SCHOOL DAYZ

 

 

By:  Kenda

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1

     

 

     A.J.'s hand groped for the 'Off' button on his clock radio.  He gave it three whacks before realizing it wasn't his alarm that was ringing, but rather the telephone at his bedside.  As he struggled to raise himself onto one elbow his eyes landed on the bright red digits that told him it was five thirty-seven a.m.

 

     Who the hell could be calling me this early on a Tuesday morning?

 

     A.J.'s mouth was dry and his tongue thick with sleep. "Lo?" 

 

     The voice on the other end was far too perky for the blond man's tastes this early in the day. 

 

     "A.J.?  Did I wake you?"

 

     Although A.J. wasn't sure whom the female person was he was now engaged in conversation with, he had the good grace to be polite.  "No, no.  You didn't."

 

     A melodious laugh tickled the phone line.  "You liar.  I can tell by your voice that you were sound asleep.   What happened?  With me no longer in the neighborhood to be your running buddy have you given up doing your four mile circuit each morning at dawn?"

 

     A.J.'s brain became more alert upon assimilating the clues the woman dropped.  "Stacy?"

 

     "Yes, it's me.  Your old neighbor and running partner, Stacy Patterson."

 

     "How are you?"  A.J. automatically asked.  It had yet to register with the private detective that this early morning phone call was out of the ordinary.  Although he and his former neighbor had indeed jogged together, they had never been more than friends who parted ways each weekday morning as they came to their own doorsteps.  A.J. had been sorry to see Stacy leave the Grand Canal a year earlier.  Among other things, she had been a loyal neighbor who watched over his house whenever he was involved on a job that kept him away several nights in a row. 

 

     "I'm fine, A.J.  How about yourself?"

 

     "I'm okay."

 

     "I read about you and Rick every now and again in the papers.   How is my favorite cowboy?"

 

     "Rick’s doing good. He'd still be trying to convince you to go out with him if he could get me to tell him your new address."

 

     Stacy laughed.  "Let's both keep him guessing then.  Especially because along with my new address, there's now a new husband who wouldn't appreciate the undivided attention Rick was always willing to lavish on me."

 

     "Really?  Congratulations, Stacy.  That's great."

 

     "Thank you.  Paul and I are very happy.  But now that we've gotten caught up with each other, I need to get to the reason for my call."

 

     "I was wondering about that."

 

     "Listen, A.J., do you remember...ooooh, about four years ago when I let you and Rick hide out in my house for a week?"

 

     A sudden feeling of trepidation overtook the blond man. 

 

     "Ummm...yes.  Yes, I do."

 

     “And then that guy shot all the windows out of it when he discovered where the two of you were?"

 

     "Uh...yes, I seem to recall that incident."

 

     "And do you remember that, despite the fact I'm deathly allergic to dogs, I allowed Rick to bring Marlowe with him, only to spend the whole week with a runny nose and watery, scratchy eyes?"

     "Well...uh...yeah, I seem to remember you were pretty miserable."   

     "And do you remember how Marlowe chased my cat Pebbles all around the house and worked her into such a frenzy that she spent the next month hiding in my clothes hamper?"

 

     "Mmmmm, yes, now that you mention it, I do remember that being a problem."

 

     "And do you recall you and Rick assuring me you'd repay me in any way you could, any time I asked a favor of either one of you?"

     Suddenly, there was nothing A.J. Simon hated worse than a woman calling to collect on a favor.       

 

     "Uh, yes.  Yes, I do recall Rick saying something to that effect."

 

     "No, mister, not just Rick.  You said it as well.  You both said it.  Which is why I'm calling.  I need a favor."

 

     The brightness A.J. managed to muster could have lit up the San Diego skyline.  "Sure, Stacy, no problem.  What do you need us to do?"

 

     "Substitute teach."

 

     "What?"

 

     "Substitute teach."

