Mind Over Matter - 5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

He was right – the high school wasn’t hard to find. I straightened my hair as best I could using the visor mirror in my car and stepped out, looking around. The high school was a long, low building stretching almost the width of the block. Beyond it, I could see playing fields for soccer and football and a circular running track. At the moment there were a couple of classes out playing on the soccer field while another was using the track. I squared my shoulders and headed into the school.

The secretary was out when I entered the office, so I sat down in one of the chairs and waited. It wasn’t long before she showed up, bustling through one of the doors with her arms full of books. As I watched, the stack began to wobble dangerously, so I jumped to my feet and rushed over, grabbing them just as they began to fall.

“Oh! Thank you!” she said with a smile. I smiled back and nodded as I set the books on the counter. “I’d hate to think of the mess if I’d dropped them all.”

The smile left my face abruptly as I remembered Mr. Burling’s words. “If they become damaged through your carelessness, you’ll be made to replace them.” I almost turned around and left right then. Only the promise of a job in Mr. D’s bookstore and somewhere to live kept my feet in one spot. I didn’t answer her. I began carefully restacking the books instead.

“My name’s Miss Carson,” she said. I looked up to find her holding out her hand. I shook it politely. “And yours is…?”

“Joe Sinclair.” I couldn’t seem to make my voice very loud. Must have been the nerves. “I’m here to see about school.” I could feel my cheeks burning at the stupidity of my words. I was in a high school – of course that’s what I was there for!

Miss Carson didn’t seem to notice, though. “Oh, wonderful,” she replied. “Are your parents with you?”

Anger began to well in my chest. “No,” I bit out. “I’m eighteen.”

Her smile faltered a bit. “Oh, alright then,” she replied. “Have a seat and I’ll see if I can get a hold of someone to talk to you.”

I felt really bad. This woman was only trying to be nice, and here I was, acting like an asshole to her. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean… maybe I should come back…”

“Nonsense,” she said, her smile brightening. “You’re here now. Might as well get it over with.” I looked up at her and she gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Everyone knows school sucks. No sense making two trips when one will do.”

I liked her. “Mr. Dawson said I was to talk to someone named Mr. Winters,” I offered. “Is he the guidance counselor or something?”

“No,” Miss Carson said slowly. “He’s the principal – did you say Mr. Dawson sent you?”

I nodded. “He’s my boss,” I replied.

Her eyebrows shot up. “You work in his bookstore?” she asked. I nodded again. “Since when?” I opened my mouth to answer, but she cut in “Oh, my goodness – how rude was that? I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” I replied. “Since this morning.”

She nodded. “Have a seat and I’ll go find Mr. Winters for you – I think he’s teaching a class right now.” I sat and she left the room.

I wondered how much trouble it was going to cause – me being Mr. Dawson’s employee. From what he said and Miss Carson’s reaction, I was beginning to doubt the wisdom of mentioning his name.

Miss Carson returned about ten minutes later. “Mr. Winters will be here in a few minutes,” she said brightly. “He’s just finishing up with the team.”

“Team?” I echoed. “What kind of team?” I was only an average player, but I really missed basketball – and not just for the showers.

“Soccer,” she replied. “Do you play?”

I shook my head. “Basketball,” I said. “Never played soccer.”

“Well, it’s just about the end of the season, so it’s a little late to think about playing,” she said, her tone apologetic.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m here to finish grade twelve. I have other things to do than play sports.”

Miss Carson didn’t reply, only looked at me strangely. A moment later the door opened and a man of about forty with sandy brown hair came through the door. “Miss Carson,” he greeted shortly. “How’s things?”

“Fine,” she answered him. Gesturing to me, she added, “This is Joe Sinclair.” I got to my feet and held out my hand for him to shake.

“Doug Renfrew,” he said to me, shaking my hand. “Shop teacher. You’re new?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. I glanced at the secretary. “At least,” I added. “I hope I am.”

She smiled. “I don’t know why not,” she replied confidently.

I didn’t smile back. I knew why not. If this school was like my last one…

“You play baseball?” Mr. Renfrew asked. I shook my head. “Oh well,” he said easily. “Have to find someone else, I guess.” The door opened suddenly and an older man with white hair ambled in. “There you are, Mr. Winters,” Mr. Renfrew said. “How was soccer practice?”

“Fast,” Mr. Winters replied. My eyebrows rose and he chuckled a bit. “What,” he said. “You don’t think I can handle a ball?”

Mr. Renfrew threw his head back and laughed uproariously. Miss Carson just smiled at me. “Mr. Winters,” she said to the principal. “This is Joe Sinclair.”

The older man eyed me carefully and I began to wonder if this had been such a good idea. “You’re the one George Dawson called me about?” he asked. I nodded slowly. “Well, come on then.” He turned and shuffled into one of the offices.

