Tangerine (13 page)

The school's office was located at the top of the first flight. The principal herself was standing just inside the glass doors. She walked right up to me and said, "I'm Dr. Johnson. Who are you?"

"Paul Fisher, ma'am."

"And you're from Lake Windsor Middle School, I presume?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She took my schedule from me and read it carefully. Then she turned around and called into one of the side offices, "Theresa! Come out here and take this one."

A small, skinny girl with brown hair tied back in a ponytail came out of the side room. Dr. Johnson said, "This is Paul Fisher. Paul, this is Theresa Cruz. She'll be your escort for your first day at Tangerine Middle School. She'll be your escort for your second day, too, if you want. After that you'll be responsible for getting around on your own. But Theresa will continue to be a resource person for you, for any questions that you might have."

I said, "All right. Thank you, ma'am." I paused. I don't know why, but I just felt I had to say it. I said, "It's nice to be here."

Dr. Johnson gave me a huge smile. "Well, it's nice to have you here."

It was pretty much downhill after that.

Theresa Cruz had very little, or nothing, to say. I followed her silently from class to class. She would introduce me quietly to each teacher, and we would sit down together.

I tell you, it was eerie. Like a science fiction story. Like I had entered some kind of mirror universe. The subjects and the class times are exactly the same as in Lake Windsor Middle, but the rooms and the people are completely different.

Tangerine Middle is a tougher school, no doubt about it. I got real nervous whenever we went out into the hall. If any-thing's going to happen to you in a school like this, it's going to happen in the hall. One big guy took his forearm and swatted me out of the way, like I was some kind of gnat. But I didn't take it personally. I just kept my head down, followed Theresa, and went where I was supposed to go.

My classes are all on the second floor. Basically the third floor is entirely the sixth grade, the second floor is the seventh grade, and the first floor is the eighth grade, with a few exceptions. The first floor also has the cafetorium which, obviously, doubles as the cafeteria and the auditorium. It's pretty gross. The cafetorium has a kitchen at the near end and a stage at the far end. In between are rows of wooden tables with wooden folding chairs. It's loud in there, like in some old prison movie.

Theresa stayed with me when we passed through the lunch line in the cafetorium. She even sat down with me to eat. To eat, but not to talk. I tried to get the lowdown on some of my new teachers, the inside stuff, but Theresa wasn't cooperating. I'd say something like, "So, how's this Mrs. Potter for science?"

And she'd say, "Pretty good."

"How's Mr. Scott?"

"Pretty good."

And so on. I finally gave up and ate my lunch. But afterwards I tried with the question that meant the most to me. "Do you know anything about the soccer team?"

Theresa pulled back a little and actually looked at me, surprised. She nodded and said, "Oh yeah. Yeah. My brother Tino plays on the team."

"Yeah? He's an eighth grader?"

"No. He's my twin brother. He's in seventh grade, too."

"Oh? Well, I was thinking about going out to practice today, to see if I could get on the team."

Theresa thought about this. "Yeah. You could do that. Tino won't be there today, though. He's still suspended. Victor, Hernando—none of those guys'll be there today. But I guess they'll still have practice."

I knew the answer to the next question, but I asked it anyway. "Why won't any of them be there?"

"Oh, they got into some trouble over at the carnival. Ms. Bright grabbed the whole bunch of them while they were sitting here eating lunch. She brought them up to Dr. Johnson, and they all got suspended for three days."

"So they'll all be back tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Tino, Victor, Hernando—all those guys."

"And they're all starters?"

"They're who?"

"They're starting players? On the soccer team?"

Theresa answered with pride. "Oh yeah. Victor, he's kinda like the star. Victor and Maya, they're like the two stars, you know? They score most of the goals. Tino scored two goals last year. I think Victor scored sixteen, and Maya scored fifteen. They both made the All-County Team."

"And who's the goaltender?"

"The goalie's Shandra Thomas."

"Shandra? That's a girl, right?"

"Yeah. Shandra's a girl. Maya's a girl, too."

"What? Don't you have a boys' team and a girls' team?"

"No. There's only one team. Boys, girls—they both can play on it. They're mostly boys. But some of the girls are good. They've played in the Y league all their lives and stuff. Maya learned to play over in England. That's why she's so good."

I was trying hard to process this information. I said again, "So Shandra's a girl?"

Theresa seemed to be enjoying this. "Oh yeah. There's four girls: Shandra, Maya, Maya's cousin Nita, and Dolly. They're all on the team. Then there's Tino, Victor, Hernando, and about ten other guys. They're good! They were second in the county last year."

After lunch we went back to our routine, with Theresa only speaking when she introduced me to a teacher. But at least we had broken the ice. I was starting to get a picture of this new place, and I was glad I had come here.

I'd say the most obvious difference between my new school and my old one is this: At Tangerine Middle, the minorities are the majority. I have no problem with that. I've always felt like a minority because of my eyes. The next-most obvious difference is the building itself. It's old. I have no problem with that, either, except that it has a disinfectant smell that kind of gags you. The textbooks are old, too. Really old. And they have stuff written in them. The teachers seem to have adjusted to this by not using them much. A couple of teachers have talked about class projects and group projects that are due. I guess I'll find out about those things soon enough.

I also figured out why Theresa was assigned to be my guide.

We have exactly the same schedule, mostly advanced classes. My day went smoothly enough until seventh period, when I had an unpleasant surprise. My language arts teacher is Mrs. Murrow. Get this: Mrs. Murrow is married to Mr. Murrow, the head of guidance at Lake Windsor Middle. I'm going to work hard at not being noticed in that class. I don't want to risk his hearing my name and announcing, "That kid's handicapped! He needs an IEP!"

