Mitch smelled the pie again.
“So, let him off the hook,” she coaxed. “Go easy on him. Okay?”
“Is this a bribe?” Mitch held up the pie. “Is this supposed to make me a gracious loser? Because without Cal, I will lose. He seems to know something about everything.” A ray of sun emerged from a cloud and struck his face.
“I know someone else who knows something about everything,” Bryony said. “He reads the newspaper and completes crossword puzzles every morning.”
“Who?” Mitch looked at her sideways.
“His name is Mister Parker. He’s a voracious reader.”
“Is he reliable?”
“Like a Rolex.” Bryony knew all of her brother’s deepest desires.
“Let me know if he’s interested.” Mitch walked toward the building, raising the pie. “Thanks for this, and Bryony?”
She waited.
“Don’t get too attached. He’s leaving at the end of the school year.”
When would he stop treating her like she was fifteen?
Bryony made it to the corner at the end of the drive by the time Cal arrived. They passed as she pulled onto the street and he into the driveway. He waved with a puzzled look on his face as she continued without stopping and drove away. She had wanted to avoid seeing him because he would wonder why she was there, and she didn’t want to lie to him, by omission or otherwise.
She hoped her gesture with Mitch might ease Cal’s day. She would do anything she could to help him.
CAL PUSHES PRINCIPLE
Cal watched Bryony’s car exit the school drive and disappear from view. She must have known she would miss his morning coffee run. What was she doing at the school, and why had she left right when he arrived? Had he offended her? Or worse, had she reached the end of her ability to tolerate his mega ability to meta communicate? He should tone it down. Good thing he would be gone for the weekend. She probably needed the rest.
A minute before the start of first period, Mitch came to the door of Cal’s classroom and asked him to step into the hall.
“Am I in trouble?” Cal asked as he quietly closed the door behind him.
“My sister brought a pie to me today to manipulate me into being nice to you. She confirmed with me that you two are officially dating now. What happens when you leave? You’ll break her heart, and she’ll quit the measly job she has and end up on the street.”
“You’re making me late for my class to talk about this?” They were in a sitcom, right? Cue the laugh track.
“What are your intentions, Forster?”
“My intentions?” They’d already been over this. “My intention is to spend some time with your sister to get to know her.” He enunciated like he was talking to someone new to English. “She knows the score, Mitch. If I leave in June, no harm, no foul.” The football metaphors were beginning to wear on him, but he used them anyway, so Bryony’s brother might finally hear him.
Mitch seemed to deliberate, started to speak, stopped himself, appeared to think again, and finally said, “I want you to know I talked to Justin Hicks. He won’t be bothering your student anymore.”
“How do you know?” Cal asked, unfazed by Mitch’s absurd cross-examination, his frenetic pace. He’d never met the person who could outstrip the speedy lane-change of his own thoughts.
“I told him I would talk to his father if I heard any additional complaints about his behavior. I used to coach his dad. Great football player with good values, but he can be a mean son of a gun. You don’t want to cross him.”
Cal winced. What was life like for young Justin at home?
Mitch started to leave, but turned back. “Another thing. Did you help your students register to vote?”
That again. “I did not,” Cal answered.
“You didn’t?” Mitch looked puzzled. “Are you telling me you didn’t order your students to register to vote or risk having their grades lowered?”
“I can deny the allegation with a clear conscience,” Cal said. “I would never lower my students’ grades for any heartfelt desire on my part, no matter how civic-minded.”
Footsteps ran around the corner behind Cal.
“Walk!” Mitch commanded.
The footsteps slowed, and a short kid with red hair fast-walked past them, his head down.
“I had two parents call and express concern,” Mitch said. “One of them sits on the school board. How is it they both called and told me basically the same story?”
Cal shifted back and forth on his feet, quelling his snarky side. “I did offer my eighteen-year-old students extra credit for presenting evidence they were registered. I offered the same extra credit for those under eighteen if they wrote an essay on voting rights.”
Mitch scratched his arm. “Yeah, they did say something like that, but it seems these parents have a legitimate concern. A few years back, a school teacher ran into legal problems because she helped her students register to vote.”
“I know about the case,” Cal said. “The teacher ran afoul of a ludicrous regulation, in another state, enacted to suppress voters.”
“There are no laws to suppress voters,” Mitch said.
After thirty years of teaching, Cal had reached the point where the ignorance of administrators failed to hook him. He was not going to argue voter suppression with Mitch any more than he would argue whether the world was flat or round. “Reading about the earlier case inspired me to take action,” Cal said. “I checked. I am not breaking any laws.”
