Текст книги "Alibi High"

Автор книги: Jeff Shelby

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

TWENTY THREE

By the time the final bell rang, I had fourteen acts lined up.

And I hadn't even hit up unsuspecting parents yet.

But for the first time since Bingledorf tasked me with putting the show together, I felt like I actually might be able to pull it off and not be forced to wear the scarlet t P of failure that I was certain Bingledorf the school's principal president would bestow upon me. There was still a ton to do, but at the very least, I had people willing to get on stage, which meant we could actually call it a show.

I It was almost the end of the school day and I had one last teacher to pester. 'd saved Miles Riggler for last, simply because I felt like I'd been bugging him for the past two days and he didn't certain as to what to do with me. So I hadn't bothered him during the school day, but I wanted to make sure I caught him before he left for the evening. I hurried down the hallway , hoping I wasn't too late.

“Daisy,” he Miles Riggler said, smiling at me when I knocked on his door. “Come on in.”

His mood seemed far more chipper than when I'd encountered him the previous two days.

“How are things going?” I asked.

He nodded, looking around the room. “We're making d ue o . Slow and steady, but we're managing.” He turned back to me. “How about for you?”

“Not bad,” I said. “ I assume you've heard about the talent show by now?” I was actually stopping by to see if you'd decided what you're going to do for the talent show.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Talent show?”

“The fundraiser? ” I said, trying to jog is memory. “ For new computers?”

H e shook his head slowly. is expression cleared . “ N Oh, right.” He paused. “N o, I'm afraid I haven't.”

Maybe he just hadn't been frequenting the faculty lunchroom because he'd been so busy planning his classes.

“ Mrs. Bingledorf put me in charge of putting together a school-wide talent show that will help raise money to buy new computers,” I said, then quickly added. “While she deals with the insurance company.”

He folded his arms across his bony chest. “Oh. Okay. That sounds like it might be fun.”

“ What would really be fun is if I'd could get you to sign up to participate,” I said. “Fourteen of your colleagues have already agreed to get up on stage .” ,” I said, trying to persuade him.

“ Oh gosh,” he said, making a face. “ I'm just...I not sure I'm 'm not much of an onstage person.”

“ I'm aware,” I said, remembering our conversation from the previous day. “I don't think many of your colleagues are, either. But they've agreed to do it.”

He positioned himself behind his desk, almost as if he thought it would shield him from my verbal assault. “Well, if you already have fourteen acts, you should be good to go. That's probably more than enough.”

“ It's all in fun,” I said. “And I really feel like having you signed up is pretty important.”

“ Me? Why?” I stepped toward the desk and he shrank bank. “We need a lot more.”

“ Parents?” He drummed his fingers on the desk top. “Or kids? We have a lot of talented kids here. I'm sure they'd love to get up on stage .”

“ Look, I understand the whole 'not a stage person' thing. But Y y ou're the person the kids identify with the computer lab,” I explained. “ And the parents. And the other teachers. How do you think it's going to look if the one person who should want the computers back doesn't volunteer to get up on stage?”

The show is to buy computers. It would be great if we could say you're on the bill, you know?” He opened his mouth to respond but I didn't let him. “I'll tell you how it's going to look, Mr. Riggler. Bad.” I pressed my lips together and gave him what I hoped was a disapproving look. “I don't think Mrs. Bingledorf will be too happy if you skip the show.”

“ I wouldn't skip it,” he protested.

“ I think she expects to see you on stage,” I told him. I held out the notebook, showing him the list of names on the sign-up sheet. “Along with all of these other faculty members.”

H e folded his arms across his chest. “ is arms tightened around his chest almost like he was cold. “Oh. Hmm. I guess that makes sense. I'm just not sure I have any talent to offer up.” Fine,” he muttered. “But I really don't know what I can do up there.”

“It doesn't have to be serious anything big or serio us ,” I said quickly, sensing victory . “It can be short, and it can be funny. I think plenty of your colleagues are doing something that is more humorous than funny.” ”

He ran a hand through his hair, cupping the back of his neck. “ Hmm. Yeah. Okay. Can I have some time to think about what I want to do?”

“ Sure Of course ,” I said , tapping the notebook with my pen. . “I f I can put you down as a yes.” 'll put you down as a yes. Mrs. Bingledorf will be happy to hear you're on board.” I actually didn't know if she'd even care if Miles Riggler was on the list of performers or not but I wasn't about to tell him that.

