Dismantling Evan (29 page)

The hurt, the chaos, the bullying, every day... that isn’t fair.

My friends being hurt because of me... that isn’t fair.

From this, what could grow perhaps the greater though? That is what I would ask Tolkien if I had a moment with him. What greatness can come from this peril?

Finals are soon. Brody and I have worked out a studying schedule for me. “You need to be organized Gav,” he always says.

I have it pinned to my wall above my desk. I wanted him to set it in thirty minute increments rather than hour increments. It’s just the way I wanted it....he asked why and I told him not to. He didn’t ask again, he just did it. I asked where his was. He said that he was going to make his when he was done with mine. I guess he has. I don’t go in his room so I don’t know. I guess it is hard because of his work schedule at the shop too.

My thirty minute break between Science and History is almost up. I have ten minutes and thirty-three and a half seconds left on my break and I need to use the restroom and get a snack before I get back to studying.

Bye.

-G.F

“SETTLE DOWN, SETTLE DOWN,” MR. Thompson barks over the loud talking as he shuts the door behind him. I look over at Gavin and he is sitting up straight as a board, legs crossed at the ankles, reading Lord of the Rings: the Twin Towers.

“Hey Gavin, whatcha reading,” Spencer hisses then laughs.

“Probably that Lord of the Rings shit,” Chad snickers; they both chuckle.

I glance over at Gavin, he is oblivious to their nagging words.

“News flash, just watch the friggin’ movies, nerd,” Spencer says and they both chuckle louder.

“Asshole,” I say under my breath.

“Hey beautiful, nobody likes a foul mouth,” Spencer chides having heard my slip of the tongue.

“Not even Brody Ferguson,” Chad comments, getting in a dig.

“Yeah, Celine can tell you that,” Spencer covers his chuckle with his closed fist.

“Mr. Morietti and Mr. Schuster. What is the problem back there?” Mr. Thompson’s voice cuts their laughter short.

Spencer clears his throat. “No problem sir.”

“I am passing back the remainder of your assignments for the semester since you will need them to review for your final, which is in less than a month.” Mr. Thompson speaks to the entire class.

“I can assure you Mr. Morietti and Mr. Schuster, there will be very little to laugh about when you see your grades.”

Gavin puts his book mark in his book and closes it, placing it to the side of his desk as Mr. Thompson passes out the graded assignments.

The past three weeks I have noticed everyone becoming more focused on studying, school, reviewing, peer group meet-ups, and raised anxiety in general. I have also noticed that since the night in the shed, when Brody kissed me, he has been keeping his distance and, in turn, so has Gavin. After that night, I expected to see them at my work shed late at night or on the weekends. But, that never happened. Once I was tempted to knock on their door and see if Gavin wanted to come over so he could watch me enlarge the filmstrip of Hamilton Pool that Brody and I developed that night. It was quiet over there and Brody’s and his mother’s car was gone more often, so I talked myself out of it. I still haven’t developed the film.

So, Spencer’s and Chad’s comments about Brody not liking a foul mouth stings and is perfectly well timed to get under my skin, even though I know I have done nothing to make Brody and Gavin upset with me. I’m not alone in noticing Brody and Gavin’s absence. Nikki notices too; she sticks up for Brody, saying he is pulling more hours because of Christmas and his mother is working full time now to get benefits. Asher commented a few days ago about Brody only being able to study when he isn’t working or helping with Gavin. I can only imagine the limited studying time he has. I don’t think I could think about studying with all the shit he has on his shoulders.

I find myself thinking of that night again; the flirting conversation, talking about his name and mine, talking about Gavin, his father, my sheer embarrassment from him discovering that I am a self-proclaimed peeping Tom and surprise that he had wanted the window across from his to be mine. I am thinking about that tender kiss again when Mr. Thompson drops a stack of assignments on my desk. He does the same on Gavin’s.

I sift through mine: eighty-six percent, seventy percent, fifty-six percent, forty percent. I only get through half of them and quickly put the eighty-six at the top of the stack not wanting to peruse and see how much lower the percentages get beyond the forty.