 

     Stacy Patterson, now Stacy Patterson Barrington, was the thirty-nine year old principal of a small, private elementary school called Heritage Academy that housed grades kindergarten through sixth.  A.J. was vaguely aware of its reputation based on things Stacy had told him in the past, and articles he occasionally read in the paper.  If he ever married and had children it would be a place he'd seriously consider looking into.  While tuition was fairly expensive, the school prided itself on the small size of its classrooms, the individual attention the teachers were able to give the students, its outstanding academic program, and the standards of discipline set forth by the parents and staff. 

 

     For now, A.J. wasn't too concerned about those issues.  "Stacy, I'm not a teacher!  And Rick certainly isn't either."

 

     "You don't have to be a teacher to substitute teach, A.J.  All the state of California requires is that you have a bachelor's degree.  It doesn't make any difference what that degree is in.  It could be in Foreign Cuisine for all it matters in terms of being able to sub."

 

     "That's fine in regard to myself then, I suppose.  But Rick doesn't have a college degree."

 

     "I know that.  But if you don't tell anyone, I won't.  Please, A.J., I'm desperate."

 

     "What do you mean you're desperate?  What's going on?"

 

     "You’ve heard about the flu virus that's been going around the country, haven’t you?"

     "Yes.  There's been quite a lot on the news about it this past week."

     "More than a quarter of my teachers are out sick with it.  And yet amazingly enough, the kids seem to be fairly resilient to it as very few of them have been ill.  If we had a lot of absences amongst the children I'd close the school for a few days, but since they're healthy and able to attend I hate to force us to deal with make-up days at the end of the year.  Please, please, please, you guys would be doing me a huge favor by showing up in my office at eight o'clock this morning.  And you do owe me one."

 

     "Yes, we do," A.J. reluctantly agreed.  "All right. You win.  I'll get a hold of Rick and we'll be there at eight."

 

     "Thanks, A.J.  Thanks a million!  I love you guys!  See you at eight."

 

     The connection was broken before A.J. could voice the numerous doubts running through his mind.  He laid back against his pillows and punched a number into the pad on the phone's push-button receiver.

 

     Rick's voice sounded just as sleepy as A.J.'s own had five minutes earlier. 

     "Hey, Rick.  Up and at 'em!  Rise and shine!  I'll be over to pick you up at seven-thirty.  I just got a call about a job.  We've got to be there at eight."

     "A job?"  Rick questioned around what sounded like a mouth full of sock fuzz.  "What job?  I donno nothin' about no job we had scheduled for today."

 

     "You'd better brush up on your grammar there, big brother.  Double negatives in one sentence will never do for this job."

 

     "What the hell are you talkin' about?  What job?"

 

     "Just be ready at seven-thirty."

 

     Rick was doing nothing more than yelling at a dial tone as he shouted,  "A.J.!  A.J.!   A.J., what the hell is this all about?"   

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

     Despite Rick's insistent pestering, A.J. wouldn't reveal any details about their spur-of-the-moment job, nor where they were going.  When they pulled into the Heritage Academy parking lot at seven fifty-five Rick looked around with puzzlement.

 

     "What are we doin' here?"

     "This is where our job is."

 

     "Job?"  Rick snorted.  "As what?  Teachers?"

 

     A.J. shot his brother a sly smile as they climbed out of the Camaro. 

 

     Rick paused in the act of following his sibling.  "A.J., no.  You're not serious."

 

     A.J. led the way to the building's main entrance.  Children's shouts and cries echoed from the school's playground.  

 

"I didn't even say anything."

 

     "You didn't have to.  What other kinda job could we possibly be takin' in a school?"  Rick's hand shot out to snare his brother by the upper arm.  "Come on.  What's going on here?"

 

     "You remember my old neighbor Stacy Patterson?"

 

     Rick's eyes lit up.  "Sure I do.  She was one hot chick.  Man, I tried my darndest to get a date with that woman."

