Principals and Other Schoolyard Bullies Read online

  Nick Fonda

  PrincipalS

  and Other Schoolyard Bullies

  Short Stories

  Montréal

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  Copyright © Baraka Books

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  Cover by Folio infographie

  Cover illustration by Denis Palmer

  Illustrations by Denis Palmer

  Book design by Folio infographie

  ePub conversion by Studio C1C4

  Legal Deposit, 3rd quarter, 2011

  Bibliothèque et Archives nationales du Québec

  Library and Archives Canada

  ISBN (papier) 978-1-926824-07-9

  ISBN (ePub) 978-1-926824-43-7

  ISBN (PDF) 978-1-926824-44-4

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  The Last Day of School

  “Are you nervous?”

  “No,” said Adrian, “I don’t think so.”

  “Well then,” asked his aunt, “are you excited?”

  “Um, yes, maybe a little,” he replied. Then a moment later he added, “Curious. I think most of all, I’m curious.”

  “Humm,” said his aunt. “You’re a thoughtful one, aren’t you? What do you imagine it’s going to be like?”

  “I don’t know,” said Adrian. “I really don’t know. It should be ok, though. It should be interesting. It’ll be different. I like trying new things.”

  “Yes, I think you do,” mused his aunt. Then, despite herself, she asked, “Tell me, after two weeks with us, how do you like it?”

  “I like it,” said Adrian and it wasn’t the words that reassured his aunt so much as the way he delivered them, quickly, without hesitation, without reserve.

  “Good,” she said. “I’m glad. We were a little worried, you know. Not worried perhaps, but apprehensive.”

  “Doesn’t that mean the same thing?” Adrian asked.

  “I guess it does,” his aunt smiled. “Maybe I should have said we were a little uncertain.”

  “Why?” Adrian asked.

  “Well,” his aunt gave a little laugh. “Neither your uncle nor I have ever had any experience with children. I think maybe I babysat once when I was a teenager. When your mom called me to ask if you could stay with us I said yes right away, but the moment she hung up, I remember, I turned to Gord and said, ‘What have I done?!’ Don’t get me wrong, Adrian. Gord and I have always loved you. You were an adorable child and you’re growing into a fine young man, but it’s one thing to see your nephew a few times a year and a very different thing to have him living with you. And I want you to know it’s been nice for us.”

  “Me too,” said Adrian. “I’m enjoying it.”

  “Oh! Look at that. I almost drove right by,” exclaimed his aunt, turning the small car into the school parking lot, which was already starting to fill. “Here, I think I can take this spot. I shouldn’t be very long.”

  Adrian’s aunt swung the vehicle deftly into a vacant spot, turned off the ignition, reached to the back seat for her handbag and then, just as she reached for the door handle, she stopped and turned back towards her nephew.

  “Adrian, what I mentioned earlier? If it doesn’t work out, for any reason, tell us right away. Even if it’s something small. Ok?”

  “Ok.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise. But it should work out. School should be ok.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  Adrian climbed out of the car and followed his aunt across a few yards of pavement to a set of double doors. His aunt tried one and then the other. Both were locked. She tried knocking and then, with her hand shading her eyes, she put her head close to the glass to try to see into the building.

  “That’s annoying,” Adrian’s aunt said. “They asked us to be here by 8:15 and it’s almost that now.”

  “Maybe there’s another door,” said Adrian. “Want me to go look?”

  Even as they turned away from the doors, a small, yellow car sputtered into the parking lot. A moment later, a young woman with a blonde pony tail jumped out, her arms full of binders and books, and greeted them with a big smile.

  “The door’s locked, eh?” she called to them. “I’ve got a key.”

  A key ring with half a dozen keys and a small silver cat hung suspended from the baby finger of her left hand.

  “Would you mind opening for me?” she asked. “It’s the square key.”

  It was Adrian who reached out and took the key ring and, a few seconds later, pulled open the door to let his aunt and the lady with the blonde pony tail in.

  “Thanks,” she said as he slid the key ring back onto her extended pinkie finger. “Are you a new student by any chance?”

  “Yes,” said Adrian.

  “We’re here to see the principal, Mr. Walters,” said Adrian’s aunt. “We’re supposed to meet him at 8:15. Where would his office be?”

  “On the second floor. Follow me up. I’ll show you where it is. I’m Miss Blenheim, by the way.”

  “This is Adrian and I’m Roberta Simon, Adrian’s aunt. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Like Blenheim Castle?” Adrian asked.

  “Why, yes!” laughed Miss Blenheim. “Just like Blenheim Castle. You’re the first person outside of my own family I’ve ever met who knew about Blenheim Castle. How do you know about it?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Adrian. “Winston Churchill, I guess. We had a dog named Winston Churchill and I read up on him. On the real Winston Churchill, I mean.”

  “I bet you had a bulldog,” said Miss Blenheim.

