​​Chapter Seventeen
Wren

While The Mule is mush on the ground, Alice and maybe-Wanda are hovering like flies around a dead body. They wouldn’t have it in them to chase me anyways because they’re nothing but talk. Also, Zinberg is standing on the sidewalk.

“What is this?” he says because he’s too far away to see who’s knocked out cold on the ground. The cohorts take that as their cue to flee, leaving their leader at my faux leather boots. 

“Uh, nothing?” I call out as convincingly as possible. But Zinberg’s ancient legs are swifter than I account for. 

Even though it’s January, and the world is nearly dead with cold, Zinberg is sweating as he sidles up next to me. His face is like a slick rubber ball with a weak mustache.

“Leslie Buell.” He shakes his head. “Of all people,” I think I hear under his breath. Apparently, I’m not the only one afraid of her. He lets out the air he’s been holding in his chest and then takes out a cell phone, a burner like mine. I start to have visions of Hungry Man dinners for one and binge watching Cops in a recliner. I actually start to feel sorry for poor Zinberg.

“Elaine? Where are you? Parking lot? Already? Yeah, yeah I know it’s final bell. Could you do me a favor? Leslie Buell’s been knocked out cold here in The Yard. Yeah, I know. That’s why I called. Appreciate it.” He tucks the black plastic phone into his shirt pocket and assesses the damage, then me. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in detention?”

I feel knotted, as if everything that makes me “me” has pretzeled in on itself. My arms are wrapped tight, and as the adrenaline wears off, I realize how cold I am.

“Sheh...” Zinberg says, running a hand through his thinning hair. He looks up at Nurse Elaine whose polyester pants are on the verge of starting a small fire. She’s at The Yard now, peeking over the chain link fence before braving the gate’s threshold.

“You weren’t kidding,” Nurse Elaine says. She takes The Mule’s pulse with two fingers, and I study the nurse’s dandruff on her black-belted coat. Her hair is fire engine red and crunchy with Aquanet. It’s all I can do not to imagine the baby Nurse Elaine would have with Zinberg.    

“Pulse is good. Sweetie, sweetie, this is Nurse Elaine. You’ve had a little...tumble. Can you hear me, sweetie? Can you get up?” Leslie’s moving now, so at least murder charges won’t be a part of my day. She starts to come to and is slowly helped to her feet by Nurse Elaine and Zinberg who takes her other elbow. I stand off to the side, out of The Mule’s periphery as Elaine reaches down and grabs Leslie’s Louis Vuitton. I imagine it tsk-ing at all of us.

“Leslie, Nurse Elaine is going to take you inside. She’ll get you some juice and ice and call your dad,” he says, seeming to choke a bit on the last word. Ah, Sheriff Daddy. No wonder he’s trembling. Nurse Elaine gives him a “you owe me” look. 

Inevitable, I think when Nurse Elaine and Leslie Buell have hobbled their way into the building. I drift between crying until I throw up and laughing like a maniac. As Zinberg moves closer to me, I take the third option: frozen and mute with fear.

“Where’s that boy?”

“What?”

“The boy? The guy who never leaves enough room for the Holy Spirit.”

“Um...Satan?”

“No...geez...the kid with you. Mark? Martin?”

“Oh. Mareck. Yeah, he had better things to do. Like stealing my bike.”

“He stole your bike? Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

“That’s the rumor,” I say and automatically think of Mom. That bike was a portion of several paychecks, and even though I told Mom I didn’t want one, she still bought it for me. “Can’t get you a car, but I can give you this. A woman needs to know at least some freedom,” she had said and then laughed a little. I could tell it tasted bitter in her mouth.

“Some boyfriend.” He makes that “sheh” sound again and feels his hairline. “Alright. Follow me.” I obey and follow behind like a spooked puppy dog. We walk through the side entrance, down the hallway to the heart of the school where a meager grouping of trophies is displayed in a case. White Smoke is legendary for getting our backside handed to us.

“This is me,” he says as if I don’t know which one is his office. I can practically hear a wolf howling as I enter it. It’s the same pea green as the rest of the school, except instead of having the shiny tiled walls of the hallway, we’re surrounded by rough cinder blocks. The mess is average, the odor, stale. And the little rotating fan near the window refuses to believe it’s January, spitting wind in my face and the married stench of mold and body heat with it. I look back at Zinberg, and he’s staring at the framed photo on his desk. It’s a Sears special of him and his daughter, awkwardly hugging and staring into the camera. I almost forgot he had a daughter, a junior like me. They call her “The Kid.” 

“Take a seat.” I do, and there’s a rip in it that feels like it’s devouring my leg.  

“Lifelong enemy, I’m guessing? Stole your boyfriend?” Zinberg fishes a handful of Reese’s Pieces out of a fake crystal bowl on his desk next to the picture. “Oh, where are my manners,” he says, extending his hand to me. I shake my head “no” and wonder if I’ve entered some sort of twilight zone where Zinberg isn’t a complete monster.

“Um, but yeah. Something like that.”  

“Do you go to church?” he asks. I look at him tweezing one of the candies with his fingers and then popping it into his mouth. As he chews, I notice his face is far less sweaty now. He’s calmer and takes great care placing the candy into his mouth. I catch a glimpse of my kohl-lined eyes in the mirrored plaque on his wall and wonder if he’s messing with me.

“I’ve been inside one.” My Mimi always went to the small Baptist church in Texarkana. I’d go with her sometimes. It was the typical white clapboard affair. Pretty. Stale inside. Complete with a pastor who sneezed too much and seemed to share Zinberg’s sweating disorder.

And then there was the time Mimi came to live with me. She took me to church and had me baptized. Sometimes, I close my eyes and remember the way the water felt, drowning to gain new life. I look around me. I’ve apparently let this one get a little moldy.

I want to call her. I want her to know everything because even though Mimi knows Jesus, she doesn’t use him like a weapon. I think she’d understand but Mom thinks differently.

“Okay,” he says, nodding his head like I gave the right answer. “Look, I’m going to switch things up. No more detention.”

I perk up and watch him shovel another handful of candy-colored chocolate into his mouth. I’m starting to get my appetite back despite the visual.

“Really?”

“Instead, I want you to join The Cornerstone Club. My daughter’s club.” This is it, the catch. I watch what little reputation I had in the first place dissolve like wet ash down the kitchen drain. The Cornerstone Club is full of goody-goody losers who are involved in other just as dismal extracurriculars. Like chess club. It’s led by The Kid whose ghost-white face stares back at me in the Sears photo.

I’ll eat them alive.

“It’s not as bad as you think. In fact, it’s not bad at all. Think of it like a refuge, a safe haven. A place where nobody is stealing your bike.” Zinberg looks like he’s swallowing a small pile of stones. “Or your boyfriend.”

He almost pleads with his raw blue eyes. I suddenly feel foolish in my rank smelling shirt and the skirt I keep pulling down with my sweaty hands. I feel like I’m wearing somebody else’s uniform.

“Okay, I guess.” I take the offer before he changes his mind. The Cornerstone Club will be a horrible, terrible punishment in its own right. But considering I just physically assaulted another human being on school grounds, I figure this a light slap on the wrist. “For how long?”

“The rest of the year.”

Fine. A strong punch to the gut.