 

     "Yes, you did.  And if they gave a grade for effort in that area you'd have gotten an A plus.  Regardless, if you recall, she's the principal here."

 

     "Oh yeah.  I guess she is."

 

     "Well, at the moment she's in need of substitute teachers."

 

     "Substitute tea...!  A.J., we're not teachers!  I don't know the first thing about--"

 

     A.J. freed his arm, grabbed his brother by the shirtfront, and pulled him along.   "Neither do I.  But it looks like we're going to get our first lesson shortly."

 

     "But I can't--"

 

     "Rick, think back about four years.  Stacy let us stay in her house for a week.  All the windows were shot out.  She was allergic to Marlowe.  He chased her cat all over and practically gave the poor thing a nervous breakdown, and then--"

 

     "And then we told Stacy we owed her a favor," Rick finished lamely.  "Great.  How come every time we owe someone a favor it turns out to be something like this?  I mean, we're private investigators for cryin' out loud!  Why couldn't she just ask us to investigate something?"

 

     "Because this is what she asked us to do, therefore, we're going to do it."  A.J. dropped his hand from Rick's shirt only to turn and give his brother a meaningful stare.  "And to the best of our abilities.  No fooling around on this one, Rick.  I don't want you to be the cause of any trouble for Stacy."

 

     "Me?  The cause of trouble?  What makes you say a thing like that?"

 

     "Because ever since you were five years old you haven't been able to enter a school building without causing trouble of some kind."

 

     "You're right on that account, little brother," Rick smiled in fond memory.  "Did you know my kindergarten teacher took early retirement because of me?"

 

     "No, I didn't know that.  But for some reason the news doesn't come as a big surprise."

 

     A.J. straightened the collar of Rick's khaki work shirt in an attempt to make him look as presentable as possible before they entered the building.  "Oh, and by the way, Stacy's married now."

 

     Rick rolled his eyes as A.J. pulled open the double doors. 

 

     "Figures."

 

 

________________

    
    

     The brothers entered a spacious foyer that smelled of floor polish and Lysol.  Hallways painted bright yellow branched off in three directions and were alive with children's artwork.   Stacy was waiting outside the school office that was located to the left of the entrance.  She stood five foot six in her low-heeled cranberry pumps, and was just as attractive as Rick remembered her being.  Her platinum hair was naturally curly, falling in tight ringlets to the middle of her back.   Her clear complexion was as light as her hair, and she possessed the high prominent cheekbones and pale blue eyes of her Norwegian ancestors.  She was stylishly dressed in a white silk blouse, and in a long skirt and flowing tunic blazer that matched the color of her shoes.

 

     Stacy exchanged warm greetings with the two men then led them toward her office.  "I really appreciate you guys showing up this morning.  Especially on such short notice.  I hope it doesn't cause problems at your business."

 

     "No," A.J. assured,  "it doesn't.  We're between cases right now, and just in the act of cleaning up some paperwork.  School gets out at what?"

 

     "Three thirty." 

 

     "Three thirty," A.J. repeated.  "That will allow Rick and me plenty of time to stop at the office and put in a few hours of work if necessary."

 

     "You gotta be kiddin' me?"  Rick moaned.  "You expect me to work here, and then go to the office, too?"

 

     Stacy shook her head and chuckled.  "I can tell not a whole lot has changed since the last time I saw the two of you."  She indicated for the brothers to take seats across from her desk as she shuffled through some papers.  "If it helps any, you will of course, get paid for the time you put in here.  The going rate for subs is twelve dollars an hour."

 

     "Geez, if Id'a known you get paid that good for substitute teaching Id'a looked into it a long time ago."

 

     The principal glanced over at the lanky detective.  "Don't let yourself be fooled, Rick.  It's not an easy job.  You'll be thrust into a classroom full of little faces whose names you can't remember, while at the same time trying to figure out where they are in their lessons and what their normal routine is."

