Homeroom K (preview!)
Fandom: The Pacific
Rating: Pg? G?
Summary: Andrew Haldane is the school counselor at the Hemingway Academy for Boys. Eddie applied to the school as the new music teacher but between one thing and another is taken on as the new teacher of homeroom K. Andrew wants to make sure he knows what he's getting himself into.
From: Andrew
Time: 7:42am
The lights in the back corner of the library still haven’t been fixed. I assume the budget increase didn’t go through.
From: Dad
Time: 8:03am
Don’t they know the economy’s on the upswing?
From: Andrew
Time: 8:09am
I’ll try telling them that.
Financially, it’s not the Hemingway Academy for Boys’ best year ever. Never mind the lights in the library, they’ve just been told one’s getting a raise this year. Plans to renovate the auditorium have been put on hold. Chesty even mentioned they haven’t been able to bring in a new music teacher like they wanted to.
It’s the morning of the first day of school. Andrew’s been needing to talk to Ronnie Gibson, the teacher of homeroom K. He’s been emailing all the teachers over the course of the past week about setting up times to talk with their students. The Hemingway Academy wants the boys to feel comfortable going Andrew if they have a problem and places a lot of emphasis on him meeting each of them one-on-one, if only just to introduce himself. All the teachers have gotten back to him except for Ronnie, but that’s not surprising. Things have been rough for Ronnie lately, both at work and at home. Therefore Andrew’s not too surprised when he pokes his head into the classroom and standing there instead is a younger man about his own age.
“Good morning,” Andrew greets him.
The other man looks at him. “Good morning.” His voice has that slow and patient accent that draws out its vowels and adds extra syllables. A southern man, then.
“You filling in for Ronnie today?”
“Replacing him. Gibson quit.” The man reshuffles the stack of papers he’s been holding before setting them on the desk and looking up at Andrew. His gaze is intent. “I’m homeroom K’s new teacher.”
That’s how Andrew meets Eddie Jones, full time instructor of homeroom K and part time music teacher.
“They brought me in to be the new music teacher,” Eddie explains, moving around the room, straightening up. Andrew leans against his desk, arms folded, watching him. Eddie moves with precision and purpose. He knows exactly where he’s putting everything and why he’s putting it there. Andrew’s seen the type. “Five days ago, they tell me that they got some unexpected budget cuts on their hands and they can’t afford to take me on. Three days ago, they call me back and say one of the teachers quit, can I fill in.” He glances back at Andrew and smiles. “Here I am.”
“That’s quite the switch,” Andrew comments. “Going from music teacher to homeroom teacher.”
Eddie doesn’t look too concerned about it. “Gotta do what you gotta do.”
Andrew concedes the point. Eddie’s situation isn’t the first tightening of the financial belt they’ve seen and it certainly isn’t going to be the last. “I’ve got a free spot on Thursday,” Andrew says as they compare schedules. “Why don’t you start sending your boys around then.”
Andrew finds Eddie in the teacher’s lounge during lunch that first day. “Good morning so far?” he asks, sliding into the seat across from him. Eddie smiles a little.
“Alright.”
“Andrew!” They look up at the same time at the sound of a third voice. John Basilone is approaching them, a bright grin on his face. “How you been? How was your summer?” He grips Andrew’s hand firmly and it’s not an assertion of male dominance but of warm friendship because these two have missed each other over the past two months.
“It was good.” Andrew grips back just as hard and when John moves to sit next to him, Andrew feels himself being clapped on the back. “Eddie, this is John Basilone. He the gym teacher here. John, Eddie teaches in homeroom K.”
“Yeah? What happened to Ronnie? Nice to meet you,” John adds, extending his hand to Eddie.
“Likewise.” Eddie takes his hand and after they’ve shaken, he says “Gibson quit.”
“You serious?” John looks at Andrew. “Geez, Andrew, I knew things were bad but...”
Andrew doesn’t comment on this, just shrugs. Then he says “You have a good summer?”
“Ah, you know. Same old, same old. The family’s still crazy as ever.” John looks at him with the easy confidence that Andrew knows what he’s talking about and Andrew does. Andrew looks at Eddie.
“If Mrs. Basilone ever invites you over for dinner, I’d advise you clear your schedule.”
“Your wife?” Eddie asks, looking at John.
John laughs. “My ma.”
“On the subject of the wife you don’t have, how is Lena?”
John manages to not get all wistful and Andrew takes this as an improvement. “She’s good. I had coffee with her this morning.”