After the bell rang, Theresa and I walked downstairs and out the back door. To the left, behind a baseball backstop, was a green scoreboard. Across the top was written
TANGERINE MIDDLE SCHOOL—HOME OF THE WAR EAGLES.
We crossed over the bus lanes and headed down to a soccer field that was circled by an asphalt running track.

I could see a mixed group, girls and boys, taking turns shooting the ball at a big, tall girl in the goal. I said, "That's Shandra, right?"

"Yeah. In the goal. That's Shandra."

"Who are those other girls?"

"Who? You mean the ones standing together?"

"Yeah."

"That's Maya and Nita. Maya's the tall one. They're cousins. They're always hanging out together."

"And who's the other big girl?"

"That's Dolly. Dolly Elias. Her brother Ignazio was the captain last year." Theresa pointed at her and called, "What's up, Dolly?" It was the first time I had heard her raise her voice. Dolly waved back.

"Is she your friend?"

"Yeah. She rides home with Luis and Tino and me."

"Is Luis on the team, too?"

"No. No, Luis is grown-up. He's our big brother. He comes and picks us all up after practice. He picks up Hernando and Victor, too."

We crossed the field in front of Dolly just as she drove a perfect corner kick, five feet off the ground. Theresa walked me up to a tall, powerful-looking woman in a maroon warm-up suit. She said, "Ms. Bright, this is Paul Fisher from Lake Windsor Middle School. He wants to play on your soccer team."

Ms. Bright had to look down to meet my eyes. She said, "How long are you going to be with us, Paul?"

"Three months, ma'am. At least through the soccer season."

"Uh-huh. Have you played soccer before?"

"Oh yes, ma'am. All my life. I was starting goalie for my last school, back in Houston."

"Uh-huh. Well, let me explain something to you right from jumpstreet. You can be on my team. But you're not going to take the place of one of my starting players and then go back to your Lake Windsor Middle School. That's not going to happen. If you want to play backup to one of my starting players, then I'll be glad to have you."

"Yes, ma'am. That's what I want to do."

"Good. I need a backup in goal. Grab that red shirt and go down to the far end. We're about to start the scrimmage."

"Yes, ma'am." I ran down to the far goal, set my bag down, and pulled on my protective gear. With half the starters missing, the scrimmage was kind of a joke. I only touched the ball once. Needless to say, no one scored on me. Shandra had the same kind of game down at her end.

I can't describe how great it feels to have another chance. Nothing, nothing at all, is going to bother me. I'll play backup to Shandra Thomas and be happy about it. Goalies get hurt. A lot. They need backups more than anybody else. I've been hurt—had my hand stepped on, had the wind knocked out of me—and someone had to fill in for me. It happens all the time. I'll get into some games, no question about that.

Near the end of practice, I noticed a familiar truck pull up. It was the same pickup that I had seen at the carnival, the vintage green one with T
OMAS
C
RUZ GROVES, TANGERINE, FLORIDA
written on the side. A guy in jeans with a plaid work shirt got out and walked over to Theresa. He walked with a bad limp. This had to be her brother Luis. He had the same dark brown hair and eyes as Theresa. His head and hands seemed very large, even from where I was standing. After practice Theresa and Dolly climbed into the front of the truck with him and drove away.

I gathered up my gear and walked back into the building alone. Just as I was about to push through the wooden front door, I heard, "There you are, honey!"

I turned and saw Mom coming down the stairs from the second-floor office. I watched her until she put her arm around my shoulder and started to lead me out. I had a panicked feeling, like my heart had stopped beating. But I managed to ask quietly, "Mom, what were you doing up there?"

We crossed the road and reached our car before she replied. "Dr. Johnson's secretary called me today, Mr. Know-It-All. It turns out you
do
need your paperwork from Lake Windsor Middle School in order to transfer here."

My heart began to ache. "My paperwork?"

"That's right. I had to drive up to Lake Windsor and get it. You can't imagine the chaos in that office!"

"Mom, who did you talk to?"

"Mr. Murrow, of course. He gave me your file, and I delivered it here. Now you're official." Mom unlocked the doors and we both climbed in.

I looked at her angrily. "I'm officially what?"

"A student at Tangerine Middle School."

"A visually impaired student? An IEP student?"

"No. Nothing of the kind."

I closed my eyes in despair. "So what happens when the head of guidance here opens my file and sees my IEP?"

"Nothing happens, Paul. There is no IEP in your file." Mom started the car and put it in gear. As we U-turned in front of the school, she added, very carefully, "Your IEP form disappeared somewhere between Lake Windsor and here. It's the kind of thing we should probably never mention again."

We rode in silence back through the downtown area to the highway. I finally said, "Maybe it was an osprey."

"What?"

"Maybe an osprey got hold of it."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know, my IEP. Maybe it's feathering some osprey nest right now."

Mom finally got the joke and smiled. "That would be a nice decorating touch."

"Yeah."

"Inconsistent with the scheme of the other nests, but a nice touch."

"Yeah. Something like that." As we headed west on Route 22, I began to feel a real sense of hope about Tangerine Middle School. After all, it was great luck getting Theresa as a guide. Getting Mom to ditch my paperwork was beyond luck; it was another miracle.

Things actually seem to be going my way. Finally. It's the Paul Fisher Soccer Dream. I wonder if Erik feels that way about his life here. But I wonder, too, if Mike Costello felt that way about his when he was leaning against that goalpost.

I followed Theresa around all morning again. Another big kid, a different one, banged me into a locker. Theresa didn't pay any attention to it, so I tried not to, either. I followed her into the lunchroom again, and we sat down at the same table as yesterday. Everything seemed to be cool. But then everything got uncool real fast.