 

     "Yeah, well, I kinda figured you wanted me to be the gym teacher, so what's the big deal about havin' a buncha kids do a few jumpin' jacks and take a couple laps around the basketball court?"

 

     "More than you can imagine, but that's beside the point.  The gym teacher is healthy."

 

     Rick couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice.  "He is?"

 

     "She.  Miss Witt is a she.  And yes, she's one of the few healthy teachers I currently have on staff."  Stacy stood back and grinned like the Cheshire cat.  "No, Rick, I have something better in mind for you.  Much better."

 

     Rick's, "What?"  was wary and small.

 

     "You're going to take over Mrs. Dunford's class."

 

     "Mrs. Dunford?"

 

     "Yes, Mrs. Dunford.  She's one of our first grade teachers."

 

     "First grade!  Oh, no.  No.  Now look here, Stacy, I don't know anything about first graders.  I mean, they're just little kids."  Rick used a big hand to gesture low to the ground.  "Just tiny little kids.  I might hurt 'em or somethin'."

 

     "For heaven's sake, Rick, they're children, not china dolls.  You won't hurt them.  Besides, they'll love you."

     "Love me?"

 

     "Sure, Rick," A.J. grinned as he gleefully agreed with Stacy,  "they'll love you.  All little kids do."

 

     "I don't need any help from you," Rick growled at his brother.  "And speaking of you..." The detective looked to Stacy once more.  "If I'm teachin' first grade, what exactly is A.J. teaching?"

 

     "Fifth and sixth grade health classes."

 

     "Health class?"  A.J. questioned.  "You mean like First Aid, proper nutrition, things of that nature?"

 

     Stacy's answer was brief and vague.  "Yes, exactly.  Things of that nature."

 

     "Well...I suppose I can do that." 

 

     Despite A.J.'s words of agreement, doubt was clearly etched on the brothers’ faces.

 

     "Look, guys, I realize neither one of you are teachers.  But I also wouldn't have called upon you if I didn't have confidence you could do the jobs I've just outlined for you.  You guys are smart.  You're used to winging it.  Playing all kinds of roles.  Just think of this as another P.I. job.  Please?"

 

     Neither Rick nor A.J. had ever been able to refuse a damsel in distress.  Especially one to whom they owed so much. 

 

     "All right," A.J. reluctantly conceded,  "I'll do my best. 

 

     "Yeah, me too.  I'll give it a go."

 

     "Great," Stacy smiled.  "And really, I promise, it won't be difficult.  On the whole, our kids here at Heritage are very well behaved.  I don't foresee them giving you too many problems."

 

     Stacy looked up to see more substitutes milling in the outer office amongst the secretaries.  "Listen, guys, I hate to rush you like this, but I've got other people I have to talk to before classes start at eight-thirty.   I need to show you to your rooms.  You'll find the teacher's lesson plan book in the top desk drawer.  That should give you a good start in terms of what things the class is currently working on."

 

     Stacy ushered the hesitant men out the door.  With a quick glance over her shoulder Stacy told her secretary,  "I'll be right back."

 

     Rick and A.J. asked a few hurried questions as they scampered along behind the woman.  She quickly answered their inquiries while indicating where the rest rooms were located, and in which direction the cafeteria could be found.   She left Rick outside his classroom, and did no more than point the way down the hall for A.J. 

 

     "Hang a right at the end of this hallway, A.J., then a left at the next corridor.  You want room 203.  It will be the third one on your right.  The fifth and sixth graders rotate classrooms like kids do in junior high and high school, so you don't need to go get them, they'll come to you.  However, you do have a homeroom."

 

     "You mean a group of kids who will report to my class first thing for attendance?"

 

     "That's correct.  They will also be your first class of the day."  Stacy gave both men an encouraging smile.  "I need to get back to the office.  Good luck."

 

     "Wait, Stacy!"  Rick called.

 

     "Stacy!"  A.J. echoed.  "Stacy, wait!"

 

     The woman waved over her shoulder before turning a corner and disappearing from sight.  The detectives stared after her in dismay.