He walked back toward his desk pulled a small pocket calendar from his top desk drawer and opened it . “What's the date?” he asked, grabbing a pencil .

I told him.

And h H e froze.  “A week from Saturday?”

“ Yeah,” I said. “We're trying to get it organized as quickly as possible.”

H e stood rock-still in place for a moment, his is wide eyes locked on me. “That Saturday night?”

“ Yeah. “ Is that...not okay?”

He didn't say anything, then got his legs to carry him to his desk. He flipped through the black planner on his desk, his finger running over the page.

Then he looked back at me, his face pale. “A week from Saturday?”

I was starting to wonder if Mr. Riggler also had a hearing problem. “Um, yes.”

He turned back to his planner and winced, like I'd pinched him or something. He rubbed hard at his chin, frowning, mumbling something under his breath that I couldn't understand.

He turned back to me. “I'm sorry. I can't.”

I gave him my line about Bingledorf and the volunteer requirement. “Do you have another commitment?” I asked .

H e went another shade of pale, but shook his head is face paled . “I'm sorry . ,” he said, not answering the questioning. “ I just can't can't do it .”

“ Oh,” I said. “Okay.” I thought about bringing up the volunteer hours requirement. I thought about telling him about Stephen-with-a-P Morse to see if I could appeal to his teacherly side. But before I could launch my assault, he suddenly looked up, his expression panicked.

“It's going to be here?” he asked. “At school?”

“ The talent show?” I stared at him. “Yes. Where else would it be?”

“ Yeah.”

He winced as though someone had punched him in the gut.

“ Mr Riggler, are you alright?”

If he heard me, he didn't indicate this. Instead, he just stared at the calendar in front of him and muttered, again and mumbled something that sounded a lot like “What am I gonna do?”

“ I'm sorry?” I let out an exasperated sigh. “What are you going to do about what ?”

He started, like he'd forgotten I was in the room. “Uh...uh, nothing . ,” he stammered, his face morphing to a startling shade of pink. “ I meant for tomorrow. What am I gonna do tomorrow ? . Y For c l ass. eah.” “ ass.”

“ Oh,” I said, “Okay.” I was completely baffled by his reaction and his words . “Okay.” “I guess just let me know if things change.” There was nothing else to say.

He sat down in his chair, like I'd just told him that his dog had died. He got a hand halfway through his hair before it grabbed tightly onto his skull.

“ Well, if things change,” I said, starting back for the door. “Let me know. I'd really love to have you there if you can be there.”

“Mmhmm,” he said, staring at his desk. “Sorry.”

I walked out into the hallway and stood there for a moment, wondering what had just happened. His denial refusal to participate had sucked away all of my earlier optimism and enthusiasm. The fund raiser, while not directly for him, affected him the most. We were doing it so he could get his room back to normal, to help him. It felt a little weird to think that we'd be putting on a fundraiser for him that he couldn't even attend.

A lot weird.

TWENTY FOUR

I went back to the counseling office. Even though the bell was about to ring, signaling the end of the school day, I'd decided I'd stay at the school to stay a bit little longer to so I could start putting together a create an actual mock-up schedule schedule for the show. As much as I wanted to get home and see my kids, I knew I needed to hammer out a few more details before I left, as much for the benefit of the show as for my peace of mind. Doing it there was going to be easier than doing it at home because if I waited until the evening to do it, I'd be distracted by attention-needing children. And husbands. So I was laying out a schedule for the talent show night when I nearly rolled out of my chair because Emily was knocking on my door and saying “Mom?” Charlotte was nowhere to be found; I knew she 'd had a meeting with Mrs. Bingledorf earlier and wondered if it had run late.

There was a knock on the door and I looked up.

Emily was standing in the doorway. “Mom?”

“ Oh my god,” I said, rubbing my eyes. I rubbed my eyes. “Are you addressing me here at school? People will find out that you know me.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped all the way into the office, followed by her best friend, Bailey Prat t, who held up a hand and grinned at me. t . “Hey, Mrs. S!” Both of them were wearing black Prism hoodies and I stifled a smile as I stared at their school apparel. The name of the school was embroidered in silver thread but the sweatshirts were devoid of mascots or symbols. When the school first formed and was named a few years ago, the kids unanimously voted for a rainbow as their school logo. This was immediately shot down by the more conservative, homophobic members of the school community. Their next offering was a three-dimensional triangle – an actual prism – but a local pastor who served on the board thought this looked too much like an occult symbol and that idea was nixed, too. So the athletes w ore black and silver uniforms, which wasn't a bad thing, and the students sported the same colors on their apparel, and the school was still mascot-less. Jake had pointed out that it was probably a good thing, since no kid in their right mind would want a walking triangle cheering them on at their games.