  “Yes!” said Adrian who couldn’t help smiling. “How did you know?”

  “Lucky guess,” said Miss Blenheim, smiling back. “That’s Mr. Walter’s office, right here. He should be along soon.”

  “Thank you,” said Adrian’s aunt. “It was nice meeting you.”

  “Nice meeting you too,” replied Miss Blenheim. “What grade are you in Adrian?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Adrian’s been homeschooled by his parents,” his aunt explained. “This is going to be his first experience with formal schooling.”

  “Well!” said Miss Blenheim. “I hope it goes well. You might even be in my class. You’re not eleven by any chance, are you?”

  “I’m ten,” said Adrian.

  “Maybe I’ll have you in my class next year. Good luck.”

  Miss Blenheim ducked into a doorway a few steps away and smiled at them a few minutes later when she re-emerged. They watched her walk to the end of the hall and begin climbing another flight of stairs.

  Over the next ten minutes, several other people passed by. Some nodded hello and others ignored them completely. At a certain point, a woman who turned out to be the school secretary arrived and unlocked the door outside which they were standing and informed them that Mr. Walters would be along any minute. She poked her head out a moment late
r to offer Adrian’s aunt a cup of coffee.

  “Thanks, no,” she said. “I’ve had my cup for the day.”

  Still they waited. Adrian and his aunt walked a few paces up the corridor and then a few paces down, eventually walking the whole length of the corridor. They stopped in front of the four different bulletin boards, each one displaying what must have been students’ work.

  Eventually, Adrian noticed a man coming up the hallway. He walked slowly and deliberately, as if he had all the time in the world to get to his destination. He was neither tall nor short but carried a certain bulk on his frame. He walked with his feet splayed out, almost as if he were walking with flippers on his feet. As he came closer, Adrian noticed that a rather bushy moustache drooped over his mouth and a large pair of glasses sat on the bridge of his nose.

  “Mr. Walters?” asked his aunt, as he approached them.

  “Yes,” he replied with little enthusiasm.

  “Good morning. I’m Roberta Simon. I spoke to you yesterday about enrolling my nephew Adrian.”

  “Right,” said Mr. Walters, glancing quickly at Adrian and then looking away just as quickly. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  He strolled into his office leaving Adrian and his aunt standing in the hallway. Adrian’s aunt looked down at him, her eyebrows raised in a look of silent surprise and shrugged her shoulders.

  Adrian was about to ask his aunt if she thought that Mr. Walters didn’t look like a sleepy walrus, but he caught himself and remained silent.

  It was a long, few minutes before the secretary came out and invited Adrian and his aunt into the principal’s office. They entered what was clearly the secretary’s office and then through an open door to the left into that of the principal. Mr. Walters was seated at his desk, half turned towards a computer monitor. He didn’t get up as they came in.

  “Have a seat,” he said, his eyes focussed on the screen, his fingers on the keyboard.

  “Thank you,” said his aunt.

  Adrian let his bookbag slide to the floor and sat on one of the two well-padded chairs that were just a little too big for him. He looked at Mr. Walters sitting in three quarters profile, hardly more than an arm’s length or two across a bare expanse of desk. He had a very round head, all the rounder for being sparsely covered in wispy grey-brown hair. There was a pudginess to his neck and jaws, accentuated by deep folds. His skin looked raw and red, like tough weather-beaten leather. Up close, thought Adrian, he looked even more like a walrus.

  “So, you want to register your son in our school,” he said, still looking at the screen.

  “My nephew. Adrian’s parents are out of the country for an extended period. I’m his maternal aunt. Adrian’s going to be living with us until they return.”

  “Humm. It’s too bad you didn’t register him last week. Our budget allocation is set according to our enrolment on the fifteenth.”

  Adrian wasn’t at all sure what Mr. Walters was talking about and he turned towards his aunt. He sensed that she too was puzzled.

  “Now, what school is he transferring from?” continued Mr. Walters, his eyes still on the monitor.

  “He’s not transferring from any school,” Adrian’s aunt said. “So far, Adrian’s been homeschooled.”

  “Homeschooled?” For the first time since they’d come into the office, Mr. Walters looked at them. He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and blinked his eyes. His voice had risen as he asked his question and now he looked at Adrian and his aunt with undisguised suspicion.

  After a long moment of silence, Adrian’s aunt, in a voice that seemed to be struggling to stay calm and even, said, “Yes, he was homeschooled.”

  There was another moment of silence. Finally Mr. Walters spoke, “Parents do a great disservice to their children when they homeschool. They’re not professionals. Communicating knowledge is a job for professionals. And homeschooled children never acquire the social skills they need to function properly.”

  As the principal spoke, Adrian could sense his aunt growing tense. He turned his eyes towards her and saw that she was sitting almost at the edge of her chair, her back ramrod straight, her chin thrust forward, her face slightly flushed. When she spoke, her voice had a crispness that Adrian had never heard before.