There’s a questioning look on Eddie’s face.“Lena Riggi runs the cafeteria,” Andrew explains. “John’s been after her for a while.”
“Ever since she got here,” John admits.
“When was that?” Eddie asks.
“Two years ago.”
“She’s been turning you down for two years?”
“Hey, it’s a process.” But John doesn’t look offended. “She’s doesn’t wanna rush into anything.”
“John’s a man of persistence.” Andrew’s tone is gently mocking but the truth is he has a lot of respect for the man currently seated on his right. John Basilone is a hell of a guy.
Maybe humming to yourself is undignified but Andrew’s doing it anyway. It’s after school on Tuesday and the day has a summer caliber to it and Andrew’s on his way home. He’ll hum if he wants to.
Something catches his eye as he passes homeroom K and stops him up short. Eddie’s standing in front of his desk, arms folded, looking straight ahead. Andrew cranes his neck a little and sees the room empty, save for a boy with curly, black hair sitting at his desk. Eddie doesn’t move. He seems to be waiting. Slowly, with defiant sort of laziness the boy picks up his pencil and waits.
“I,” Eddie beings and with a start, Andrew realizes that he’s been eavesdropping. He starts walking again. “will not throw erasers at my fellow students.” Andrew’s walking slower than strictly necessary because if he’s honest he wants to know how the new teacher’s handling what has to be one of his first disciplinary actions. Eddie’s voice echoes into the hallway firm and clear.
“Nor,” it continues, “will I throw anything at my fellow students” it pauses again so that what it’s just said may be copied down. “or otherwise... do anything... that may disrupt...the flow of class time.” There’s an especially long pause and Andrew’s is just about to start walking again when he hears it. “Nor will I ask... any of my classmates... if their carpets match their drapes.”
That makes Andrew stop. He turns and looks back towards the open doorway of homeroom K.
“Nor will I use any such language while I am at school.” There’s a pause. “Copy that out 100 times. When you’re done, start cleaning the board. Push all the chairs in before you leave.” Another pause. “You can start.”
It’s not until Thrusday’s counselling sessions that Andrew finds out that the boy’s name is Merriell Shelton.
Merriell is certainly something else; Andrew’ll give him that. He moves slowly but there’s nothing graceless or hesitant about it. When he looks at Andrew it’s from under heavily lidded eyes. Everything about him is guarded though Andrew would be hard pressed to tell you how he knows that. Merriell has none of Romus Burgin’s (“Burgy, sir.”) bright-eyed bashfulness or Robert Leckie’s borderline impertinent questions. Something about his manner, though, makes it plain that he runs on his schedule, not yours.
Given his file, Andrew can’t exactly say he’s surprised. The Shelton’s are hard-up and the only reason Merriell can afford to come here at all is because his grandfather left a nice little trust fund for his education.
“Sit down, Merriell.”
“Snafu.”
“Sorry?”
“You want me to answer, you call me Snafu.”
Andrew looks at him calmly. “You ask politely, I might consider it.”
For a beat, Snafu gazes back at him. Then he says “I wanna be called Snafu, sir. Si vous plait, sir.” His voice is southern too (his file says New Orleans) but where Eddie’s is patient and steady, Snafu has a slow-as-molasses drawl that makes everything he says sound cocky.
Andrew smiles. “I can do that Snafu. Why don’t you take a seat.”
Snafu sits.
“How’re you liking school so far?”
“I like it just fine.”
“Your aunt drove you today, didn’t she?”
“That she did.”
“How is she?”
“Just fiiine.” He drawls out the last word in a way that makes it pretty clear that whatever Andrew’s trying to do here, Snafu Shelton isn’t having it.
“You heard from your father lately?”
“What makes you think I’da heard from him?”
“Fathers worry when their children leave home.”
“Fuck that.” And Snafu watches him carefully when he says it, like he’s just daring Andrew to get angry, just daring Andrew to send him to the principal’s office. Andrew doesn’t.
“My father was worried about me,” he says instead, calm as ever.
“Well ain’t you lucky.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.” Andrew watches Snafu back for a moment before saying, “What about your mother?”
Snafu blinks lazily. He’s onto Andrew’s game, they both know that, but it’s not like Andrew’s trying to be subtle. Finally, he says “Yeah, she called.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Sex.” A slow smile splits Snafu’s face when he says it, daring Andrew again, taunting him. Andrew decides to let him run with the line.
