The Taming (3 page)

“I think he might be free now,” she said. “Mr. Waldman!” she called out. “Your eight-thirty appointment is here.”

“Show him in.” He retreated back into his office.

I walked around the edge of the counter and pushed open a little swinging door. I stopped at the threshold of the principal’s office. He sat there behind his desk, partially hidden by a pile of folders, head down, working. I knocked on the door frame.

He looked up. “Come in … please.”

“Hello, my name is Evan Campbell.” I reached out my hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, sir.”

He looked as surprised as Danny had, but reacted more quickly. He stood partway up and we shook hands. His grip was weak—my father said that you could tell a lot about a man from the way he shook hands. Weak grip, weak person.

“I’m glad to meet you, as well. I always try to get to know all the students in the school.”

“How many students are in this school, sir?”

“Fifteen … no, closer to sixteen hundred.”

I was pretty sure that if he didn’t even know the
number
of students he definitely didn’t know the
individual
students. Again, that worked well for me. It would be easier to disappear into the masses, and my plan was to blend in, cause no problems, graduate and get back to my life the way it was
supposed
to go. In nine months this school would be nothing more than an unpleasant memory.

“Actually, come to think of it, enrolment is up this year so I guess we’re creeping closer to seventeen hundred students,” the principal said.

“My last school only had two hundred students, with an average class size of ten.”

“Not something that will ever happen here.” I guessed that was pointing out the obvious. Now he was frowning. “When this appointment was made I assumed your parents would come in with you.”

“My father is somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. He’s on a business trip to Japan, sir.”

“There’s no need to call me sir,” he said.

“My parents always insist that I show respect to adults, sir, but especially to those who are my teachers.”

“Well, good manners are always appreciated, I’m sure … And your mother?”

“My mother has a board meeting today. She’s very active with charitable causes. Today is East General Hospital, I believe. My mother was here when I registered last week, sir,” I replied. “I just thought that it would be appropriate to meet with you today, to introduce myself to my principal.”

That was a lie. My father thought it was what I was supposed to do—introduce myself to the headmaster. I assumed his assistant had made this appointment, since he wouldn’t have had time for that.

“That was very considerate of you. It shows good manners … good breeding.”

“Thank you,” I said. My father would have loved the “good breeding” comment.

“I had my secretary flag your student record when it arrived,” he went on. “The files came in yesterday.”

Great. Just what I needed. I was here to leave that history behind and now it was following me.

He fumbled around on his desk, shuffling papers and folders and files till he found my records and started reading. “You have certainly been in a lot of schools.”

I could tell he was counting, his head down, finger running down the page. I could have saved him some time by telling him the number, but I didn’t.

“Eleven,” he finally said.

“My father’s career has necessitated a number of moves, sir.”

“In a number of countries. Japan … Germany … and is this one in Luxembourg?”

“We lived there for almost eighteen months. It was a very nice school.”

“I imagine it would be. These are all private schools, are they not? But now … this school … this
isn’t
a private school.”

I tried not to laugh. My little walk through the halls and my time spent waiting in the office had shown me just how
not
a private school this was.

“Why did you register so suddenly, and now, almost two weeks into the school year?” he asked.

Obviously that reason
wasn’t
included in my student record. I was pleased, relieved, but not really surprised. I didn’t suppose the headmaster, or the teachers involved, would have wanted to risk a lawsuit by going on record with why I was asked to leave my last school.

I took a deep breath. I’d been rehearsing this line.

“I feel badly talking about it,” I said. “This is difficult.” I looked down at my feet. I knew how to fake upset and shame. I could play almost any role. “My tuition was expensive … there were some problems … the recession … financial setbacks …”

“I understand,” he said. “No need to say anything more.”

Actually I hadn’t really said anything, so I hadn’t really lied. In truth, my father had more money than God, but it wasn’t like he’d be talking to my father. He wasn’t coming to this school any more than he’d come to any of my others. And I figured there wasn’t much chance of the two of them just running into each other … it wasn’t like this guy ran in the same social circles as my parents.

“I think you’ll find some things are very different at our school,” Mr. Waldman said.

“I’m sure there will be differences, but I’ve heard this is a very fine school,” I said.

“Yes … yes, it is.” He didn’t sound very confident in that statement. Instead, he looked somewhat taken aback, surprised. Apparently, even
he
didn’t believe this was a fine school.

“And really, sir,” I continued, “a school is only a building. It’s the staff of a school that makes it a good institution of learning.”

“That is certainly correct,” he agreed, although he didn’t say it with any confidence or tell me how “wonderful” his staff was. “I just hope the curriculum here will be challenging enough. I’ve been led to believe that private schools often provide a more
stringent
curriculum than the public system.”

“I’m not sure if they were more stringent, sir … perhaps just different. There are some areas where I might be more advanced, but others where I’m sure I’ll have to work especially hard to make up lost ground. Thank you for your time, sir.”

He smiled and then stood up, and I did the same, getting to my feet quickly. He extended his hand and we shook again. This time his grip was much more firm. I turned, walked out and closed the door behind me. I didn’t need to think twice to know that I’d impressed him. Stupid people were easy to impress.

