Feelers pt.1

The heavy pull of my backpack was a reassuring weight across my shoulders and down to the small of my back as I pushed open the heavy wire-reinforced front doors of the school. The little stream that had been the few dozen chattering students on the sidewalk, their breaths making foggy puffs in the cold morning air, had flowed into the river of bedlam that was the main hallway. Even though I was caught up in the current like the rest of the flotsam, the weight on my back made me feel more substantial and not bumped around, but able to plow steadily through the crowd.

I had never really thought about much about why I didn’t mind lugging my bulging Jansport all around at school. Mom was always on my case about how I would hurt my back, and that she would threaten to go to the school and insist they give me a locker. But I did have a locker; I just didn’t like to use it. It was an open secret that the school staff snooped in random kid’s lockers. Everyone here knew that kids didn’t have that many rights at school, and when anyone complained to a teacher, she would just put one hand on her hip, raise the skin on her forehead in that exasperated smirk they all do, and say, “Oh? Do you think that our lives are so boring that we need to poke around in the students’ lockers to feel entertained?”

Plus, I just have a thing about privacy; I didn’t feel like I wanted anyone going through my stuff.

But that wasn’t the total reason I wouldn’t be caught without my trusty backpack. No, I just felt better knowing that I had everything I needed, right on my back. Especially now. Especially this period, going into Room 223, Science Class.

Science class with Mr. Devius was a grueling ordeal every eight-grader at Stonebridge Middle School had to plow through in order to graduate. It wasn’t just his appearance that put one off, though that was bad enough. He was ancient, and his heavy-lidded eyes seemed to look right through you with a coldness that was even more scary because it didn’t seem personal, just uncaring. He was always asking for a little piece of some assignment that was from weeks ago, and he would always demand it from someone who had finally given up bringing it to class, and then he’d seem to get a nasty pleasure in saying, “Miss Richards, if you are not going to be completing your homework, does that mean you intend on repeating this class?”

But not me. No, I dragged around everything I might possibly need to produce for Mr. Devius and his weird little assignments. All I wanted to do was to get through his class with a decent grade and as little public humiliation as possible. Maybe that’s why he seemed to be noticing me more. I would see him scan over the class, settle his baleful stare on me, pausing for a bit, and then frown and move on to some other hapless student.

In the hall, I stopped in front of Room 223. The door was opening and shutting as students wandered into the classroom. A stale odor wafted out, like rancid floor wax and musty insects. I shifted my pack over to one shoulder and pulled my tee-shirt down so it would lay smoothly against my back. I pulled my pony tail out of the way and pushed the light brown strands of my grown-out bangs back behind my ears, doing a quick breath check at the same time. And then there was Grant, the guy I’d been noticing since the first week of school. He had just come around the corner and was heading to science class too. I looked around and then down, hoping I wasn’t turning red and that I could say, “Hi, Grant,” in just that right tone of voice. And then, just as he would have been right beside me and maybe opened the classroom door for me, a squeaky little voice said, “Andie! Wait for me!” And the breathless little form of my next-best friend, Val, scooted up next to me and grabbed my arm.

“Let’s go in together,” she gasped, “I was so afraid I’d be late; we got out of gym class late, and then I had to go to my locker to get my homework, but I don’t know if I have all the papers!” I sighed as I watched Grant walking up the steps to the back row of the lecture hall. He hadn’t even noticed me. But Val was taking all my attention now.

“I’m so glad we sit next to each other.” She shuddered. “It’s hard enough to even be here! I just know Mr. Devius is going to call on me,” the girl said as she flipped through her science book hunting for papers.

As if in response to his name being spoken, Mr. Devius glided into the room. No one had even noticed the back room door that led to the lab and his office opening up. All of a sudden, it just seemed like he was there. He was very thin, and a wide black utility belt held up his olive green chinos. Today he was wearing his beige button-up shirt with the faded check design. I’d sort of been hoping he would try wearing that Hawaiian shirt again. Yes, we’d all been punished in his malicious way when the group of girls had giggled at his appearance, though what could you expect from cheerleaders? But then some of the guys had started snickering too.

I didn’t really blame them; he looked sort of like a topiary, a stick with a flapping bunch of flowers sprouting from the top, but I wasn’t tempted to laugh. I didn’t want to bring that malevolent cloud down upon me. His face turned a sort of puce color, which was kind of scary, seeing as how he was normally so pale. His dry lips pressed tightly together, but then the edges started to curl, showing a little tooth at the sides. The class gradually fell silent. If anyone had still been breathing, I think you could have heard it; it was that quiet. One poor girl was hiccupping. I didn’t dare turn around to see who it was.

“Sssso!” Mr. Devius had hissed. “The class seems to be feeling quite, hmm, lively today. Your enthusiasm is contagious. I feel enthused to conduct a spot quiz this morning on yesterday’s lecture, “Mathematical Solutions for Biologically Diverse Problems in Lower Life Forms!” We’d all flunked. And it hadn’t done any good to complain; all the staff either loved him or were afraid of him.

Today Mr. Devius prowled the aisles, casting about for signs of weakness.

“Mr. Johnson!” The teacher suddenly snapped. Most of the heads turned to the back of the class to look at Grant, who had stiffened. “Do you have the assignment ready to submit that I gave on March 2nd, regarding calculating the chemical make up of the secretions of the banana slug?” Grant flipped through his binder, fingers trembling a little. I hated seeing him put on the spot like that; I wanted him to produce the paper and hand it over, casually saying, “Here ya go!” I could tell the rest of the class were just glad that it was him and not them.