Gavin glances across briefly then goes back to his own stack, holding them rigidly as he sifts through each of them. One of his feet begins to tap, nervously.

I put the stack in my binder and close it, not wanting to look at them again until I have to. Mom and Dad have been on my ass for the past two weeks. They notice my lack of motivation in the homework front. After my Hamilton Pool adventure, with the not-so good influences in my life, Mom called, but couldn’t get an appointment with, Mrs. Larson until this weekend, tomorrow actually. Honestly, it has been three weeks since the damn pool thing, but each week becomes more urgent as alerts for my grades start trickling into their email boxes. The dark circles under my eyes from the days on and off sleep are getting obvious even to me. Under Mom’s watchful eye, I take the pills, but hide them in my mouth then spit them out in the toilet morning and night; day dose of antidepressant, night dose of Xanax to sleep. My two little pills fare nothing compared to the number of pills Gavin needs, truly needs, to function.

Gavin is still sitting stiffly in his chair, leg shaking vigorously; his eyes scan each assignment as he sifts through them one by one, first slowly, then quicker. Mr. Thompson starts distributing another packet, saying, as he snakes between the aisles, “Take this review packet and use your assignments to fill it in. Find the answers to the numerous questions you got wrong on the assignments, then study it like your life depends on it. Seventy-five percent of the test is going to be on factual definitions and figurative language, straight from this semester’s assignments. The other twenty-five percent will be based on your analysis of William Shakespeare’s Hamlet. You won’t know the topic until the exam is in front of you, however, you will have seen parts of the topic in the review. I suggest you form a peer group and work together.”

“Gav, you all right?” I ask in a low tone. Mr. Thompson places a packet on my desk then Gavin’s, and stands before us both. He looks from me to Gavin and says, “I’m surprised Gavin. I thought recommending you for senior English was the right choice.”

Gavin looks up from his paper and directly at Mr. Thompson. The hurt in his eyes is crushing.

“I’m not sure you will be successful in this class, Mr. Ferguson,” Mr. Thompson continues. I hear Spencer snicker then cough to mask his laughter at Gavin’s expense.

“I... I am sorry Mr. Thompson. I will do better. Please...” Gavin’s plea is clipped with emotion. Emotion that isn’t typical of Gavin. Emotion that is bordering sadness and anger, aggression even.

Mr. Thompson takes it a step further, “Until you can take your education seriously Mr. Ferguson, I don’t think...”

“Are you kidding me?” I ask, astounded at the arrogance of Mr. Thompson. “Do you even have a clue as to what Gavin has to overcome? He is the most brilliant kid in this class, and you are criticizing him for...” I take the stack of papers from Gavin and look at them one by one. “They are all average grades, except for one or two!”

“Ms. Phillips, you of all people shouldn’t be lecturing me on anyone’s average. Yours is nothing to write home about,” Mr. Thompson scoffs, and returns his gaze to Gavin.

I’m not going to let him do this, not in front of everyone. “So instead you take pleasure in ridiculing students because of your own shortcomings. If you can’t do, teach, right?”

“Ms. Phillips, I suggest you shut your mouth before you get yourself into trouble!”

It is a free-falling spiral and there is no looking back now. “You have no idea what some of your students go through out of the classroom, do you, Mr. Thompson? What home lives we have, what responsibilities we are given, how much pressure we are under...”

Someone calls from the back of the room, “Shut up,” but all that does is spur me on, taking it out on Mr. Thompson. “What pain some of us suffer daily because of a condition we might have that isn’t accepted by others. Do you have any idea how mundane your assignments and semester final is in the grand scheme of some of our lives?”

“I’m sure the most you have to worry about Ms. Phillips is if you will take whip or no whip on your Starbuck’s latte.” His ridicule gets a peppering of light laughter and chatter throughout the classroom.

“You are fucking wrong!” I yell, startling Mr. Thompson.

“Get out!”