I chanced a quick glance at Miss Carson and Mr. Renfrew but they seemed to be ignoring us. Shrugging mentally, I hurried into the other room. “Close the door and have a seat,” Mr. Winters said as he lowered himself into a chair behind the massive wooden desk. I did as I was told, lacing my fingers together to keep them from trembling. “Now,” he said as he leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Wh-what do you want to know?” I asked nervously.

“It wasn’t a trick question,” the old man replied. He waved a hand in the air. “Tell me about yourself. Who is Joe Sinclair?”

I thought for a moment. “I’m eighteen,” I began slowly. “New in town. I want to finish high school. That’s about it.”

“I doubt it.” He leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk. “You’re living over Dawson’s Books, you work for him – that alone means there’s more to you than meets the eye.” He paused and then asked, “Where are your parents?” I didn’t answer. “Are they dead?”

“They’re alive,” I said at last, staring at my hands.

“Hmm…” The room got really quiet for a minute. Then Mr. Winters said, “We’ve known each other a long time, George and I. This is the first time he’s taken a liking to anyone since I can remember. Why do you suppose that is?”

I shrugged. “I only met him this morning.” I thought it was strange, too, but I wasn’t about to say that.

“He called me about an hour ago,” the principal went on. “Told me I was supposed to tell you something.”

“What’s that?” I looked up finally.

“He said you’re supposed to tell me what you told him.”

I could feel the blood drain from my face. Mr. D (he’d told me to call him that this morning sometime) was the only person in town so far that knew I was gay. I’d wanted to keep it that way. I thought about it for a second. In a way, this would be better. I’d know right off the bat if I was going to be staying in this town, or if it was just a dream I’d been having. Knowing my luck, I’d be waking up on the front seat of my car soon. I took a deep breath, blew it out and said “I’m gay.”

“Pardon?”

I sat up a little straighter. “I’m gay. Homosexual. Whatever you want to call it.”

Mr. Winters’ eyes narrowed slightly. “I see,” he replied slowly.

I watched him for a second, then I sighed and got up from my seat. “Never mind,” I said. “I’ll just go.”

I’d just put my hand on the doorknob when Mr. Winters asked “You changed your mind?” I turned and looked at him. “You don’t want to complete your education, then,” he added.

“Yeah, I do.” I was a little confused.

“Then why are you leaving?”

“Because…” I stood there like an idiot for about ten seconds. “You… didn’t say anything,” I finished lamely.

The principal smiled. “I’m an old man,” he replied, sounding for a moment like Mr. D. “It takes me a bit longer to think than other people.” He waved a hand at the chair I’d been sitting in, so I went back and sat down. He leaned forward. “There are a few things I’d like to say to you,” he said.

I nodded, thinking ‘Here it comes…’

“First of all,” he said. “If you’re thinking that you should get some kind of special consideration because of your… situation… It won’t happen.”

“No, I don’t-” I began, but he interrupted me.

“Second, this is a place of learning. Should you find someone who… piques your interest, shall we say?” I nodded. “The same rules apply to you as to any traditional couple – no public demonstrations of affection of any kind. You will be suspended.” I nodded again, probably because I couldn’t think of anything to say. I’d been expecting him to throw me out. “Third,” he went on. “This is a zero-tolerance school, as far as harassment goes. If someone is bothering you because of your sexual orientation, they will be dealt with severely. However,” he went on. “You cannot control how other people think of homosexuality, Joe Sinclair. You can only deal with how they think of Joe Sinclair. Understand?”

I thought about it for a second and then nodded yet again.

“All right then,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “Let’s see what we can do for you.”

And that was it. I was in. I worked my ass off – there, and in the bookstore. Many nights I fell into bed exhausted, but it was worth it. I didn’t make any real friends, exactly, but there were a few other kids I could talk to. I was pretty good with my hands (probably the only thing I could thank my father for) so I got good grades in shop class. I also had a knack for numbers, so I did pretty well in algebra and accounting. Of course, my first passion was for books, so my English class was a breeze. My last school seemed to have been ahead of this one, anyway, so most of the time I just rewrote my last book report whenever there was one due. It wasn’t cheating, exactly.

***

Time flew by. I loved working for Mr. D, even if he was a tyrant sometimes. I don’t mean that in a bad way, though. He didn’t suffer fools, did Mr. D. If I did something stupid, he let me know about it and how. His book auctions were always a success, though, so he didn’t suffer much if I screwed up on the bookkeeping once in a while (he had me doing the accounting for him within a couple of months, even though he’d said he was going to take care of it), and he always caught it right away so he didn’t get fined or anything. Except for the few times we argued and he dropped the heat in my place, we got along fine.