  “Is it possible to enroll Adrian in this school?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. All the schools in this Board are inclusive and welcoming. The welfare of our students is our number one priority,” said Mr. Walrus, turning back to his monitor.

  There were a few more minutes of questions, which seemed to be addressed more to the screen than to Adrian or his aunt. Then, for the second time, the principal turned towards the two of them.

  “I’m going to try him in Grade 5, just because of his age. He’s probably going to be quite a bit behind the others, but it might be hard for him to adjust socially in a Grade 4 group. All our students use laptops and that will be something else for him to learn. We’ll get him one in a few days. You’ll have to sign for it. For today, we can probably find him a spare.”

  He turned from them again, pressed a button on his phone and called, “Miss Thibault, could you show these people up to Ms Camlet’s class?”

  “Where am I going to put him?” were the first words that Adrian heard Ms Camlet speak.

  “I know,” replied Miss Thibault sympathetically. “But the other Grade 5 has thirty-two in it and you only had twenty-nine.”

  “Yes! But look at the class I’ve got!”

  “I’m sorry,” said Miss Thibault with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “Anyway. I’ll look after him.”

  Adrian and his aunt were shown the locker he would be sharing with another student and the table at which he would be sitting, with three others. For today, Miss Camlet informed him, he would take the seat of a boy named Ralph whom she expected to be absent. When his aunt left, she bent to give him a kiss on the cheek and a hug. She kept her hands on his shoulders for an extra few seconds and looked into his eyes, as if she were searching for something.

  “Will you be alright?” she asked.

  “Sure,” said Adrian, although as he watched her walk down the hallway, he felt some of his certainty leaving with her.

  “I’m on bus duty this morning,” Ms Camlet informed him, “so you better come down with me. I’ll show you where your class lines up. Your class is 5 C. You’ll see that painted on the pavement. That’s where you’ll line up with your class every time you come in: first thing in the morning, after the morning recess and after the lunch hour recess. Do you understand? You’ve got a few minutes to play right now before the bell rings.”

  Adrian stood alone and surveyed the space before him, which only half an hour ago had been totally empty and was now overflowing with children. Some were walking slowly from the area where the yellow school buses were disgorging them, near where his aunt had earlier parked her car, but most were standing in small groups on a surprisingly vast expanse of pavement. A smaller number could be found on a much larger green area given over to a baseball diamond and soccer field which could be reached by going up a very small bank.

  When the bell rang, a few minutes later, Adrian turned from where he stood to walk the few paces to the spot Ms Camlet had told him his class was to line up. He was surprised that half a dozen girls were already in line. Even as he started walking he found the space filled with other bodies and it took him a couple of seconds to realize that he was moving perpendicular to the fast-forming lines. It took him a minute but he made it to the 5 C line and placed himself behind a short girl whose brown hair was streaked with an unnaturally bright shade of red.

  Adrian wondered if he’d been staring at her because she spun towards him, fixed him with angry, glaring eyes and said, “This isn’t your line. This is 5 C.”

  “I’m in 5 C,” he replied.

  She stared at him for a minute then she hissed, “Creep,” and turned to face the school.

  A half second later Adrian was t
hrown forward into the red-streaked girl by someone who had smashed into his back.

  “Ow!” he called out and then, realizing he had caused a chain reaction, he quickly said, “Sorry. I’m sorry. Someone pushed me.”

  There were hoots and catcalls from behind him while those in front of him called him a jerk, a twit, a nerd and other names he tried not to hear. Almost at the same time that he had righted himself, wondering if there was going to be a bruise on his back, Ms Camlet was standing beside him.

  “Don’t cause trouble your first day,” she threatened, “You’ll regret it if you do. Understand?”

  Adrian looked up at her, puzzled and perplexed and completely unsure what to do or what to say. He remained silent. She glared at him for a couple of seconds and then turned her attention elsewhere as one line after the other filed into the school, the 5 C group going last.

  Adrian, taking his cue from the others, went to his locker, and after enduring an elbow to his ribs, which may or may not have been accidental, hung up his light jacket, and retrieved from his book bag a scribbler and a pencil case, both new. He followed his locker mate—a dark-haired, taciturn boy who had neither greeted Adrian, nor returned his greeting—at a safe distance into the classroom and seated himself at the table Ms Camlet had earlier assigned him.

  The next ten or twelve minutes were a confusing cacophony of scraping chairs, laughter, snippets of conversation and dropped objects. Adrian sat silent, feeling ever more isolated and alone. A bell rang, startling him, and a moment later Ms Camlet, after two or three attempts, brought silence to the room.

  “We have a new student with us, class, and I’d like you all to meet him,” she announced. “Adrian, could you stand and introduce yourself.”

  Caught unaware, Adrian felt suddenly and unaccustomedly shy. He stood and looked at the faces around him, at eyes which seemed to be largely filled with indifference, although he also saw what might have been hostility.