Grant was shuffling through his papers, a nervous twitch starting on his cheek. A few pages slipped from his fingers and slid along the aisle on a vent of air. Mr. Devius just continued to stand over him, smiling his little smile that never met his eyes. But then I paid attention to the thing that was nagging at my thoughts. I’ve always had a really good memory, and something didn’t ring right. We’d studied the banana slug in February. What did we study the first week of March?

I surreptitiously slid my hand down into my backpack on the tile floor next to my feet and pulled out my science binder. I looked at the assignment for March 2nd. “Compute the mass of the frass a Pacific Flathead Borer will produce in one week feeding on a young apple tree.” Without thinking of the consequences, I raised my hand and spoke out.

“Excuse me, Mr. Devius, but the assignment for March 2nd was to compute the mass of the frass a Pacific Flathead Borer will produce in one week feeding on a young apple tree and not to calculate the chemical make up of the secretions of the banana slug.” Val shot me a stricken look. This was it. I was dead.

The teacher turned in my direction and smiled, as if something like that was what he had been waiting for. “Miss Blackstone.” He said it like, “Blakk-stonnnne.”

“Miss Blackstone!” He turned back around to Grant. “And Mr. Johnson. One of you seems to not be prepared, and one of you seems to think he or she should, perhaps, be teaching this class.” He rubbed his hands together as if he were rubbing oil into them. “To avoid further disruption to the class, please remove yourselves to the laboratory where you will find an equation written on the whiteboard. Using materials from the supply cabinet, draw up a series of experiments that will either prove or disprove that mathematical statement.” He pointed at the door. “Due tomorrow!”

As Grant gathered his things, I lifted my backpack up and slung it across one shoulder. I wasn’t sure if I was happy that I got to be alone with Grant for the first time, or if I was nervous about a task that might be impossible, sure to be difficult, and could send my grade plummeting. I slunk through the door to the lab, Grant following me, and heard the heavy door shut behind us.

“So, you’re Andie, right?” Grant asked, as he dropped his books on to the nearest lab table.

“Yes,” I mumbled, letting my eyes glance across his face as I looked around.

“Well, I’m Grant. And I don’t know whether to thank you for stepping in or to be sorry you got us kicked out of class.” He paused. “But to tell you the truth, I’m just as glad to be out of there!” He smiled, and my heart lurched a little. He was so cute, with his front tooth that was a little crooked and his brown eyes that crinkled when he smiled.

“Me too!” I chirped, and then hated how little-girl I sounded. “Guess we’d better see what Ol’ Devius has got for us.”

The lights in the deserted laboratory were still off, and the only illumination came from the windows high up on the wall. We dodged around the big black lab tables and drab gray metal wastebaskets on our way up to the front of the room. The place was old, and a long slate chalkboard was mounted along one wall, its surface shiny with age. A set of newer big whiteboards had been screwed to the same wall, partially covering the black slate on one end. Black mathematical equations covered the top third of the board, written in our science professor’s cramped and compulsively neat handwriting. I groaned.

“This is going to take hours to do!” I exclaimed. But Grant wasn’t beside me anymore. He was looking around, opening cupboards and drawers, flipping through a stack of notebooks.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Do you realize that kids don’t normally get to be alone in here?” He said. “When we have lab class, no one dares to look at or do anything that isn’t on the assignment. I’ve always been curious about some of the stuff around here!” I followed over to where he was rummaging around.

“Shh! I said nervously. He might hear you banging the drawer shut!” Grant had gone on to another section of the room, a bank of cupboard doors, their varnished surfaces yellowishly reflecting the morning sun that had just moved into the window view. He tried one, and it was locked. We were both curious now. He reached a hand to the next door pull, grasped the pewter handle and tugged at it. With a soft pop it released the door, and Grant slowly pulled it open. Inside were several sliding trays with bundles of brown, oily cloths heaped here and there. I took the corner of one of the cloths and lifted it. A tuft of gray moth-eaten fur came into view, and before I could quite register what sort of creature had been, I dropped the drape as if I’d accidentally touched our electric fence at home.

“Ick! Who knows what other horrid things he’s got in here!” Grant shuddered. “Are you ok?” I nodded. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t that I was grossed out, that it had just shocked me, but I couldn’t think of a way to say it, or if he was even interested.

The next cupboard door was also unlocked. Its shelves were loaded with glass jars filled with fluid, their stringy and disturbing contents floating timelessly in the greenish liquid.

“Now that is one ugly sucker!” Grant murmured, staring at a sunken-eyed toothy specimen that looked like it had been hauled up from the bottom of the sea. It seemed as if I could smell the formaldehyde in the pickling jars and felt a twinge of nausea.

“Ok, I’m done with these,” I said, drawing back.

“The rest of the doors are locked anyway,” Grant said, and stepped over to where I was standing in the middle of the room. We both stared at the far end of the room.

“Do you see what I see?” He asked.

I did, but hadn’t been sure I’d wanted to be the one to point it out to him. By now, I had a feeling Grant wouldn’t be able to leave well-enough alone.

“Yes,” I said. The door to Mr. Devius’s personal office had not clicked shut when it had closed, and even though it was locked, I knew the door would open.