Cindy came over every so often, too. The first time was right after I’d gotten into school. I went back to the store to tell Mr. D about it and he told me to take the rest of the afternoon off. I went to the diner to get something to eat and told Cindy about what happened. She seemed really happy for me. When she got off work an hour later, she went with me to the apartment over the store to look at it and see what I would need.

It turned out I didn’t need much. Mr. D said I could use whatever I wanted up there and the rest he’d have put into storage. Cindy and I sorted through all the stuff and set aside a bed frame, dresser, desk, table and chairs that were in pretty good shape. The little kitchen had a fridge and stove that still worked and there was an overstuffed sofa and chair in the living room area as well, so we hauled them all off to one side to be cleaned later. The rest of it was boxes of stuff and a few pieces of furniture and, when I told him about it, Mr. D had a couple of guys come and take it all away.

Then we went out to a thrift store Cindy told me about and picked up a couple of end tables, a coffee table and a pair of lamps in pretty good condition. After that, she took me to the department store. She wanted to get things like curtains and linens and towels, but I was looking for a mattress set. The only ones I’d seen at the thrift store were used and I have a thing about sleeping on someone else’s mattress – the motel beds notwithstanding. Since I had an income now and still had money left over in the envelope, I told Cindy to remember I didn’t like flowers or lace, but to go nuts.

All in all, we didn’t spend that much money. At least, not as much as you’d think. Cindy was really good at spotting bargains, and I insisted on the floor model mattress set so I got a discount. When I told the clerk where I wanted it delivered to his eyebrows shot up but he didn’t say anything. They didn’t charge me for delivery, either.

The next day I had to go to school and Cindy had to work, but afterwards (with Mr. D’s permission, of course) we went at cleaning the apartment up. I have to hand it to her – I couldn’t have worked eight hours on my feet and then spent another four or five cleaning, but Cindy never said a word about it. The woman had guts, that’s for sure. She just threw her jacket over a chair, tied a scarf over her long, blond hair and went at it.

When everything was cleaned, straightened and arranged, Cindy and I went to the grocery store. I thought it was kind of neat, the way she asked me how I liked to cook before we got started. I told her I didn’t really cook that much, so she made sure everything we bought was simple to make. She said if I was feeling adventurous later, she might bring over a few of her cookbooks and show me some more complicated things to make. I told her I was taking shop, not home economics. She said I should think about switching classes. That sobered me up a bit.

It wasn’t until we had everything unpacked and put away that I realized something: I had no dishes. We went through the cupboards but there wasn’t a pot or fork to be found. Cindy looked at me and I looked at her – and then we both started laughing fit to burst. It felt really good, let me tell you. It had been a long, long time since I’d felt like laughing about anything.

A few more trips to the thrift store and I had everything I needed, finally. To celebrate, Cindy came over (again) and we cooked up a nice meal – nothing fancy, but nice. I invited Mr. D up and the three of us had a really good time, I think. Cindy told me later she’d always been a little afraid of him, but the two of them seemed to hit it off okay.

Like I said, I didn’t have any real friends at school – I didn’t want a repeat of last time – but occasionally one of the kids from my English class would come over to study. I worked after school until closing, so they’d hang out in the store or come over on the weekend when it was closed to hang out in my apartment. I was something of an oddity, being book-smart, and they’d ask me for help on projects or with studying for exams. A lot of the time, it was Shakespeare they’d need help with. I found myself thinking more than once that I wasn’t so much a study partner as an interpreter. I hadn’t mentioned my sexual orientation to anyone at school and, since I’d opted not to take gym class, I didn’t have to go into the guy’s locker room and chance getting caught staring. I’d taken up jogging instead of weight lifting – that way I’d only have to shower at home.

As for actual bona fide friends, I kept that list really short: Mr. D, of course, and Cindy. I found out she was kind of like me in a way – she finished high school a few years back, moved into her own place and was content with her life. She told me once that she’d thought about going into interior design, but working to keep ahead of the bills put a stop to it. She didn’t mind, she told me. She liked her job and her apartment. “Maybe someday I’ll look for more,” she said with a smile. I hadn’t told her I was gay, but I think she must have figured it out at some point, because she never giggled and flirted with me like the other girls I’d met. Cindy wasn’t that much older than me I thought, so if she’d been interested I would have known. As it was, I almost felt closer to her than I did Devin before the fall-out. She was kind of like the big sister I never had. She lived alone, apparently – her family moved away shortly after she started working in the diner – so we spent quite a bit of time together. If she wanted me, she never acted like it.

I’d talked to Mr. D about staying open on the weekends to generate more revenue. He argued against it at first, saying that he’d always been closed on Saturday and Sunday. I told him most people only look for magazines or papers on a weekday, but weekends were the time they’d want to browse for something more involved to read. It took a few months, but he finally gave in. After my graduation he agreed to stay open on weekends if I’d work them, too. Since I had no intention of doing anything else, I said I would.