 

     Right before he stepped into his classroom Rick said,  "A.J.?"

 

     "Yes?"

 

     "The next time your phone rings early in the morning?"

 

     "Yes?"

 

     "Don't answer it."

 

     With a heavy sigh, A.J. turned and headed for his own classroom.

    

      

 

Chapter 3

          

    

     The girl's agitation was plain to see as she twisted a long strand of her thick, walnut hued hair around one finger and brought it to her mouth.  The powerful gasoline fumes caused her head to ache and her stomach to roll.

 

     "Bobby...Bobby, please let me open the garage door."

 

     The wiry man's dirty blond hair stood up on his scalp in greasy spikes.  A three day growth of beard circled his mouth like fuzzy caterpillars, and his eyes were puffy and rimmed red from lack of sleep.  He was bent over a workbench in the narrow garage, carefully transferring gasoline from a bright red container to an empty plastic gallon milk jug.   

 

     "No, goddamn it!  How many times do I have to tell you no!"

 

     Bobby's fury caused the girl to take a step back.  She rubbed a hand over the small protrusion around her midsection.  "Please, Bobby, the baby."

 

     Even the mention of his unborn child couldn't bring serenity to the thirty-three year old man.  "Then git your ass in the house for all I care!  Git the hell outta here!  I'll do this myself if I have to!  Dammit, the last thing I need is you whinin' at me right now, Geneva!  You got that?"

 

     Geneva Masters reached out a tentative hand and lightly touched her husband's shoulder.  "Please, sweetheart.  Come inside and get some rest.  Just take a little nap.  You'll feel a lot better if--"

 

     Bobby jerked away of his wife’s hand. "Leave me alone!" His arm swung up so fast Geneva didn't have time to duck.  The back of his hand crashed against her cheekbone, causing Geneva’s vision to blur.  At five foot seven inches tall and one hundred and thirty-five pounds, Bobby Masters was far from a large man.  But years of hard labor in factories had left him lean and strong.  His powerful blow sent Geneva reeling into his tool bench with a pain-filled cry. The wrenches that fell to the concrete floor with a resounding clatter seemed of more concern to Bobby Masters than the fact that he'd just struck his pregnant wife.

 

     Bobby looked up from where he was crouched down gathering the tools and pointed a stern finger.  "Now don't you go cryin.’  I don't wanna hear it, Geneva.  I warned you!  You made me do that, dammit!  I warned you to leave me be, but you didn't listen, did you?  The Lord sayeth, Wives obey your husbands.  Now git yourself in the house like I said and leave me the hell alone!"

 

     Geneva cupped her swelling cheek as she scampered out of her husband's sight.  She ran into the one bedroom bungalow they were renting through the door that connected the home to the garage.  When she reached the safety of the bathroom she slumped down on the lip of the tub and began to sob.  She massaged her belly as though trying to offer her five-month-old fetus solace from all that was going wrong in their world.

 

     "He...he...he told me things would be different," the girl confided to her child in a voice made uneven and shaky by her tears.  "He said he was go...go...go...going to take me a...a...away from the beatings my step...stepfather was always giving me and the...the...the things he was always make...make...making me do.  But no matter how hard I try to be...be...be a good wife to him noth...noth...nothing changes.  He's...he's...he's just like Hank."

 

       When she'd cried until she had no tears left, Geneva rose to wash her face over the white sink stained orange from rusty water.  She studied herself in the mirror, seeing the ugly discoloration of her cheek.  She wondered how at just nineteen, she could look so old.  She'd been pretty once.  Or at least she remembered thinking she was until her mother married Hank when she was eight.  From then on she'd simply felt dirty.  Dirty and cheap, just like Hank was always telling Geneva she was whenever he made her come into his bedroom while her mother pretended to be ignorant of what was going on behind the closed door.

