Sorta Like A Rock Star Part 8

"Not always."

"Like-when is a hug not a good thing?"

"When it makes someone uncomfortable."

"I'm down with hugging," I say. "I hug everyone indiscriminately."

"Not everyone wants to be hugged."

"Well, that's just dumb."

"Why, because you say so?" Franks says. "Would you hug Lex Pinkston?"

I'm sorta getting p.i.s.sed at Franks, especially after everything I did for him last night-not to mention how he invited Lex and his buddies into The Franks Lair-but the second bell rings, which means I'm late, so I just leave without answering and go to homeroom, where there is a pink slip waiting for me, so I about-face and walk my little behind down to Prince Tony's office.

All of my boys are on the bad-boy bench, except Chad who is in Das Boot.

"Amber," the red-lipped Mrs. Baxter says to me just before I address my boys, "can you come over here?"

So I walk over to Prince Tony's secretary's desk.

"I heard about last night," she whispers. "You certainly have chutzpah."

"Thanks," I say, and then join my boys, who are more than a little bit fidgety sitting on the bench of discipline.

"We better not get in trouble," Ty says.

"Ricky Roberts needs to go to calculus in how many minutes?"

"This don't seem so good," Chad says from Das Boot.

"Beats going to gym," says Jared.

"Guys, it's Prince Tony," I say. "Just let me do the talking. No sweat."

"What if he calls us in one at a time?" Ty asks.

"No chance," I retort.

"How do you know?" asks Jared.

"How many minutes until math?"

"I know Prince Tony. He'll want to save time. He's efficient to a fault."

The door opens. Prince Tony says, "The lot of you. Inside."

I give my boys a knowing glance, as if to say Told ya!

Inside we all take seats in the various corners of the office, Chad motorizes Das Boot front and center, and Prince Tony sits behind his huge desk.

"The school board voted to keep the business department."

We all clap and cheer!

"You'll be pleased to hear that Mr. Franks will be getting an increased budget."

I smile and nod my head confidently. Score!

"Now, all of those other things you were complaining about last night," Prince Tony says, "were you serious? Do you really feel strongly about those other issues, or was it just a collective front to save Mr. Franks?"

"Pretty much just a front," says Ty.

"We just really like Franks," Jared says.

"How many minutes until math?"

"Halo 3 during lunch and before school. Is that too much to ask?" Chad adds.

"So this matter is resolved?" Prince Tony says. "No more busting into school board meetings? You're satisfied?"

"Pretty much," Ty says when no one else speaks up.

"Good," Prince Tony says, and then adds, "you kids were impressive last night. Truly. Now off to cla.s.s."

All of my boys jump up and happily follow Das Boot and Chad out of Prince Tony's office, but I stay seated and shake my head sadly.

Even after all the slaying they have done in their virtual Xbox world, my boys just don't have the killer instinct.

"Ms. Appleton?"

"Is that how it works with adults?" I say.

"I'm not sure I follow."

"It takes a bunch of threats to get what you want, but no one really cares about anything that doesn't concern them? No one cares about doing what's right for the sake of doing what's right?"

"What are you talking about? Mr. Franks' program is secure for at least another year-through your graduation. You've accomplished your goal. You should be happy."

"Maybe."

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know."

"You can talk to me, Amber," he says, like any old adult would.

"Don't you think that we should recognize MLK day and diversify the faculty? Don't you think we should make the entire school handicap accessible and friendly? Don't you think that kids shouldn't have to endure hara.s.sment from people like Lex Pinkston?"

"Of course. Yes to all of those."

"Then why don't you make all that stuff happen?"

Prince Tony leans forward, looks me in the eye all fatherly, and says, "Don't you think I would if I could?"

"But you're the princ.i.p.al of the school. You can do anything you want."

Prince Tony smiles sorta sadly, and says, "You're a good kid, Amber. And you are going to be a great woman someday."

"Why does everyone say that to me? Like I'm a bottle of wine or something."

"Someday you'll understand."

"That's such a BS answer."

"And someday you'll give that same answer to someone younger than yourself."

"No, I won't."

"Better get to cla.s.s, Ms. Appleton," Prince Tony says, and then he starts opening his mail, like I'm not even there anymore, and I wonder if anything we did last night meant anything at all.

CHAPTER 9.

Lex Pinkston actually brings his football buddies down to The Franks Lair during lunch, my boys merrily play Halo 3 with the enemy, and-to make matters even worse-under Franks' supervision, everyone seems to get along, which p.i.s.ses me off, so I go back into the lunchroom and read The Crucible by Arthur Miller.

Now, John Proctor was a man I can admire. Going to the gallows instead of giving up his friends to the witch hunt. Proctor was a man of principles, unlike Prince Tony and my boys, who jumped at the first chance they got to play video games with the cool kids-the same kids who called me a disgusting single-syllable word for a woman and made Ryan Gold cry less than forty-eight hours ago.

