Somewhere Between Black and White (16 page)

“And what’s that?”

“Do you care if I open the window so we
can smell the rain? Or will you be too cold?”

She smiled inwardly. “Go for it.”

He unlocked the latches and pulled the
window all the way open before taking a deep, satisfied breath, inhaling the
scent from outdoors.

She watched him standing there and
wished she could steal but an ounce of his placidity. Of course she possessed
her own moments of calm, but why did it seem as if Sam’s were far more potent? “So,
I’m still waiting for you to enlighten me,” she reminded.

“Oh.” He tapped his forehead in self-admonition,
the corners of his eyes wrinkling in a most endearing way. He climbed back into
the covers and pulled her close, as the thunder rumbled once again. “Shit!  It
is
kinda cold in here with that window open, isn’t it?”

Instead of telling him she’d already
been chilly, she buried herself into the warmth of his chest, enjoying the
sound and smell of the drizzle outdoors.

“Okay,” he continued. “My take on a soul
mate.”

Sophie propped her head on her elbow so
that she could look at him.

He chuckled. “You’re starting to make me
feel like a Master of the Jedi, and you’re my young Padawan.”

She responded by opening her palm to the
ceiling, indicating she still awaited an answer.

He shook his head and offered a bemused
smile. “It’s someone who complements you. Someone who helps you grow, not just
through joy, but sometimes through pain. Maybe tests your patience, your
ability to forgive. Why do you think so many married couples, ones that have
been together forever, are complete opposites?” He turned to her briefly before
staring ahead, rubbing his jaw. “And you watch them sniping at each other in
their later years and think to yourself,
What the hell? A Viagra commercial
they are not.
But something real has kept them together for that long,
otherwise everyone would get divorced the minute their kids were grown.”

Sophie stared at his profile long and
hard, taking pleasure in the deep contemplation affirmed in his brow. “You
really are a romantic, aren’t you,” she said softly.

“Whatever. Laugh at me all you want.”

“I’m not laughing at you.”

He rolled onto his side so that they
were face to face. “You’re black and white. I’m gray,” he said plainly. “That’s
why we’re together.”

Twenty

Sophie usually looked forward to school
on Fridays because it was a “catch up” day for students after they took their
weekly quiz. This meant it was an opportunity for her to catch up on some
grading. However, this particular Friday was not one of her best.

In third period, Nina sat a few feet
from Sophie’s desk. She rarely did anything productive. Most of the time, she
picked at her nails or played with her long blonde hair. She was on a behavior
plan, which meant Sophie had to fill out a card each day, rating how well she
worked on a scale from one to six. Nina would take the card to her next class,
and that teacher would do the same. 

After several attempts at trying to get
her to do her work, Sophie finally asked, “Nina, are you going to do
anything
today?”

“No,” Nina answered quite plainly.

“And why is that?”

“Because I don’t want to.” She didn’t
say it defiantly, simply matter-of-fact. Nina had earned herself a one on her
card.

In rushed those flames on the side of
Sophie’s face, along with the spiel she had given many a student over the
years, about how we all have to do things in life that we don’t want to do. And
how did they think that attitude was going to go over when they had a job
someday? Did they think they were going to be able to say to their boss,
Sorry,
I just don’t want to do that
?  Although she attempted an air of detachment,
Sophie’s blood often boiled every time she gave this speech because she knew
very well it went in one ear and out the other.

How many times had she had this internal
war, between vowing to no longer waste her time and energy battling with
students who didn’t give a rat’s ass, and being so stubborn that she refused to
let them win? Why couldn’t she just let it go for good? They would never
change. In the last five years, she could not think of one student she had
turned. Sure, there were students who already cared, who worked hard and understood
the importance of their education. However, it seemed there were far too many who
didn’t, who were beyond reach.  

She hated that she felt that way. It was
downright depressing.

She had tried every angle—the sensitive
angle, the firm angle, the
I’m telling you this because I care about you,
and I want you to have a good life
angle. But often all she would get in
return was a vacant stare, and she wondered if there was really anybody in
there.

Because Sophie had always enjoyed school,
she assumed that being a teacher was a reasonable choice as a profession.
Unfortunately, this was an erroneous conclusion. Being the self-motivated,
straight A student, she couldn’t relate to the child who hated school. How
could they not try? Why didn’t they want to get the best grades they could? Why
weren’t they devastated when they received a failing grade? Who were these
creatures, and how could she ever cross the divide?

Some students had crappy home lives so
she could understand their apathy, but the ones who didn’t would always be an
enigma to Sophie. She was convinced the teacher who had been somewhat of a
“screw-up” as a child would always have an edge with kids; they could see themselves
in those students and establish some sort of alliance.

Once, she believed she had gotten
through to one of the those kids. An eighth grade boy, a player with the young
ladies, and always getting himself into trouble. Davaun was a foster child, so life
at home wasn’t the best. Sophie had pulled him aside for a heart to heart. She
didn’t remember exactly what she had said, but he gave her his full attention
as she spoke, his dark eyes intent.

Hey, this kid is truly paying attention!
she thought.
Could he actually be absorbing what I’m saying?
She felt
pretty good. She didn’t expect his behavior to change, but had hopes that at
least her words would stick with him, and maybe someday an incandescent flare
would fire off in his brain.

However, that naiveté was short-lived
when she had spoken with Lisa the following day in the workroom. They were
discussing Davaun and his unsavory path, when Lisa said, “Yeah, I had a little
chat with him about the poor choices he’s been making.” He often intimated at his
love of weed. “He said that you tried to talk to him.”

“He did?” Sophie was slightly
encouraged. “What did he say?”