“ Hi, Mrs. S!” Bailed said in her boisterous, friendly way.

I pointed smiled at Bailey and looked at Em. “See? She's , like, super excited to see me and she hasn't been ostracized by her peers.”

Em's cheeks blossomed crimson. “Whatever.”

“You have your own office?” Bailey said, chomping on a piece of gum , and looking around. “That was fast. Cool.”

“I'm sharing it,” I said. “With Ms. Nordhoff.”

Bailey nodded , still chomping. . Her hair was the same color as Emily's, a warm, almost golden brown, but she wore hers longer and straighter. “Cool. Pretty soon you'll be working here full-time.”

Emily glared frowned at her. “No . , she won't. ”

Bailey blew a bubble and popped it. “Your mom is cool. She listens to loud music in the car and always has junk food at home. You know what I get? Christian hymns and granola bars.” Bailey grinned at me. “You can kick her out and I'll take her place, 'kay?”

I nodded. “I'll consider that.”

Emily sighed, totally bored with our shenanigans banter . “Yeah. You guys two can go and be besties or whatever .” She looked at me. “Are you leaving soon?”

I shook my head. “No, I 'm gonna need to stay for awhile to work on a few things.”

She sighed again and h H er shoulders dropped. “We need a ride.”

“Isn't there a late bus?” I asked.

“Yeah, but we don't wanna take it,” Emily said.

“Why?”

“It smells,” Bailey said, sitting down on the corner of my desk and blowing another bubble. “Plus, Alex Madden is on it.”

Emily pummeled her in the shoulder. “Stop.”

Bailey rubbed her shoulder and wrinkled her nose at me. “Alex likes Em. He's kind of a dork, but also kinda nice.”

I loved Bailey. Not just because she liked me and thought I was cool, but because she had a really big mouth and usually told me things Emily would never even think of disclosing.

“So you don't like him?” I asked Emily, grateful that Bailey had a big mouth asked, turning to face my daughter .

“No,” she said emphatically , her eyes wide, her brow furrowed . “I do not like him. He's gross.”

“He's not super gross,” Bailey said pointed out . She tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. “ I mean, T t here are a lot of boys that are way more gross. A nd a t least he's nice.”

Emily ignored her. “Yeah and he's always looking at me ,” Emily whined. “ .” She made a face. “ It's creepy.”

“Better than Stevie Anthony Matheson,” Bailey said, rolling her eyes. “Now that kid is full – on creepy.” She looked at me. “Did you hear he almost died at the beach last summer?”

“ Uh, no.” “No?”

She nodded. “Yeah, he was at the beach with his family and apparently his brothers buried him in the sand and he like passed out or something. They had to fly in a helicopter and everything.”

“Yeah, well, that kid is uber-gross,” Emily said.

“Right. So not as bad as Alex,” Bailey said.

“You're not helping.”

“So mean.”

“Well, I'm sorry girls,” I said, laughing chuckling at their banter exchange . “But I'm not leaving for at least another hour. So you can stay and wait or take the smelly Alex bus or walk.”

“ Alex doesn't smell,” Bailed said. “Well, he sort of does. He wears this cologne that—”

Emily looked at Bailey cut  her off . “You wanna walk? We can stop at the Sonic and get slushies.”

“I'd rather take the bus and watch Alex watch you,” Bailey said . , a sly smile on her face.

“I'll buy,” Em said offered .

Bailed jumped off the desk. “Sold! ” Bailey said, jumping off the desk. Except I want a shake.”

I laughed smiled and shook my head. “Be careful walking.”

“You'll probably have this place to yourself,” Emily said. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. “I swear, our teachers are always gone before the buses even leave.”

“Totally,” Bailey agreed, then giggled. “Except for Mr. Riggler.”

Emily tried not to laugh, but a little giggle fought it ' s way out. “Stop.”

“What's so funny about Mr. Riggler?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Emily said.

“ Tell me.”

“ It's nothing, Mom.”

I thought for half a second, then reached down for my purse and pulled out a five dollar bill. “I'll buy if you tell me why that's funny.”

Bailey snatched the money from my hand. “Sold! ” she sai d again. She stuffed the money into her jeans pocket and turned to face me. “ Okay, so you know how he teaches computers?”

“ Yeah?” I nodded.