“You find it informative?”
“Oh, it was real informative.”
“That’s some pretty valuable information you’ve got there,” Andrew comments. “I wouldn’t be too quick to share it with the other boys.”
“Can’t make things too easy for them now,” Sanfu agrees.
Andrew sees on the clock on the wall above Snafu’s head that it’s almost lunch time. “Why don’t we stop there for today,” he says. “It was nice meeting you Snafu.”
Snafu slides off his seat. “Guess I’ll see you around.”
“Snafu?” Andrew calls just before Snafu’s out the door. Snafu turns. “Watch your language next time.”
Snafu looks at him for a moment then just nods slowly, once, and is gone.
Andrew sits and thinks about the meeting for a long time after he leaves.
Snafu reminds him of those tar pits in California that have been known to catch fire in the summer months. Those fires aren’t prone to violent explosions or uncontrollable growth but they have an acid heat that sticks to everything it touches. It’s the kind of fire that, if not put out, will burn for years and years. That’s the kind of effect that bitterness has on people and if Andrew’s not mistaken, there’s more than one or two seeds of bitterness in Snafu. That worries him. He resolves to have a talk with Snafu’s aunt and uncle.
Closing his notebook, he gets up and heads off to lunch.
Eugene Sledge has the kind of manners that come from a mix of good breeding and natural politeness. Andrew saw the same thing in his friend Sidney Phillips earlier. Eugene seems a little shyer than sunny Sidney was though. He sits with perfect posture in his chair, neither smiling nor speaking, but waiting to be spoken to.
“Good afternoon, Eugene,” Andrew says.
“Good afternoon sir.”
“How are you liking school so far?”
“It’s alright, sir.”
“You getting along alright with your classmates?”
“...I am, sir.” There’s a slight hesitation there and Andrew catches it.
“Any of them bothering you, Eugene?”
“It’s just... The boy who sits next to me. Snafu, sir?”
Ah, yes. Andrew has a feeling he know where this is going. “I know Snafu.”
“Do you know any reason why would he ask me about my carpet, sir?” Andrew can see pretty plainly that even though Eugene has the feeling Snafu’s question wasn’t a nice one, he doesn’t know exactly what was wrong with it.
“What did you tell him?”
“That my mother picked it out herself sir.”
Andrew just manages to keep a straight face. “Did you tell Mr. Jones about this?”
“No, sir. Do you think I should’ve?”
Andrew considers this. If Eugene didn’t tell Eddie, there’s a pretty good chance that no one did. Which meant that Eddie heard it happen on his own, even though as two “S” surnames, Eugene and Snafu sit near the back of the class. Andrew has to hand it to Eddie, not many rookie teachers (or teachers in general) know how to watch a class like that.
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much now, Eugene. Just let your teacher know if he gives you anymore trouble.”
“Yes sir.”
“Anything else?”
Eugene appears to be debating with himself. Finally, he says “...Sometimes he calls me ‘Sledgehammer’ sir.”
Andrew’s eyebrows flick up briefly. “Does that bother you?”
Eugene considers this. “If I’m honest, sir? ...it’s kind of cool.”
That makes Andrew smile. Interesting. He hasn’t seen the two of them interact, so he can’t really pass judgement on the situation. However...“You know Eugene, it’s possible he just wants to get your attention. You might have a new friend on your hands.”
Eugene considers this. “Well, I’ll be friendly if he will, sir.”
Andrew smiles. “I know I can count on you.”
“Snafu’s father’s out of work and his mother works two jobs,” Andrew explains. Eddie is leaning forward, his weight on his elbows, listening intently. Everything about his posture says that his interest in his student’s life is genuine and that’s a source of comfort to Andrew. He’s been worried about how invested Eddie is prepared to be, especially since Eddie hadn’t been planning on being a homeroom teacher in the first place. “He lives with his aunt and uncle. Fortunately, when his grandfather died, he left a nice little trust fund for Snafu’s education. That’s probably the only real reason he can afford to be here.”
“He sure does stick out like a sore thumb,” Eddie agreed.
“Any problems with him?”
“You mean ‘Have I been making him write lines again?’” Eddie looks at him knowingly but there’s nothing dramatized or accusatory about it. It’s just the simple acknowledgement that Andrew saw Snafu being held after class and Eddie know Andrew saw it. “No, haven’t had to do that. He’s been better.”
“He getting along with the other boys?”