It's all so depressing.

Confusing.

Messed up.

After school I collect Ricky at his locker and go to Franks' room. Franks usually has to pick up his kids after school-because his wife isn't a teacher and works regular adult hours-so Franks doesn't stick around too long after the last bell, but I catch him in the hallway just before he is about to leave for the day.

"Did you even hear about what we did for you last night?" I ask him.

"Yeah," Franks says, his hands full of folders. "Princ.i.p.al Fiorilli filled me in."

"And?"

"And?"

I try to shrug off his lack of grat.i.tude, but I can't control the shocked expression on my face, which says, Aren't you even going to say thanks?

"I appreciate your speaking on my behalf, Amber. And you too, Ricky."

"Mr. Jonathan Franks is Ricky Roberts' favorite teacher."

Franks gives Ricky a quick but heartfelt high five.

"So why aren't you like-more touched by our gesture?" I ask.

"Well-I'd like to think I'm keeping my job because I'm a good sales and advertising teacher, and not because you threatened the school board without bothering to ask how I felt about your doing so. Maybe the school board voted the way they did simply because they think I am a good teacher."

I can't even believe that he isn't thanking me properly and freaking out with happiness. I thought Franks would hug me for sure. I really thought this was going to be our moment.

Something inside me snaps.

"What?" I say. "We saved your job, Franks. We did it. Us. Franks Freak Force Federation. Are you even serious with that good teacher c.r.a.p? You play video games all day and offer kids easy electives so they can pad their GPAs. We saved your b.u.t.t. Don't you understand that? They would have fired you if it weren't for us."

As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I am sorry.

"Why did you really go to the school board meeting, Amber? For me, or for you? I don't need saving. Do you?" Franks says very coolly. Then he adds, "If you need help, I'm willing to help you here at school. Anytime between 6:30 AM and 3:15 PM. Just ask. My door will always be open to you. But stop coming to my house. It crosses the line, Amber. It crosses the line."

And then Franks walks away from us.

"Amber Appleton is crying. Why is Amber Appleton crying? Where is Amber Appleton going? Why is Amber Appleton crying? Why is Amber Appleton crying?"

I cry raging tears all the way to Donna's house with Ricky trailing me.

"Why is Amber Appleton crying? Why is Amber Appleton crying? Why is Amber Appleton crying?"

He only stops repeating the question when he opens his math workbook and sits down at the kitchen table.

I let BBB out of his room; he p.i.s.ses for a full minute-making a yellow river-and then jumps up into my arms.

I give him a long squeeze before I mop up the river with paper towels.

Before I leave, I give Ricky a bowl of pretzels and a can of mandarin orange seltzer, and then I'm on Donna's bike, BBB in the basket.

"Stop crying," I say to myself. "You have old people to cheer up. They believe in your ability to keep the tears at bay. They are depressed enough already about being old. Buck up, Amber! Buck up! You can't battle when you're crying. You need to defend your t.i.tle. Stop crying!"

At the last second I remember to stop at Alan's Newsstand and buy a large cup of hot cocoa and a Snickers bar, and when Alan asks if I have been crying, I say, "What?" and laugh crazily, so he won't ask me again. Then I finally pull it together as I pedal the last few blocks to the Methodist Retirement Home.

I got this Wednesday gig here after I saw an ad stapled to one of the big old trees in front of the retirement home. I was walking by after work and the hot pink paper of the ad caught my eye, so I took a closer look. The ad read something like this: "Today is the perfect time to make a new friend. Seniors have wonderful stories to tell and are always ready to share their grand array of life experiences. If you want to be a senior pal, if you want to be regaled by stories of olden times, please inquire within. Make a new friend today." I'm totally down with making friends, I'm a very good pal, and I absolutely love being regaled, so I inquired within and signed up for the program. I became a regular at the Methodist Home once Rita's closed for the season and I stopped scooping water ice after school.

When I first went to the old folks home, I was told by the staff that I was simply to talk with the old people in the common room-do puzzles, listen to stories about grandchildren, the Depression, the cost of milk seventy years ago, all of which started to make me feel really depressed. These people didn't need someone to listen to their c.r.a.ppy stories; they needed a spark, something to remind them that they were still alive. And it was pretty obvious that the staff paid them little to no attention, especially since people die here, like every day. Every week I come back someone's missing. But for the longest time, I wasn't sure what I could do to liven up the joint.

Then I met Joan of Old, who-on the outside-is the meanest person you ever met, but on the inside, she's actually pretty philosophical, which you have to discover by breaking through the meanness by being mean yourself, so she will respect you. I discovered this by accident one day when I told her I wanted to go to Bryn Mawr College and she said I'd never get in because I wasn't smart enough.