Unstoppable (9 page)
Authors: Tim Green
IN MATH CLASS, LEO
Howard sneered at Harrison but said nothing. Harrison could hear Leo muttering things under his breath from time to time, but he stayed busy paying attention to Mrs. Zebolt. When the teacher called on Harrison, he was ready. He stepped up to the board and finished the problem without a pause.
Mrs. Zebolt sniffed. “Not bad, Harry.”
“Harrison.” The name popped out of Harrison's mouth without him thinking.
“Excuse me?”
Harrison stood in front of the class feeling big and awkward and silly with his new haircut and his discolored eye. “That's my name.”
“I know. Harry.”
“That's not my name, Mrs. Zebolt. It's Harrison.”
“Harrison. Harry. Stop looking for trouble and go back to your seat.”
“Hey, Harry!” Leo Howard crooned from his seat. “Harry Johnson
.
”
The class giggled. Mrs. Zebolt adjusted her little round glasses so that they sat crooked on her face. “Never mind that. Sit down, Harry.”
Harrison stood rooted to the floor. He crossed his arms and gritted his teeth. “No.”
“You'll sit down right now or you'll sit in the principal's office.”
Harrison felt tears welling up in his eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek. “My name is Harrison.”
“Come on, have a seat,
Harry Johnson.
” Leo Howard patted Harrison's seat.
“I told you I knew about your past and I also told you it wasn't going to be that way here. Go!” Mrs. Zebolt's face turned red. “Right now, to the office.”
“Harrison,” he said.
“You go, mister!”
“Call me Harrison. That's my name.”
Mrs. Zebolt dug into her desk drawer and came up with a wooden ruler. “You don't tell
me
!
”
The teacher raised the ruler and switched it at Harrison. He snatched the ruler instinctively and snapped it in two as easily as Leo's pencil before he chucked the pieces against the grease board. The broken ruler clattered to the floor. Mrs. Zebolt's mouth fell open before she ran to the phone on the wall, snatched it up, and shouted, “I need security in my classroom! I need the police!”
Harrison didn't move. He stood like a stage actor, looking out over an audience entranced by a magical performance, round and oval faces whose mouths and eyes strained wide in disbelief and were lit by the excitement of a mob.
In the corner, only Becky Smart looked worried.
HARRISON SAT AT THE
end of the conference table. The principal, Mr. Fisk, sat at the opposite end. On one side of Harrison was the baby-faced Officer Lewin and Mr. Sofia, the guidance counselor. On the other side Coach stared down at his clenched hands. Officer Lewin was the chubby cop who gently led Harrison out of the classroom by the elbow. Once he saw the uniform, Harrison's feet came unglued from the floor.
“Coach Kelly, we just can't have Harrison disrupting classes in this way.” The principal wore a sad and tired face with wrinkles built up on his forehead beneath the shiny dome of his head. Little wisps of gray hair surrounded his ears. Dark plastic frames held lenses thick enough to shrink his eyes. “I understand Harrison has had a troubled past, but this is a school, not a reformatory.”
The door swung open and Jennifer slipped inside before closing it behind her. She slid a chair into place between Coach and Harrison and put a hand on Harrison's leg, giving it a good squeeze.
“I got here as fast as I could,” she said.
Mr. Fisk cleared his throat and said, “I'm sorry, but I was just saying that maybe we should be looking to find a place better suited for someone with Harrison's . . . issues.”
Jennifer's back stiffened. “What
issues
?”
The principal looked from Coach to the policeman for support, lowered his voice, and said, “Mrs. Kelly, we all know Harrison has a history of violence. He completely disrupted Mrs. Zebolt's math class today, and everyone's talking about what happened in football practice yesterday. I'm thinking of Harrison as much as the other students. The best thing we can do is find him another place.”
“FOOTBALL PRACTICE?” JENNIFER SEEMED
to have to fight to keep her voice from exploding. “Kids are supposed to be aggressive. It's football, Mr. Fisk.”