“He knows nothing about them . ,” she announced. She raised her eyebrows. “ Like, seriously nothing.”

I thought about what I'd witnessed in class. That Her statement didn't seem too far off the mark.

I looked at Em for confirmation and . S s he nodded.

Bailey put her hands on the edge of the desk and leaned down. She smelled like watermelon I could smell her peach-scented bo dy lotion and her watermelon-flavored gum . She was like a walking fruit salad. “ And  h H e stays late so he can take classes. Online computer classes. So he can teach us.” She laughed again. “Good thing his personal computer wasn't stolen.”

I frowned at them. “Come on. Seriously?”

Bailey looked glanced at Em , who reluctantly nodded . again.

“It's true,” Em ily said. “A bunch of people have gone to his room after school to get help or use the printers and stuff. He gets them set up – or tries to, anyway – and then goes back to his laptop. A couple kids hav e seen what's on his screen while he's sitting there. whatever and they can see his screen. He's taking like basic computer classes. Which might explain why he knows absolutely nothing about computers.”

“He's super nice,” Bailey added , almost as an afterthought . “But seriously . M , m y cat knows more about computers than Mr. Riggler.”

I leaned back in my chair , trying to process what the girls had just told me . How was that even possible? How could he have gotten a job teaching computers if he barely knew anything about them? He ha ' d definitely seemed out of his element when I'd been in his room, but I 'd thought it might be because of the stress of the missing computers. Maybe he'd been too rattled by the theft to focus properly. And his ignorance of social media could have been chalked up to...well, being old. He could have been a genius at programming and operating systems but woefully ignorant of the web sites and apps kids were using.

I took a deep breath. I just found it hard to fathom that he was taking online classes and doing it at the school.

“He's probably in there now,” Bailey said. “If you don't believe us.”

“ I don't know what I believe,” I told them. “But thanks for sharing.”

“Don't tell him it came from us,” Emily said quickly. , panic spreading in her eyes.

“No?” I asked. “I was gonna go say , 'Hey Emily and Bailey just told me something really interesting' and see what he says.”

“Mom!”

Bailey grabbed her by the arm. “She's kidding, Em. Jeez. It's like you don't even know your mom.” She waved at me. “Thanks for the money! See ya, Mrs. S.!”

I wondered how my uptight daughter could be such good friends with a kid who had a very near polar opposite personality, but I thought it was good for her to hang around with someone who seemed so care – free most of the time. Plus, Bailey was just a good kid.

I thought about what the girls had told me. But I had to wonder if the were both right about Mr. Riggler. I had seen a lot of goofy things at Prism, but that a guy who knew nothing about computers running the lab and teaching computer classes seemed too much of a stretch to buy. just seemed too much of a stretch to buy. I didn't see how a guy who didn't know a thing about computers would fi If Miles Riggler really was as computer illiterate as the girls claimed, how had he found himself in a position teaching them? And who on earth would have hired him to fill that role? nd himself in a position to teach about them. Why would he even want to do that?

It just seemed like a bit of a reach. There were plenty of rumors circulating around t he school, I reminded myself. I remembered what Emily had told me about the stolen computers and the theories running amok among the student body. Even Mr, Riggler himself had warned me about the dangers of the school rumor mill, when I'd innocently asked about staff coming in on weekends.

But the girls seemed pretty positive about what they'd seen and heard. And I'd seen him fumbling through his classes .

I wondered if he was still in his room.

I stood up.

It looked like I was going to be staying after school and decided to go see what I could learn. a little longer.

TWENTY FIVE

Miles Riggler was hunched over his computer, his eyes staring intently at the computer and . h H e jumped when I knocked on his door.

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “You're back.”

“ Um, yeah,” I said, wandering I wandered in to the room, trying not to be look too suspicious. “I had another question for y ou ou before I leave for the day .”

He glanced at his screen, then back at me. then He back at me and rotated in his chair toward me. “Oh. Okay.”

I made my way to the back of the room , just acting like I under the guise that I was simply trying to move closer to him to have a conversation. He was between me and his screen, though, so I couldn't see . what he had been looking at.

“I , uh, was wondering about the date,” I said. It was the best reason I could come up with for barging back in on him. “What if we changed the date?”

“For the talent show?”

I shifted, trying to bring his screen into vi ew. Without him noticing, of course. “Yeah.”

His brow furrowed. “Can you do that?”

“ Well, maybe Maybe .”

He thought for a moment , glanced a quickly at his screen, then shrugged. . “That might work, I guess. What date were you thinking of?”

