—including calorie and fat content. Students called the process “Think and Ink.” They also had personal responsibilities to fulfill (e.g. keeping their respective dorm rooms clean and orderly), as well as attend and participate in all activities. Last but not least, they had to maintain a grade of ‘C’ or better in all classes.

   
Overwhelmed by the wealth of information given to me, I was compelled to take notes. But seeing as all the other teachers and staff were just sitting there, I did the same.

   
Miraculously, only one student was mentioned. A residential staff supervisor, Tony Zepeda, coughed up, “What’s the deal with Jimmy?”

   
Daniel and Tom gave each other a glance, which, from my perspective, looked like snickering. Eyeballing the two men, Sheila responded.

    “
Jimmy Dyer has spent the better part of his high school life at A.O.S. He’s lost nearly two hundred pounds, so he’s exercising his newfound voice in the world. He’ll grow out of it.”

   
Tom chimed in.

    “
So to speak.”

   
Tony, clearly disappointed, snapped back.

    “
So what do we do when he doesn’t listen to staff? He’s been giving us hell with his unmets.”

   
Unmets, as defined in A.O.S.’s unwritten glossary of terms, were chores or personal tasks that were not completed—thus,  “unmet.” Chores and tasks included getting up in the morning, maintaining proper hygiene, and so on. Depending on the amount and type of unmets, students were dealt with in varying degrees of consequence. In Jimmy’s case, Tom Eccleston became the voice of reason.

    “
He’s an Ascender, right?

   
Tony nodded.

    “
Well, then. Let’s stumble him to Boulderer until he shapes up. If he doesn’t show improvement in the next two weeks, we’ll talk again.”

   
Sheila nodded her approval.

   
By the time the meeting was over, we had five minutes before the students stampeded towards the classrooms. Adjourning, teachers, B.C.s and the rest of staff fanned out of the room and rushed to our respective battle stations.

   
Armed with more knowledge than before, I felt ready to take on just about any challenging student.

   
Or so I thought.

   
My first class on my first day at fat school, and I had to deal with the biggest prima donna on campus—literally.

   
Jimmy Dyer greeted me with a “What up, Man?”

   
At close to four hundred pounds, scraggly-haired Jimmy sat leaning in his desk chair in the back row. Flanked by big-boned, adoring teen girls, he had a captive audience. Realizing he was the star student, I tempered my teacher’s stance by humoring him.

    “
Nothing much, Jimmy. How’s it going with you?”

   
Taking into account Jimmy’s weight, I worried about the structural integrity of his chair. In high school, I used to tilt my desk back against the wall. But I was a good hundred and fifty pounds lighter than him. The desks at this school, however, weren’t the unibody design I was used to. Jimmy could at least scootch out of the way to avoid disaster—depending on his reaction time, of course.

   
Jimmy glanced past me, towards the “Mr. Rourke” printed in large happy letters on the whiteboard.

    “
Your name is Mr. Rourke?” he asked.

    “
Yes.”

    “
That’s cool.”

   
Without replying, I gave a polite, closed-mouth grin. I didn’t know where he was going, but I surmised embarrassing me was high on his “to-do” list.

    “
I had a Mr. Rourke once.”

    “
Oh, really?”

   
Jimmy paused, glancing at the girl to his left. They snorted in laughter. I tried hard not to react. Looking around the room, I noticed that no one else shared Jimmy’s sense of humor. There were perhaps fifteen students in the room, and like him, they were all around sixteen or seventeen years of age.

   
I passed out a syllabus.

    “
This should give you a rough idea what the class is about. We will be using the red textbooks, which you can find on the bookshelves in the back of the room.”