“He mentioned your eyes.” There was irritation
in Lisa’s voice.

Sophie was bewildered. “My eyes?”

“Uh huh. He said you have eyes he could
fall into.”

Sophie slammed the drawer closed on the
copy machine. “Are you shittin’ me?” He hadn’t heard a word she said. To him,
she was the teacher on
Peanuts
, who never actually spoke in words.
Wuahh
wu wuah, whuaaaaah
. 

And
now that she thought about it, she was sure that’s all Nina heard at the moment.
Whuahh wuah wuaaaaaaah!

By the time afternoon rolled around, she’d
sent two students to the dean—one for cheating, and one for throwing a chair. 

After her last group of students had
cleared, Sophie sat in the empty classroom during her sixth hour prep, staring
numbly at her computer screen. Thank God the day was over and it was Friday.
She opened her desk drawer and pulled out the tiny dark bottle that contained a
blend of essential oils purported to have calming properties. A couple of hours
ago, she’d put some behind her ears and on her wrists. Now she opened the
bottle and inhaled deeply; maybe she could just shove it right up her nose and
leave it there. It was small enough. She attempted to read the tiny print to
see if it was safe to apply to nasal passages, then sighed heavily before
putting the lid back on.

Her phone rang, and she looked at the caller
ID.
No!
It was Mr. Hopper. She’d never met anyone as technologically
challenged as Mr. Hopper, and when they first met, she made the mistake of
telling him to call on her whenever he had difficulties. She stared at the
phone. If she didn’t pick up, he would hunt her down and she’d never break
free, so she answered.

“Sophie, I’m having a bit of trouble
with my gradebook. I need to change the category weights, but I can’t remember
where to find them.”

“Okay, Marvin, just go to the upper left
hand corner of the window and click on File. Do you see it?”

“Let’s see . . . there’s class lists,
grading scale, seating charts, citizenship. . . .”

Sophie dropped her forehead into the
palm of her hand. He did this every time she asked him to locate something. He
proceeded to list everything he saw on his screen.

“Okay, okay,” she interrupted. “File.
It’s the blue button. Upper left. Do you see it?”

“No, there’s preferences, special
grades, comments, records. . . .”

Good Lord. Somebody shoot me now
.

“Oh wait!” he exclaimed. “File. Right
here. Blue button.”

Fifteen minutes later, she managed to
get Mr. Hopper off the phone and was slathering on the essential oil.

Her thoughts drifted to Sam, lightening
her disposition. On days like these, his easy, jovial manner managed to lift
her out of a pissy mood. She decided she would drop in on his last class; most
likely he would have some papers she could offer to help grade.

His voice had already reached her ears
before she rounded the corner to his room, but it scarcely resembled him at
all. It wasn’t loud—she couldn’t yet make out what was being said—but there was
a steeliness to his tone that was unsettling.

“Why would you
do
that?” Sam
demanded from a boy in the hallway. Sam’s back was turned toward Sophie, and an
inexplicable chill warned her that this involved more than a thrown chair. “Are
you really that miserable, you have to be so hateful and offensive to make
yourself
feel better? Is that it?”

The boy shifted his weight from one foot
to the other, clearly unprepared for the anger coming from the usually tolerant
Mr. Collins. “It was just a joke.” He blinked, his expression blank.

“Not that you would care, but do you
know that his mom has cancer, that she’s fighting to stay alive? And now he has
to find this
garbage
online, from the likes of you?”

The boy shrugged and avoided Sam’s
glare, the one that Sophie couldn’t see, but heard in his voice. “Whatever,
dude,” the kid said with an indifferent roll of the eyes.

Sam stood silently, a ball of tension,
before his shoulders drooped as he leaned against the wall, shaking his head in
bitter disappointment. The boy waited uncomfortably, hands in his pockets. “Why
do I even bother?” Sam muttered. “You know what? I feel sorry for you. I really
do. Take this and get out of my face!” He thrust a dean’s referral at the
student.

The boy accepted the piece of paper with
a smirk, then coolly backed toward the hallway door. Never taking his eyes off
Sam as he retreated, he crumpled the referral with one hand and casually let it
drop to the floor, before arrogantly raising his eyebrows at Sophie. “S’up,
Miss Cook?” he added, as if her presence was supposed to embarrass Sam. With
that, he slammed through the metal doors. 

Sam balled his hands into fists as he
turned to discover Sophie standing a few feet away. 

Sophie’s chest hammered with rage. She
didn’t even know what this child did, but she had a vivid fantasy that involved
tackling him to the ground and giving him an ass whooping he wouldn’t soon forget.

“Are you okay?” Sophie asked.

“I’m fine.” He answered before the words
were out of her mouth. He was shaking, and she caught glimpse of a deep sadness
in his eyes.

“Do you want me to make sure he goes to
the dean?”

He shook his head. “I don’t give a shit
what he does.” He crossed the hall and got a drink from the fountain. Folding
his arms across his chest, he raised his face toward the ceiling and closed his
eyes, remaining this way for several moments.

Sophie did not move. 

“I gotta get back to my class, Soph.
I’ll tell you about it tonight. Okay?”

“Sure.”

He reluctantly returned to his classroom
door, and paused to collect himself before opening it. “All right, guys,” he
said to his chattering students. “Let’s get back to work.”

Twenty-One

Jake slipped quietly through his front door,
hoping to escape any interaction with his mother, and dropped his backpack at
his feet. He passed the living room as he headed toward his room, and spied his
mother napping on the couch. Closing the bedroom door behind him and flinging
himself onto his unmade bed, he tried to force the horrible afternoon out of
his mind.