“He ain’t been fighting with ‘em.”
Andrew turns this over in his mind. It’s probably way too early to expect that Snafu would’ve made friends with anyone or even that he would be interested in making friends.
“Make sure you keep an eye on him,” Andrew says finally.
“Aye, aye, Skipper,” Eddie says and there’s just a touch of irony in his voice. Andrew hears it and smiles sheepishly.
“I try to let teachers know when there’s special circumstances in a student’s life,” he says. “I didn’t mean to turn this into an interrogation.”
“You’re worried about them,” Eddie says and it’s not a question. He knows Andrew’s worried. Andrew huffs a laugh at himself and leans back.
“It is my job.”
There’s no judgment on Eddie’s face. “I’ll keep you posted,” he says simply.
Andrew stands up. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
He feels Eddie’s eyes on his back as he leaves the room.
The days fall into a rhythm for Andrew. As it happens every year, most of the boys don’t come back after his meeting with them the first day. Some of them, such as Romus “Burgy” Burgin, still smile when they seem him in the hallway. He even gets a “Good morning, Mr. Haldane” out of Eugene Sledge whenever he sees him on his way to homeroom. Counselors, like teachers, really aren’t supposed to have favorites but he’s fond of those two already. As an adult in the school, a lot of the time, students tend to assume that you’re above the concern of what they think of you and to some extent, that’s true. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t make your life a lot easier when you know there’s someone to smile at you in the halls.
In the mornings, Andrew eats breakfast with the kids. Kids who eat breakfast at school eat there for a number of reasons. Their parents working an early shift and having to drop them off early is a common one. Those are the kids who are there as early as 7:00 in the morning, though school doesn’t start until 8:30. Some kids’ parents don’t make breakfast, either because they don’t have time or because if the kid eats at school they can save time. Andrew has an arrangement with Lena when it comes to eating breakfast. Lena gets to school at 6:00 a.m., Andrew knows. When he arrives a few minutes before the school opens at 7:00, she has coffee waiting for him. Even on the (increasingly frequent) days when Andrew gets to school to find John in the kitchen before him, Lena still remembers his coffee. Andrew just smiles like nothing is unusual and thanks her for it.
There are different groups that form in the cafeteria for breakfast and today, Andrew eats with Lew “Chucker”Juergens, Wilbur “Runner” Conley, Bill “Hoosier” Smith, and Bob Leckie. He’s asked before about where all the nicknames come from and while Chuckler and Runner answered candidly enough, there was no getting it out of Hoosier. Andrew’s decided to let it go.
“Good morning boys,” he says, taking his tray over to them. “Mind if I join you?”
He knows that in a public school setting what he does, eating with the kids in the morning, might not fly, not even in elementary school. There’s something to be said for private schools though. Andrew even flatters himself that they think he’s cool. Runner and Chuckler scootch over and Andrew sets his tray down.
Runner’s avoiding his eye and the other three are grinning. “You catch the game last night, sir?” Chuckler asks. Runner tries to shush him, but it’s too late. Andrew smiles.
“I did.”
“You think the Patriots will go all the way this year?” Chuckler asks as though Runner isn’t still trying to clamp a hand over his mouth and Chuckler isn’t still fending him off.
“We’ll have to see,” Andrew says. “I think they’re looking pretty good.”
Bob’s eyes are dancing as they look from Runner to Andrew. “How do you think the Bills will do, this year, sir?”
“Shut up,” Runner hisses.
Andrew manages not to laugh. “You know Runner, it’s only one loss,” he says. “They’ll come around.” And then, because Runner’s “yes sir” sounds rather dejected he changes the subject and says “You boys going to try out for baseball in the spring?”
“You bet, sir!”
“Yes, sir!”
Andrew smiles at them and then looks at the two silent boys on the other side of the table. “Bob? Hoosier? What about you two?”
“I haven’t decided,” Bob says.
Hoosier just says “Nah.”
“That’s too bad; I’ll be coaching it.” When neither of them respond to this, he says “Not into baseball?”
“Not much good at it,” Bob mutters and before Andrew can comment on this, he’s interrupted by Chuckler shouting “Mr. Basilone!”
On his way out of the kitchen, John smiles. “Hey Chuckler!”
“You see the game last night, sir?”
“Sure did. How do ya like that for a home opener?”
“You think the Bills’ll be any good this year?”
John’s about to scoff at this idea but Andrew just manages to catch his eye and give a tiny shake of his head and John catches himself and says, “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
Rating: Pg? G?