“Oh, I did do n't have an actual date in mind,” I said, trying not to overtly stare at his the screen. “I was just thinking that maybe if we changed the date you might be able to participate and . And that might be a good thing . To have you participate – to have you there .”

He chewed on his bottom lip. “Would it be on a Saturday night again?”

“Probably.”

He chewed a little harder. “Hmm. Well, I'm not sure if I can , then.”

“You have a regular Saturday night...conflict?” I asked, sitting down in the gingerly sitting down on the desk across from him.

His eyes flitted to the screen and back. “Yes. Something like that.”

“And you can't change it?”

He glanced at the screen his computer again. “Um, not probably not. I'm sorry. I could do any other night – ”

“Your session has timed out,” a robotic voice chimed from the computer , startling both of us . “Please re – enter your login to continue with your Basic Computing class and exercises.”

He spun back around in his seat , a panicked expression on his face, and furiously tapped at the keyboard and wiggled the attached mouse , . h is jaw set, staring at the screen. He groaned , then pushed the mouse away in disgust.

“I'm sorry,” I said, not feeling too very sorry at all . “Did I interrupt something?”

He chewed on his bottom lip again, then stood from his chair and jogged over to the classroom door. His light gray polo was tucked into his jeans and the back of his shirt was damp with sweat, He stuck his head in the hallway, checked both directions, then pulled the door closed. He took a deep breath and walked slowly back to the desk . , his eyes avoiding mine.

“Yes,” he finally said , answering my question . “But it's alright. It's alright. I can log back in.”

It was like he was talking to himself more than me.

“Okay,” I asked. I folded my arms across my chest. “Did that say Basic – ”

“Yes!” he snapped, then leaned back in the chair, like he'd surprised himself at the ferocity of his words. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the hand latching onto his scalp, like it was trying to squeeze it. “ I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just under a lot of pressure right now.”

I nodded sympathetically. “I can tell.”

He pause d . “Yes, it said Basic Computing. It's ...it's a class I'm taking.”

The girls were had been right. I tried not let my eyes bulge out of my head. to keep my expres sion neutral.

His hand moved to his face and he rubbed his eyes. “Which is probably strange, given that I'm the computer teacher, right?” he said.

“ Well. Yes. A little. But it It 's none of my business .” ,” I offered.

Which It seemed like the most appropriate thing to say , even though I'd made it my business because I was so nosy.

“Please don't say anything,” he said, his facial features face tight with worry. “I would absolutely lose my job if anyone found out.”

“For taking a computer class?”

He shook his head. “No. For having to take a computer class.”

I cocked my head. “Why do you have to?”

H e is hand shifted to his ear and he tugged on his lobe. chewed on his lip again and he had both hands on top of his head, grabbing at his skull. “Because I know very little about computers . ,” he admitted.

“ How are you the computer teacher if you don't know much about computers?”

“ It's a long story.”

I glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. “I have time.”

“ Let's just say Prism needed a computer teacher and I needed a job.”

“ And you applied and they just...hired you? With no experience?” I frowned. “Don't you need like a license or something?”

“ I have one,” he said. “I'm licensed to teach art.”

“ Art?”

He nodded. “I did my student teaching a couple of years ago but then...” His voice trailed off.

“ Then...?” I prompted.

He cleared his throat. “I decided to open my own business instead.”

So Miles Riggler went from student teaching art to running his own business to teaching computers. “What kind of business?” I asked.

Before I got this job, I owned a company called Bozos and Balloons. His cheeks flushed. “An entertainment company.”

For one horrified moment, I wondered if he'd been a male stripper. Or an escort.

“ I was a clown,” he said flatly, as if he'd known immediately where my imagination had gone. It was my turn to blush. “I dressed up as a clown and made bal loon animals. Birthday parties, carnivals, restaurants sometimes. It was called Bozos and Balloons.”

But that sort of went down the tubes .”

“ Your company went out of business?”

He let out a long sigh and his hands slid from his head to his thighs. “Yeah, sort of. I just sort of had to quit it.”

I wasn't following. “So other people are running it now?” “Well, that sounds fun.” I smiled. “Making kids happy.”

“ There's always someone who cries. Always. ” He made a face. “It was the worst part of the job.”

“ Is that why you left?”

He Riggler shook his head. “It was a one man operation. I was the one man. I used to dress up as a clown for parties and things like that and make balloon animals. Work at restaurants on the weekend, carnivals, that sort of thing.” He paused. “Bozos and Balloons.”

