Chapter 4: Paul

Paul

He had fourth free. It was the coveted empty period that fell before or after lunch but with the day's modified schedule, it ran a measly thirty-five minutes instead of fifty. Paul sat at his desk again, stroking the growing pile of cards with an index finger. At the bottom of the pile, Rachel's. Like the favorite song at the end of a playlist, he decided to wait and reached for tuna. Tomorrow would be Friday and he was out of bread.

It was Winter Spirit Week. Always spirited in boyhood, he felt the joy of cheering on a team less enjoyable now that he taught, less so during weeks like this, weeks he thought school administrators designed to remind teachers how shitty their lives really were. Give up a career that paid well for one that barely covered the bills and required him to make a fool of himself in front of eighteen hundred teenagers at least once a year.

Hardly just.

There is nothing wrong with a card, he told himself, eyeing the stack. Most were from students who chased Ivy League dreams with the support of executive-type fathers and mothers who went one shade too blond and preferred tunics with artsy necklines,who devoted Saturday mornings to spray-tan sessions to pretend they wintered in Palm Springs or Tuscon. He felt sorry for them, really. There was the occasional belly-baring, bad-ass wannabe who he often caught walking to the all-night diner on Aurora, creating angst in her life where there was none. Part of their rebellion was a pursuit of him, something he found entirely unappealing. Every now and again there was a student who was passionate about literature, students who challenged him and stretched him to be a better teacher.

Rachel was none of these.

He read two. Mindless drivel.

"I hate it. We always lose," Kip said, lacing up his shoes. The locker room smelled of urine and unrestrained body odor, of molding socks and soggy jocks. "Is it too much to ask, really?"

"Is what?"

"Physical ed always backs off a bit," he shot back. "But those assholes from the sciences -- they just have to make this about something more." They stood and slowly walked towards the gym.

"It isn't a clash of the disciplines, Kip," Paul said. "It's a stupid spirit week basketball game." Glancing up he saw Jody adjusting over-sized gym shirts over neon green leggings.

"Christ Jody," Kip said. "Do you have to look as stupid as we'll play?"

"Bite mine," she shot back.

"I didn't think you were playing this year," Paul said, settling into a folding chair opposite the burgeoning student body. "This morning you --"

"Barbara's conveniently out with the flu," she said, rolling her eyes. "I rushed home and grabbed the first thing I can find. I don't know the first thing about basketball." She visibly slumped and a small part of Paul crumbled with her.

"At least it's better than the Faculty Olympics," he said. She nodded. "Even if their minds are devoid of useful literary knowledge, I just can't see taking a day to pump their brains full of testosterone."

"Going for the most spirited award this year, Jody?" Manny Pinero challenged. "We haven't even tipped off yet." He grabbed the clipboard on the chair next to her and sat down, then started tracing lines between X's an O's. "See," he said, squinting, "what I need you to do is go here." He jabbed his pen a few times to drive home his point. "Then Paul, who will be here, will pass you the ball. You'll pass to me, then screen, and I'll streak to the basket for two." He paused. "Ah, Ivy," he said. "So glad you could join us. I'm just explaining to Jody here --"

"Look Manny, I'm not up for another one of your ESPN pep talks, okay?" She pushed her long, blond hair out of her face. "We'd all rather be somewhere else."

"Nah, not Manny," Kip interjected. "Manny would rather be right here."

"We made it this far," Manny said, "No thanks to your extra preparation. They're five minute games," he said, smiling. "I think Fine Arts will go down against Math. But if we can take on those science geeks, we have a fair shot at those math bastards. Derive this, right?"