Summary: Andrew Haldane is the school counselor at the Hemingway Academy for Boys. Eddie applied to the school as the new music teacher but between one thing and another is taken on as the new teacher of homeroom K. Andrew wants to make sure he knows what he's getting himself into.
From: Andrew
Time: 7:42am
The lights in the back corner of the library still haven’t been fixed. I assume the budget increase didn’t go through.
From: Dad
Time: 8:03am
Don’t they know the economy’s on the upswing?
From: Andrew
Time: 8:09am
I’ll try telling them that.
Financially, it’s not the Hemingway Academy for Boys’ best year ever. Never mind the lights in the library, they’ve just been told one’s getting a raise this year. Plans to renovate the auditorium have been put on hold. Chesty even mentioned they haven’t been able to bring in a new music teacher like they wanted to.
It’s the morning of the first day of school. Andrew’s been needing to talk to Ronnie Gibson, the teacher of homeroom K. He’s been emailing all the teachers over the course of the past week about setting up times to talk with their students. The Hemingway Academy wants the boys to feel comfortable going Andrew if they have a problem and places a lot of emphasis on him meeting each of them one-on-one, if only just to introduce himself. All the teachers have gotten back to him except for Ronnie, but that’s not surprising. Things have been rough for Ronnie lately, both at work and at home. Therefore Andrew’s not too surprised when he pokes his head into the classroom and standing there instead is a younger man about his own age.
“Good morning,” Andrew greets him.
The other man looks at him. “Good morning.” His voice has that slow and patient accent that draws out its vowels and adds extra syllables. A southern man, then.
“You filling in for Ronnie today?”
“Replacing him. Gibson quit.” The man reshuffles the stack of papers he’s been holding before setting them on the desk and looking up at Andrew. His gaze is intent. “I’m homeroom K’s new teacher.”
That’s how Andrew meets Eddie Jones, full time instructor of homeroom K and part time music teacher.
“They brought me in to be the new music teacher,” Eddie explains, moving around the room, straightening up. Andrew leans against his desk, arms folded, watching him. Eddie moves with precision and purpose. He knows exactly where he’s putting everything and why he’s putting it there. Andrew’s seen the type. “Five days ago, they tell me that they got some unexpected budget cuts on their hands and they can’t afford to take me on. Three days ago, they call me back and say one of the teachers quit, can I fill in.” He glances back at Andrew and smiles. “Here I am.”
“That’s quite the switch,” Andrew comments. “Going from music teacher to homeroom teacher.”
Eddie doesn’t look too concerned about it. “Gotta do what you gotta do.”
Andrew concedes the point. Eddie’s situation isn’t the first tightening of the financial belt they’ve seen and it certainly isn’t going to be the last. “I’ve got a free spot on Thursday,” Andrew says as they compare schedules. “Why don’t you start sending your boys around then.”
Andrew finds Eddie in the teacher’s lounge during lunch that first day. “Good morning so far?” he asks, sliding into the seat across from him. Eddie smiles a little.
“Alright.”
“Andrew!” They look up at the same time at the sound of a third voice. John Basilone is approaching them, a bright grin on his face. “How you been? How was your summer?” He grips Andrew’s hand firmly and it’s not an assertion of male dominance but of warm friendship because these two have missed each other over the past two months.
“It was good.” Andrew grips back just as hard and when John moves to sit next to him, Andrew feels himself being clapped on the back. “Eddie, this is John Basilone. He the gym teacher here. John, Eddie teaches in homeroom K.”
“Yeah? What happened to Ronnie? Nice to meet you,” John adds, extending his hand to Eddie.
“Likewise.” Eddie takes his hand and after they’ve shaken, he says “Gibson quit.”
“You serious?” John looks at Andrew. “Geez, Andrew, I knew things were bad but...”
Andrew doesn’t comment on this, just shrugs. Then he says “You have a good summer?”
“Ah, you know. Same old, same old. The family’s still crazy as ever.” John looks at him with the easy confidence that Andrew knows what he’s talking about and Andrew does. Andrew looks at Eddie.
“If Mrs. Basilone ever invites you over for dinner, I’d advise you clear your schedule.”
“Your wife?” Eddie asks, looking at John.
John laughs. “My ma.”
“On the subject of the wife you don’t have, how is Lena?”
John manages to not get all wistful and Andrew takes this as an improvement. “She’s good. I had coffee with her this morning.”