I take hold of my binder, slide out of my chair, and move up the aisle; Mr. Thompson walks, parallel to me, toward the front of the classroom, stopping at his desk to get a slip; pink slip probably. “I won’t have a student talk to me about life like they have any clue...”

I laugh at the fact that he is going to hand me a slip and the fact that he thinks he can dictate to anyone about life. “No! You have no clue, Mr. Thompson. You live in your small stagnant little world without a clue or care for the lives of those around you!” I get closer to him and lower my voice, making sure not to lose the heat in my voice. “You don’t know Gavin Ferguson, Mr. Thompson. You don’t know any of us or what we go through outside of these school walls.”

He turns back to his desk and scribbles something on a light pastel sheet.

No shit; it is a pink slip.
I glance at the classroom, every student is staring at me like I am an alien that has just come down from outer space. My eyes fix on Gavin, his are wider than wide as he bends over, picks up his book, and puts it into his binder. The bell rings for dismissal just as Mr Thompson rips the pink sheet from the notepad; I snatch the slip from his hand, nearly attacking it, then charge the door before anyone else attempts to move.

As I sit, waiting to see Mrs. Warren my counselor, Mr. Thompson surfaces from her office and doesn’t give me a second glance as he walks past Mrs. Warren appears at the door and gestures for me to come in. Once I’m seated, Mrs. Warren returns to her chair and rests her elbows on her desk.

“What type of reaction were you expecting to get by using profanity with your teacher, Ms. Phillips?”

I don’t respond right away, so she takes the opportunity to glance at the computer screen to her left. “I’m looking at our online grade reporting system. Looks like you have been falling behind in your classes.” She looks up at me. “You are passing your classes, but only by the skin of your teeth.”

She takes her glasses off and rubs the soft, dark circled area around her eyes. “Have you considered college, Evan? I know I have asked you this before and to be honest with you I was hoping I would have seen you show more interest by now.”

I don’t say a word, not out of spite but frustration.

She sits back in her chair and crosses her arms. “I have called your parents.”

Shit!

“They said you have an appointment with your psychiatrist tomorrow and they plan to bring up today’s events.”

Silence...

“Look Evan, you are almost eighteen years old and from what I gather you could be a bright girl...”

Could be?

“...if you applied yourself, which you are not. I have an entire body of students on my radar. I just can’t focus on every single student in this school and motivate them to care...”

“Care. You don’t think I care?” My words catches her off guard. “Let me tell you something about caring. I couldn’t care less about me right now, but one person that I care about is Gavin Ferguson, because he is suffering, Mrs. Warren.”

She shakes her head. “We aren’t talking about Gavin Ferguson Evan, we are talking about you.”

“No! You want to know why I said what I did to Mr. Thompson? It is because he was pressuring him in the middle of class about his less than perfect grades. That paired with Spencer Morietti’s and Chad Schuster’s never-ending ridicule. They target him, Mrs. Warren, because of the way he is. How different he is, and Mr. Thompson did it in the middle of class without even considering why.”

“Why? What should he have considered, Evan?” she asks, exasperated as she re-stacks the labeled student files by her side.

“He should have considered our lives outside of these walls! You should consider our lives outside of these walls!”

“Look young lady, you don’t know what I consider on a daily basis as I try and play catch up with students all over this school.”

I know she is overworked, but is that an excuse worth leaving someone in the dust, swept under the rug, slipping through the cracks, and being lost in a sea of social ignorance and intolerance? Because that is where Gavin is. That is where I have been, but it isn’t about me right now. It is about him and I’m not about to let it go.

“Gavin is slipping through the cracks Mrs. Warren! Why were all the resources for him taken away?”

She tosses her pencil on the table, “They weren’t taken away by me, Ms. Phillips. The district, positions were cut and so were the resources. It wasn’t my choice to take them away. If I could have it my way, Gavin would have an assistant teacher to aid him through the day-to-day routines at school, but unfortunately that has fallen upon his brother’s shoulders. And, it is unfortunate because Brody Ferguson had everything going his way up until a year and a half ago. He was captain of the football team, had a girlfriend, was doing well academically. Now, he will be lucky if he graduates.”