 

     Bobby had promised Geneva he'd make her feel pretty again, and sometimes he did.  But lately, the temper he'd always possessed had a frightening edge to it, and seemed to have magnified itself into proportions even he couldn't control.  He went around the house mumbling strange things, too, verses from the Bible he claimed, while talking of things called the Apocalypse and Armageddon.

 

     Geneva ran a hand over her stomach one last time and felt the baby kick.  Despite the pain radiating from the right side of her face, she smiled at the little life that meant so much to her.

 

     "It's okay, baby, your mama's here.  Mama loves you, baby.  Mama loves you.  Mama’s love will always be enough to get us through the difficult times, sweetie. Mama’s love will always be enough."

 

     Geneva’s words of assurance caused tears to trickle down her face again because, deep inside, she was well aware that even a mother didn’t always have the power to keep bad things from happening.

 

 

Chapter 4

    

 

     Rick laid his cowboy hat on a corner of the teacher's desk, then stood outside his classroom awaiting the arrival of his little pupils.  At eight twenty-five a bell rang that echoed throughout the hallways and onto the playground.  In short order Rick could hear the children spilling into the building.  Like well-trained cattle, the kids herded themselves in the direction of their classrooms.  If need be, they broke off from various friends with a quick goodbye and a promise to see one another at lunchtime.

 

     Rick hadn't gotten any farther into Mrs. Dunford's itinerary than to determine he had twenty six-year-olds in his charge.  He stood tall and straight against the open door leading to his classroom.  The first of the children slowed as they approached this strange man, who looked so much different from the elderly teacher they were used to.  Mrs. Dunford barely tipped the scales at ninety pounds, and in her orthopedic shoes stood no more than four foot ten.  At sixty-four years old she still possessed a rich peaches and cream complexion, and was as soft spoken and proper as an English nanny.

 

     Three little girls grouped themselves in a tight triangle as though they had Velcro sewn on their clothes.  Their eyes rose with trepidation. They slid past the unsmiling Rick, then raced for their desks as if being chased by the big bad wolf.  They cupped their hands around their mouths and whispered to one another. 

 

     "He's a man."

 

     "He's a giant."

 

     "His hair's not white like Mrs. Dunford's."

 

     "He doesn't have any hair, and I think he looks mean."

 

     The other children arrived in two's and three's as well.  They all blended together in Rick's mind in a blur of confusing brown faces and yellow faces and white faces.   Eyes in all shades of blue, brown, green, and hazel had looked up at Rick with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

 

     As the last child scampered past the detective, the eight-thirty bell rang signaling the start of classes.  Rick nervously cleared his throat and glanced down the hall two more times with the hope Stacy would magically appear and tell him he could go home.  When that action was not forthcoming, Rick had no choice but to enter the classroom and close the door.

 

     Rick crossed over to the teacher's desk and stood behind it.  He looked out over the classroom.  The children stared back at him in silence, their little hands folded on top of their desks like Mrs. Dunford had taught them to do while awaiting her instructions. The tiny children seated before him in their miniature desks made the six foot two inch Rick feel like a giant among the Lilliputians.

 

     The detective was finally forced to break the unnerving silence.  He cleared his throat one last time.  "Uh...uh...good morning, class."

 

     As one, the children chorused,  "Good morning, Mr..."

 

     That was as far as they got before trailing off in confused chaos.  Some of the children stopped there for lack of knowing what else to say, while some kept repeating the word mister, as though trying to give Rick the hint that he needed to supply them with his name. Two children simply finished their greeting by calling him Mr. Dunford.

 

     Giggles erupted amongst the children at that guffaw, and for the first time Rick smiled and relaxed a bit.  "No, no," he said. "My name isn't Mr. Dunford.  My name is Rick."

 

     Before Rick could say anymore a little girl's hand shot up in the air. 

 

     It took Rick a moment to realize she was waiting for him to call on her.  He pointed a finger.  "Uh...yes?"

     "Mrs. Dunford says it's not polite to call adults by their first names."