There’s a questioning look on Eddie’s face.“Lena Riggi runs the cafeteria,” Andrew explains. “John’s been after her for a while.”
“Ever since she got here,” John admits.
“When was that?” Eddie asks.
“Two years ago.”
“She’s been turning you down for two years?”
“Hey, it’s a process.” But John doesn’t look offended. “She’s doesn’t wanna rush into anything.”
“John’s a man of persistence.” Andrew’s tone is gently mocking but the truth is he has a lot of respect for the man currently seated on his right. John Basilone is a hell of a guy.
Maybe humming to yourself is undignified but Andrew’s doing it anyway. It’s after school on Tuesday and the day has a summer caliber to it and Andrew’s on his way home. He’ll hum if he wants to.
Something catches his eye as he passes homeroom K and stops him up short. Eddie’s standing in front of his desk, arms folded, looking straight ahead. Andrew cranes his neck a little and sees the room empty, save for a boy with curly, black hair sitting at his desk. Eddie doesn’t move. He seems to be waiting. Slowly, with defiant sort of laziness the boy picks up his pencil and waits.
“I,” Eddie beings and with a start, Andrew realizes that he’s been eavesdropping. He starts walking again. “will not throw erasers at my fellow students.” Andrew’s walking slower than strictly necessary because if he’s honest he wants to know how the new teacher’s handling what has to be one of his first disciplinary actions. Eddie’s voice echoes into the hallway firm and clear.
“Nor,” it continues, “will I throw anything at my fellow students” it pauses again so that what it’s just said may be copied down. “or otherwise... do anything... that may disrupt...the flow of class time.” There’s an especially long pause and Andrew’s is just about to start walking again when he hears it. “Nor will I ask... any of my classmates... if their carpets match their drapes.”
That makes Andrew stop. He turns and looks back towards the open doorway of homeroom K.
“Nor will I use any such language while I am at school.” There’s a pause. “Copy that out 100 times. When you’re done, start cleaning the board. Push all the chairs in before you leave.” Another pause. “You can start.”
It’s not until Thrusday’s counselling sessions that Andrew finds out that the boy’s name is Merriell Shelton.
Merriell is certainly something else; Andrew’ll give him that. He moves slowly but there’s nothing graceless or hesitant about it. When he looks at Andrew it’s from under heavily lidded eyes. Everything about him is guarded though Andrew would be hard pressed to tell you how he knows that. Merriell has none of Romus Burgin’s (“Burgy, sir.”) bright-eyed bashfulness or Robert Leckie’s borderline impertinent questions. Something about his manner, though, makes it plain that he runs on his schedule, not yours.
Given his file, Andrew can’t exactly say he’s surprised. The Shelton’s are hard-up and the only reason Merriell can afford to come here at all is because his grandfather left a nice little trust fund for his education.
“Sit down, Merriell.”
“Snafu.”
“Sorry?”
“You want me to answer, you call me Snafu.”
Andrew looks at him calmly. “You ask politely, I might consider it.”
For a beat, Snafu gazes back at him. Then he says “I wanna be called Snafu, sir. Si vous plait, sir.” His voice is southern too (his file says New Orleans) but where Eddie’s is patient and steady, Snafu has a slow-as-molasses drawl that makes everything he says sound cocky.
Andrew smiles. “I can do that Snafu. Why don’t you take a seat.”
Snafu sits.
“How’re you liking school so far?”
“I like it just fine.”
“Your aunt drove you today, didn’t she?”
“That she did.”
“How is she?”
“Just fiiine.” He drawls out the last word in a way that makes it pretty clear that whatever Andrew’s trying to do here, Snafu Shelton isn’t having it.
“You heard from your father lately?”
“What makes you think I’da heard from him?”
“Fathers worry when their children leave home.”
“Fuck that.” And Snafu watches him carefully when he says it, like he’s just daring Andrew to get angry, just daring Andrew to send him to the principal’s office. Andrew doesn’t.
“My father was worried about me,” he says instead, calm as ever.
“Well ain’t you lucky.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.” Andrew watches Snafu back for a moment before saying, “What about your mother?”
Snafu blinks lazily. He’s onto Andrew’s game, they both know that, but it’s not like Andrew’s trying to be subtle. Finally, he says “Yeah, she called.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Sex.” A slow smile splits Snafu’s face when he says it, daring Andrew again, taunting him. Andrew decides to let him run with the line.