“It's a symptom of the greater problem.”
Jennifer turned to Harrison. Speaking in a soft voice, she asked, “What happened, Harrison?”
“In football?”
“In school today.”
“He stood in front of the entire class and refused to sit down,” Mr. Fisk said. “Then he snapped Mrs. Zebolt's ruler and threw it at her.”
“I didn't throw it at her,” Harrison said.
Jennifer turned a glare at the principal that belied the gentleness of her voice. “Mr. Fisk, I'm asking Harrison his version of what happened. That's customary in cases like this.”
“Mrs. Kelly, please, this isn't a case.” The principal's brow added four more lines of worry.
“Whatever you call it, I'd like to hear what my son has to say.” Her words didn't leave room for anything else. “Go on, Harrison.”
Harrison looked at his hands. “I did a math problem at the board. Mrs. Zebolt told me to sit down, but she called me Harry. I told her that wasn't my name, but she said she'd tell me what my name was or wasn't and then the kids started calling me âHarry Johnson' and laughing and I just stayed where I was. I said I wasn't going to sit down until she called me Harrison. . . . That's when she took out her ruler and switched it at me.”
“She
hit
you?” Jennifer's voice whirred to life like a plugged-in vacuum cleaner.
“No,” Harrison said, “but I thought she was going to.”
“She threatened you with it?”
Harrison nodded. “I think.”
“She raised the ruler and
switched
it at you?”
“Yes.” He nodded.
Jennifer looked pointedly around the room at the three men.
Mr. Fisk sputtered for a moment. “This is the first I've heard of anything like that.”
“Did you bother to
ask
?” Jennifer almost came up out of her seat, and Coach's strong hand seemed to be the only thing keeping her tethered to the chair.
It was Mr. Fisk's turn to look down, and Harrison felt a small ray of hope. Up to this point he only had visions of how his whole life would come unraveled yet again.
“She tried to hit you,” Jennifer said patiently to Harrison. “Then what?”
“I didn't even think about it,” Harrison said. “I guess I just grabbed the ruler and broke it and I threw it. I didn't want to get hit. I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't want to do anything bad.”
Officer Lewin cleared his throat. “When I got to the room, he was just standing there. He came along quietly.”
Mr. Fisk shot the officer a dirty look.
“Mr. Fisk,” Jennifer said, “at this point my expectation is a full investigation into the threat of physical violence your teacher made to my son. You'd be fortunate if I didn't also contact the attorney general's office to have them press charges on a hate crimes violation.”
“Hate crime?” Mr. Fisk's rosy cheeks turned pale green. “This boy isn't a minority.”
Jennifer raised a single eyebrow. “Obviously you haven't looked closely at his records. His maternal grandmother was a full-blooded Native American. Relax, Mr. Fisk. You're lucky my husband is part of the faculty because that makes me reluctant to turn this into more than it probably should be.”
Mr. Fisk blinked and nodded. “And?”
“I want Mrs. Zebolt to apologize to Harrison, in front of the class. I then want him transferred to another math teacher. Also, all this talk about sports eligibility needs to end right now. There's a pattern of harassment here that makes me
burn
.”
“Mrs. Kelly, I'm only the principal.”
“Mr. Howard assured me of his cooperation this morning, if that's what you're worried about, but I want you to take care of all the other loose lips around this ship. I want your support for Harrison, and for my husband.”
“Ron?” Mr. Fisk said. “You're going along with all this?”
All eyes turned to Coach.
“IT'S BETTER NOT TO
fight her, Mr. Fisk. I learned that early on,” Coach said.
Mr. Fisk pinched his lips together before he spoke. “Well, I'll look into this, of course, and if Mrs. Zebolt did threaten to strike him I'll have to take action. The union will have to be involved, you know that. . . . I can't speak to the apology, Mrs. Kelly. We have to follow procedures.”
“That's fine, but I want Harrison out of that class.”
“Absolutely. That's in everyone's best interest.”