 

     "Oh...uh...she does, does she?" 

 

     "Yes," the pigtailed blond nodded authoritatively, "she does.  So you need to tell us your last name."

 

     Rick Simon wasn't much on formality, and hardly thought he could stand having twenty six-year-olds referring to him as Mr. Simon for the remainder of the day.  But on the other hand, he didn't want to get Stacy in any trouble, so reached a happy medium.  He walked over to the blackboard and picked up a piece of clean white chalk. In large block letters he printed, Mr. Rick.

 

     "There."  Rick turned around, wiping his hands together to free them of chalk dust.  "How about if you kids call me Mr. Rick while I'm here today?"

 

     Some of the children gave eager nods, while others exchanged confused glances or dubious shrugs.  But since Rick heard no protests he concluded all were in agreement.

 

     The detective leaned back against the desk and crossed his long legs in front of him, only to see another hand fly up in the air.  He pointed to a redheaded boy in the third row.

 

     "Yes, son?"

     "Are you a real cowboy, Mr. Rick?"

 

     Rick chuckled.  "No, I'm not a cowboy."

 

     Another hand shot up.

 

     "Yeah?"

 

     "Then how come you wear cowboy boots and have a cowboy hat, Mr. Rick?"

 

     "'Cause I like 'em, that's how come."

 

     A black girl raised her hand next.

 

     "Yeah?"

     "How come you don't wear a tie, Mr. Rick?  I thought all man teachers wore ties."

 

     "I don't like ties, that's how come."

 

     Before any more questions could be asked, Rick took charge of the room.  "Okay, now you guys know my name, so it seems only fair that I get to know yours."    

 

     The detective indicated to the first child in the first row.  "We'll start here and go around the room.  What's your name, sweetheart?"

 

     The ebony skinned little girl dipped her eyes and barely above a whisper answered, "LaKesha."

 

     "LaKesha," Rick repeated.  "Okay.  Next."

 

     The boy behind LaKesha said, "Stanford."

 

     "Stanford," Rick echoed.  Mentally he repeated, LaKesha and Stanford.

 

     "Okay, next."

 

     "Emily."

 

     LaKesha, Samuel...no, it wasn't Samuel, what was it?  Stanley?  Damn!  Oh, well, I just won't call on the kid.  LaKesha and Emily.

 

     "Next.  Just keep going, kids. Don't wait for me to ask you."

 

     "Autumn."

 

     "Zeke."

 

     LaKesha, Emily, Zeke...wait a second. I'm missing one.  What did she say her name was?  Spring...Summer...Fall?

 

     "Anisley."

 

     LaKesha, Emily, Zack...no Zeke I think, and...Amy?

 

     "Jedidiah."

 

     "Jeremiah.

     Great.  Just what I need.  Identical twins.

 

     "Chandler."

 

     "Jessica."

 

     LaKesha, Emily, Zeke, or maybe Zack, the twins, Chance...Charles...?  Jessica...

 

     "Nicholas."

 

     Soon the children got in a rhythm that Rick's brain had no hope of keeping up with. 

 

     "Olivia."

 

     "Micah."

 

     "Patton."

 

     "Sharrae."

 

     "Grant."

 

     Rick's head was spinning and he waved his hands in defeat.  "Hold it, hold it.  Stop right there." 

 

     Geez, don't people give their kids normal names anymore?  

 

     Rick looked around the room until he spotted a grouping of brightly colored plastic trays stacked on top of one another and lined up on a shelf by the windows.  Each tray was filled with paper.  Some trays contained lined writing paper, while others contained construction paper, while others held paper of various colors, textures, and thicknesses.  Rick walked over until he found what he was looking for.

 

     The little pigtailed blond who first pointed out to Rick that it was disrespectful to call adults by their first names, and whose name Rick thought was Emily, raised her hand.

 

     "Yes...uh...Emily?"

 

     "That's Mrs. Dunford's special pa