“You find it informative?”
“Oh, it was real informative.”
“That’s some pretty valuable information you’ve got there,” Andrew comments. “I wouldn’t be too quick to share it with the other boys.”
“Can’t make things too easy for them now,” Sanfu agrees.
Andrew sees on the clock on the wall above Snafu’s head that it’s almost lunch time. “Why don’t we stop there for today,” he says. “It was nice meeting you Snafu.”
Snafu slides off his seat. “Guess I’ll see you around.”
“Snafu?” Andrew calls just before Snafu’s out the door. Snafu turns. “Watch your language next time.”
Snafu looks at him for a moment then just nods slowly, once, and is gone.
Andrew sits and thinks about the meeting for a long time after he leaves.
Snafu reminds him of those tar pits in California that have been known to catch fire in the summer months. Those fires aren’t prone to violent explosions or uncontrollable growth but they have an acid heat that sticks to everything it touches. It’s the kind of fire that, if not put out, will burn for years and years. That’s the kind of effect that bitterness has on people and if Andrew’s not mistaken, there’s more than one or two seeds of bitterness in Snafu. That worries him. He resolves to have a talk with Snafu’s aunt and uncle.
Closing his notebook, he gets up and heads off to lunch.
Eugene Sledge has the kind of manners that come from a mix of good breeding and natural politeness. Andrew saw the same thing in his friend Sidney Phillips earlier. Eugene seems a little shyer than sunny Sidney was though. He sits with perfect posture in his chair, neither smiling nor speaking, but waiting to be spoken to.
“Good afternoon, Eugene,” Andrew says.
“Good afternoon sir.”
“How are you liking school so far?”
“It’s alright, sir.”
“You getting along alright with your classmates?”
“...I am, sir.” There’s a slight hesitation there and Andrew catches it.
“Any of them bothering you, Eugene?”
“It’s just... The boy who sits next to me. Snafu, sir?”
Ah, yes. Andrew has a feeling he know where this is going. “I know Snafu.”
“Do you know any reason why would he ask me about my carpet, sir?” Andrew can see pretty plainly that even though Eugene has the feeling Snafu’s question wasn’t a nice one, he doesn’t know exactly what was wrong with it.
“What did you tell him?”
“That my mother picked it out herself sir.”
Andrew just manages to keep a straight face. “Did you tell Mr. Jones about this?”
“No, sir. Do you think I should’ve?”
Andrew considers this. If Eugene didn’t tell Eddie, there’s a pretty good chance that no one did. Which meant that Eddie heard it happen on his own, even though as two “S” surnames, Eugene and Snafu sit near the back of the class. Andrew has to hand it to Eddie, not many rookie teachers (or teachers in general) know how to watch a class like that.
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much now, Eugene. Just let your teacher know if he gives you anymore trouble.”
“Yes sir.”
“Anything else?”
Eugene appears to be debating with himself. Finally, he says “...Sometimes he calls me ‘Sledgehammer’ sir.”
Andrew’s eyebrows flick up briefly. “Does that bother you?”
Eugene considers this. “If I’m honest, sir? ...it’s kind of cool.”
That makes Andrew smile. Interesting. He hasn’t seen the two of them interact, so he can’t really pass judgement on the situation. However...“You know Eugene, it’s possible he just wants to get your attention. You might have a new friend on your hands.”
Eugene considers this. “Well, I’ll be friendly if he will, sir.”
Andrew smiles. “I know I can count on you.”
“Snafu’s father’s out of work and his mother works two jobs,” Andrew explains. Eddie is leaning forward, his weight on his elbows, listening intently. Everything about his posture says that his interest in his student’s life is genuine and that’s a source of comfort to Andrew. He’s been worried about how invested Eddie is prepared to be, especially since Eddie hadn’t been planning on being a homeroom teacher in the first place. “He lives with his aunt and uncle. Fortunately, when his grandfather died, he left a nice little trust fund for Snafu’s education. That’s probably the only real reason he can afford to be here.”
“He sure does stick out like a sore thumb,” Eddie agreed.
“Any problems with him?”
“You mean ‘Have I been making him write lines again?’” Eddie looks at him knowingly but there’s nothing dramatized or accusatory about it. It’s just the simple acknowledgement that Andrew saw Snafu being held after class and Eddie know Andrew saw it. “No, haven’t had to do that. He’s been better.”
“He getting along with the other boys?”
“He ain’t been fighting with ‘em.”