Chapter Four

I
flowed along with the crowd of people moving from their period one to period two classes. There wasn’t a lot of order. Actually, there was no order at all unless you counted size—big people moved littler people out of their way unless they moved first. Students rushed noisily, bumping along with no proper sense of decorum. If any of this was an example of the behaviour in this school, there wasn’t going to be much that I could do that would get me into trouble. Sometimes the key wasn’t to try harder but to simply lower the standards. It was like hanging around with fat people so you look thin. Here I’d be practically anorexic, or at least compared to these people, a star.

I looked down at my sheet again—Drama, Room 273, Ms. Cooper. Room 273 was right ahead, the door was open and I walked in. The chairs were arranged in a large circle with a big opening in the middle. Already some of the seats were taken and there was a group talking and laughing in the corner. There was no sign of any teacher. I didn’t know if I should just sit down or if there were assigned seats. Awkwardly I stood beside the teacher’s desk at the front of the room. I’d have to wait, but standing there while people filed in was just plain wrong—anxious and unsure of myself was not the image I was going for. It was hard enough to be new but worse standing up there like I was on display. I just wanted this Ms. Cooper to arrive so I could sit down and blend into the—

“Hi, how’s it going?”

I turned. It was one of the students from the group in the corner. She was dressed in a mismatch of floaty colours and clothing and she was wearing sandals—with socks! Why was it that the
pretty
and
popular
girls never came up to say hello without asking? Then again, they didn’t
need
to.

“Fine. It’s going fine,” I answered. I hoped she’d just go away.

“Good. You’re new.”

“First day.” I wouldn’t be unfriendly but I certainly wasn’t going to be friendly.

“I hope people are making you feel welcome,” she said.

“So far people have been very friendly and helpful.”

“Good to hear. Class should start soon,” she said. “Just take a seat.”

“I will. I just want to let the teacher know that I’m here.”

She gave me a confused look. “The teacher
does
know you’re here.”

“Well, I’d like to talk to her.”

She then turned to the other students. “This gentleman is waiting to talk to Ms. Cooper before he sits down.”

There was a murmur of comments and giggling. Didn’t anybody in this school have any manners? And who was she with her sandals and socks trying to give me a hard time? I was just trying to do the right thing and—she reached out and took my timetable.

“Well, hello, Evan Campbell. Glad you’re here.” She paused. “And by the way, I’m Ms. Cooper … your teacher.”

I felt a rush of heat signalling embarrassment and anger.

“What confused you?” she asked. “Was it my cutting-edge fashion sense, my youthful appearance or my casual and sarcastic attitude?”

“I think it was all three of those things,” I said. Now, I’d have to pour on the charm to make up for my misstep.

“Obviously a very bright young man. Bright
and
perceptive enough to suck up to his new teacher. Now, here’s your timetable. Just take a seat anywhere.”

I took back my timetable and slowly walked across the room, trying to move confidently, calmly. I knew everybody was looking at me, but that was okay. I wasn’t making
that
bad a first impression, even if I hadn’t realized the teacher was a teacher.

A big knot of people came barging in through the door, noisy and unruly—and the bell rang out. They filtered in and sat down until there were only a few empty seats—one on each side of me. Way to make me feel welcome.

I looked around the circle at a mishmash of people, dressed in a dozen different styles, or lack of styles, including some guy with heavy black makeup. Certainly nothing like the crisp conformity of school uniforms I was used to. I knew this drill, being the new kid. I knew it too well, having played it too often. I was going for cool and detached. The best way to fit in was to act like you didn’t
need
to fit in.

Equally different were the faces. In my old schools there had always been a couple of Chinese kids and an occasional African kid whose father was on a diplomatic mission, but they’d stood out in a sea of faces so white they looked like a blanket of new-fallen snow. Here I was pretty much in the minority. I guess, actually,
everybody
was in the minority. Black, Asian, brown and white … interestingly they weren’t sitting in any perceivable pattern. They were sort of mixed up. In all of my old schools the few “ethnic” kids usually clustered together—maybe because they shared a language or culture. Maybe, though, they sat together just for safety—at least for emotional safety. It wasn’t as if anybody was going to hit them. Violence wasn’t something that lurked in the hallowed halls of the schools that I’d attended. I wasn’t so sure that was the case here.

“Okay, let’s get settled in and start being dramatic!” Ms. Cooper called out.

The noise level settled down and she walked into the centre of the circle.

“ ‘A classic is a book which people praise and don’t read,’ ” Ms. Cooper said. “Does anybody know who said that?”

Who
didn’t
know who said that?

Nobody’s hand went up. Were they just being unco-operative, or did nobody actually know the answer?

“Anybody … come on. Somebody has to know,” she prodded.

Again, no response. It was now obvious that nobody knew.

“How about if I sweeten the pot. If anybody can guess the right answer it will be worth five marks, and I’ll dismiss the class early so you can have an extra-long lunch.”

Kids sat up straighter in their seats. She now had their attention, but she still didn’t have anybody volunteering an answer. Bribes can’t produce answers if the answers aren’t there.

“Come on,
somebody
make a guess,” one of the students pleaded.

“Tell you what,” Ms. Cooper said, “I’ll give you
three
guesses, so make sure you make them good ones.”

“William Shakespeare!” one of the girls yelled out.

“Great guess!” Ms. Cooper exclaimed, and the kids burst into applause. “But wrong.” That silenced the applause.

“Dr. Seuss?” one of the boys joked.

“Wrong again. And that’s two guesses.”

The class collectively groaned.

“I was just joking!” he protested.

“Too bad. A guess is a guess,” she said. “You’d better think about this, talk it over before you make any more bad guesses or—”