“And I want him back at practice today. Don't even think about suspending my son until you have proof positive that he did anything but protect himself from a physical assault.”
Mr. Fisk sighed deeply.
“What class do you have right now, Harrison?” she asked.
Coach looked at his watch. “My class. I had to have Miss Frank cover for me.”
“Well?” Jennifer stared at the principal.
Finally he spoke. “Harrison, you can go to class while I look into this.”
“And practice,” Jennifer said.
“Yes, that too,” the principal said. “Officer Lewin, please stay close.”
“That's right,” Jennifer said. “Mrs. Zebolt might need to be restrained.”
“Jennifer, please.” Coach stood up. “I'll take Harrison to class.”
Harrison didn't think the staring and whispering could get any worse than it was his first day, but he had been wrong. He felt like the freak show at a state fair midway. Thankfully for him, Becky didn't pay the rest of the school any mind. She sat with Harrison at lunch and talked to him like nothing had happened.
Halfway through his second sandwich, Harrison said, “You sure you want to sit here with me?”
“Why wouldn't I?” Becky's eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief.
Harrison looked around, sending people's gazes scattering like schools of fish in the shadow of a shark. “Everyone's looking.”
“A lot of girls spend a lot of time in front of the mirror just hoping people will look.”
“Not this kind of looking,” Harrison said.
Becky reached across the lunch table and took hold of his wrist. “Let them look. I like you, Harrison. I liked the way you wouldn't sit down when that old bat wouldn't call you by your real name, and I know you're not mean or dangerous or any of that nonsense. People are always scared of something new. My dad says that if you're staying with the Kellys, that's good enough for him.”
Harrison looked at her hand, afraid to touch it, and afraid to move.
“I'm sorry.” She took it away.
“No, don't be sorry. That's crazy. You're, like, the nicest person I've ever met. You're like the Kellys. Did you ever meet Mrs. Kelly's mom, Mrs. Godfrey?”
“No, but Mrs. Kelly did my father's will,” she said.
“She's smart.”
“I'm going to be a lawyer when I grow up.”
“Not a fashion model?”
Becky's cheeks flushed. “My dad says women should use their brains.”
“You don't think there are smart fashion models?”
“What are you going to be?”
“A football player.”
Becky giggled.
“What?”
“I'm sorry. Justin Rabin told me you put your shoulder pads on backward. I know yesterday was the first time you ever played.”
“Did he tell you I ran him over like everyone else?” Harrison realized his words came out in a growl.
“Oh, don't get mad. He practically worships you. Yes, he told me what you did to everyone. I just thought it was funny that one day you're putting your shoulder pads on backward and the next day you're ready for the NFL.”
“Coach says I can be great, that's all. Football is my ticket.”
“I don't doubt it,” she said. “Not from what everyone was saying. You know, no one listens to that jerk Leo.”
“What's
he
saying?”
“That you won't even be allowed on the team after today. That's not true, is it?”
“Not from what Jennifer says.”
“Jennifer?”
“Mrs. Kelly,” Harrison said. “She said I could call her Mom, or Jennifer.”
“What? Mom?” Becky tilted her head. “I don't get it.”
Harrison looked into her deep green eyes, searching for the joke. “Coach told you I was in their family. I thought you kept it quiet from everyone just to be nice, so people wouldn't feel bad for me, being Coach's foster kid and all.”
“I'm sorry, he said you were joining them, but I didn't know they were your foster parents.”
Harrison looked away, then felt her hand squeeze his wrist again.
“No, don't do that. I think it's great. You're so lucky.”
Harrison snuck a look at her. Her eyes were wide and honest and it made him feel much better. “I don't know about luck.”
“I do. Coach and Mrs. Kelly are awesome.”
“Maybe I'm lucky now, right?” Harrison's fingers strayed to the old bruise around his eye.
“For sure.”
He put his hand down in his lap. “And maybe from now on, everything is going to go my way, right?”
“Sure. Maybe.”