Andrew turns this over in his mind. It’s probably way too early to expect that Snafu would’ve made friends with anyone or even that he would be interested in making friends.
“Make sure you keep an eye on him,” Andrew says finally.
“Aye, aye, Skipper,” Eddie says and there’s just a touch of irony in his voice. Andrew hears it and smiles sheepishly.
“I try to let teachers know when there’s special circumstances in a student’s life,” he says. “I didn’t mean to turn this into an interrogation.”
“You’re worried about them,” Eddie says and it’s not a question. He knows Andrew’s worried. Andrew huffs a laugh at himself and leans back.
“It is my job.”
There’s no judgment on Eddie’s face. “I’ll keep you posted,” he says simply.
Andrew stands up. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
He feels Eddie’s eyes on his back as he leaves the room.
The days fall into a rhythm for Andrew. As it happens every year, most of the boys don’t come back after his meeting with them the first day. Some of them, such as Romus “Burgy” Burgin, still smile when they seem him in the hallway. He even gets a “Good morning, Mr. Haldane” out of Eugene Sledge whenever he sees him on his way to homeroom. Counselors, like teachers, really aren’t supposed to have favorites but he’s fond of those two already. As an adult in the school, a lot of the time, students tend to assume that you’re above the concern of what they think of you and to some extent, that’s true. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t make your life a lot easier when you know there’s someone to smile at you in the halls.
In the mornings, Andrew eats breakfast with the kids. Kids who eat breakfast at school eat there for a number of reasons. Their parents working an early shift and having to drop them off early is a common one. Those are the kids who are there as early as 7:00 in the morning, though school doesn’t start until 8:30. Some kids’ parents don’t make breakfast, either because they don’t have time or because if the kid eats at school they can save time. Andrew has an arrangement with Lena when it comes to eating breakfast. Lena gets to school at 6:00 a.m., Andrew knows. When he arrives a few minutes before the school opens at 7:00, she has coffee waiting for him. Even on the (increasingly frequent) days when Andrew gets to school to find John in the kitchen before him, Lena still remembers his coffee. Andrew just smiles like nothing is unusual and thanks her for it.
There are different groups that form in the cafeteria for breakfast and today, Andrew eats with Lew “Chucker”Juergens, Wilbur “Runner” Conley, Bill “Hoosier” Smith, and Bob Leckie. He’s asked before about where all the nicknames come from and while Chuckler and Runner answered candidly enough, there was no getting it out of Hoosier. Andrew’s decided to let it go.
“Good morning boys,” he says, taking his tray over to them. “Mind if I join you?”
He knows that in a public school setting what he does, eating with the kids in the morning, might not fly, not even in elementary school. There’s something to be said for private schools though. Andrew even flatters himself that they think he’s cool. Runner and Chuckler scootch over and Andrew sets his tray down.
Runner’s avoiding his eye and the other three are grinning. “You catch the game last night, sir?” Chuckler asks. Runner tries to shush him, but it’s too late. Andrew smiles.
“I did.”
“You think the Patriots will go all the way this year?” Chuckler asks as though Runner isn’t still trying to clamp a hand over his mouth and Chuckler isn’t still fending him off.
“We’ll have to see,” Andrew says. “I think they’re looking pretty good.”
Bob’s eyes are dancing as they look from Runner to Andrew. “How do you think the Bills will do, this year, sir?”
“Shut up,” Runner hisses.
Andrew manages not to laugh. “You know Runner, it’s only one loss,” he says. “They’ll come around.” And then, because Runner’s “yes sir” sounds rather dejected he changes the subject and says “You boys going to try out for baseball in the spring?”
“You bet, sir!”
“Yes, sir!”
Andrew smiles at them and then looks at the two silent boys on the other side of the table. “Bob? Hoosier? What about you two?”
“I haven’t decided,” Bob says.
Hoosier just says “Nah.”
“That’s too bad; I’ll be coaching it.” When neither of them respond to this, he says “Not into baseball?”
“Not much good at it,” Bob mutters and before Andrew can comment on this, he’s interrupted by Chuckler shouting “Mr. Basilone!”
On his way out of the kitchen, John smiles. “Hey Chuckler!”
“You see the game last night, sir?”
“Sure did. How do ya like that for a home opener?”
“You think the Bills’ll be any good this year?”
John’s about to scoff at this idea but Andrew just manages to catch his eye and give a tiny shake of his head and John catches himself and says, “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”