“ Okay,” I said. “No. I didn't want to leave. I...I was forced out.”

I wondered what kind of evil clowns he worked with. “But I thought you owned the company,” I said, frowning.

“ I did. It was a one-man show.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “There was this kid over in Wanut Haven who wanted a clown for his birthday. But he wanted one that ro de a unicycle.”

“ But then I did something really stupid,” he said, clearly frowning at the memory. “I tried to ride a unicycle.”

“A unicycle?”

He nodded. “Yeah . His mom called to see if I was available and if I could ride a unicycle. I told her yes because I needed the work. So I went and bought a unicycle, , this kid over in Walnut Haven wanted a clown that rode a unicycle. So when his mom called to see if I was available and if I could ride a unicycle, I told her yes because I needed the work. So I went and bought a unicycle, kind of taught myself how to ride it. It was hard. Not like riding a bike at all.”

Probably because it was short one wheel . , I thought.

“Anyway, I went to the kid's party and it was going pretty great,” he explained. “I was whipping out animals left and right and the parents were all tipping me and , for once, no one was scared afraid of me.”

“ Scared of you? Why would they have been scared of you?”

“ At most parties, there's at least one person who is afraid of clowns,” he said. “They usually cry and freak out and it sort of ruins the whole deal.”

“ Ah. Right.” I tried to picture the man in front of me dressed as a clown. Even with my overactive imagination, I was having a hard time doing it.

“So anyway, it's going pretty good. Everyone's happy. ” His shoulders sagged. “ But then the kid wanted me to ride the unicycle for him.” H e shook his head is shou lders sagged . “I started out okay, but then I hit a manhole cover in the cul-de-sac.”

I winced. “And you fell?”

“No, I just sort of lost my control,” he answered. “I ran into a curb and got thrown from the bike and landed on the birthday kid. Squashed him and p opped the four-foot Mic key Mouse balloon creation I'd made him. ” He held up his left hand. “ And I broke my wrist.”

“ Oh, wow,” I said. “I'm sorry.” It was a horrible story and I felt awful that I had to bite back a smile at the visual of Miles Riggler demolishing a life-size Mickey Mouse balloon w hile careening around on a unicycle.

He nodded. “Yeah. “ The kid was okay, but he was crying and his parents were mad at me and I think I might've been crying, too, because of my wrist. So I had to get my stuff and leave.” He frowned. “But my wrist was in I ended up being in a cast for three months, which made it impossible to make balloon animals. So I had to shut down Bozos and Balloons. . ”

It sounded like a traumatizing experience. It also sounded like an episode of “America's Funniest Home Videos.” “That's terrible,” I said.

“ So Anyway, I had to find a new job,” he continued. “I applied to be a server at Taco Bill's and to be a driver for Pizza Farm for some jobs, service industry kind of stuff, but I wasn't getting anything.”

“ You didn't want to tea ch art?” I asked.

“ No , I did . But no schools were hiring.” , He looked at me. “ A friend of mine told me about Prism needing teachers so I checked out their openings. They were hiring for a computer teacher. but I didn't get either. I was getting kind of desperate. So then I saw this ad that Prism needed a computer teacher.” ” He folded his arms across his chest. “ But I thought it was for the spring semester. It was so close to the start of school. I thought I could apply, talk my way into the job, then learn computers during the fall and be ready to go in the spring.” His shoulders sagged again. “So I came in for the interview and I...I guess I interviewed okay.”

“Don't take this the wrong way,” I said, bewildered. “But weren't you asked questions about computers? Or about your job history? ”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. But I just sort of fudged my answers. I really wanted needed the job.” He swallowed. “And then I got the call that I was hired. And that I had to start the following week. It wasn't for spring. It was for fall.” He paused. “I wasn't ready.”

I watched him stare at his lap. He was clearly a guy who was overwhelmed the moment. I knew that people lied all of the time on their resumes in order to get jobs, but I just couldn't believe that he'd fibbed well enough to slide into a teaching position. He was either a terrific liar or the interview process had been more than a little flawed.

“But I didn't want to lose the job,” he said. “I needed it. I wanted it. So I said yes. And I immediately enrolled in some online classes so I could learn fast.” His cheeks reddened. “But I know I'm behind the curve. I'm going as fast as I can.” He looked at me. “The thing on Saturday nights? It's a Microsoft class that I take online and you have to be online for the both the lecture and the exam. I can't not be on there.”