Getting Played (Getting Some, #2)(23)

And the whole classroom explodes.

“I told you!”

“So haunted!”

“I knew it!” says Jason.

Ah shit. I am so getting an angry email from this kid’s mother.

“Me and Coach Walker saw the boys in the attic ourselves, when we were twelve.”

I try to catch Garrett’s eye while running my hand across my neck—the universal sign for, “Dude, shut the hell up.” But he doesn’t notice. Having Will has dulled his brain a little—he’s not as observant as he used to be.

“And Louis—your Uncle Roger was with us.” Garrett laughs. “He wet his pants and you can tell him Coach Daniels told you that.”

“D!” I finally bring Garrett’s attention to me.

“What’s up?”

“Burrows here just moved in to the house on Miller Street.”

Garrett’s face goes blank. He looks at Jason.

“Oh.”

He was always good on the recovery.

“It’s not that haunted.” He waves a hand. “It’s an urban legend—like alligators in the sewer. Don’t worry.”

But Burrows is worried.

And Garrett is unconvincing.

Louis doesn’t help.

“Dude, you’re gonna die in that house.”

Jason Burrows looks like he’s gonna die right now. On my classroom floor. From a heart attack brought on by hyperventilation and fear.

Wouldn’t that be a fuck of a way to kick off the school year.

Quinn Rousey jumps up from her desk. “Wait, wait, wait, listen!”

Quinn is a pretty, jittery kind of girl with pixie-cut black hair and a raging case of ADHD.

“I have an idea, I know what we should do, I have equipment at my house—night vision cameras and audio devices from my cousin before they sent him away to the facility in Branson.”

“Breathe, Quinn,” I interrupt. “And we’ve talked about this—you gotta lay off the Red Bulls.”

She turns toward Burrows and seems to remember to inhale between sentences. “I could come to your house and we could do a séance. Then we could burn sage and recite lines from the Bible and Torah and the Quran just to be safe, because you don’t know what religion the ghosts are, but—Oh! And I’m Quinn, by the way.” She holds out her hand. “Hi.”

Jason looks at Quinn’s hand, then slowly reaches out and shakes it.

“Hey.”

“So—what do you think? Do you want to hang out? I can come today, or tomorrow, or tomorrow-tomorrow works too.”

Several other students nod, inviting themselves right along with Quinn.

And Burrows has this expression—it’s the look of a kid who hasn’t been asked to hang out very much in his life. Maybe never. And now he’s got a pretty, outgoing, energetic girl and half a class of students wanting to do just that.

His eyes are warm and hopeful when he smiles. “Yeah, cool. Tomorrow is good. Sounds like fun.”



~



For the next half hour, we do a worksheet—mostly a review of old material. Then with five minutes left before the bell, I announce, “That’s a wrap for today. As you were, people.”

And I pull up “We’re Not Gonna Take It” by Twisted Sister on my phone and hit play—loud enough to enjoy the song as it was meant to be heard, but not so loud that one of my fellow educators will go bitching to McCarthy.

My students from last year know the drill. A few talk, Daisy doodles a butterfly on her folder, Diego pulls his cap down and closes his eyes.

Jason Burrows takes out his phone.

“We’re not allowed to go on our phones at the end of class,” Min Joon tells him.

So Burrows takes a textbook out of his bag.

And I whip a wadded-up ball of paper at his head.

“No studying allowed.”

“Well . . . what am I supposed to do?”

I stand up and approach his desk, playing perfect air drums in time to the song.

“Be a kid. Chat amongst yourselves, look out the window, play frigging Seven-Up, I don’t care. You just can’t study or screw around on your phone.”

He still looks confused, so I explain. “Your brain is a muscle . . .”

Louis raises his hand. “Technically the brain . . .”

“Shhh,” I put my finger to my lips. “The teacher is talking.”

My voice resonates across the room like a better-looking version of the Cobra Kai sensei from The Karate Kid.

“How do we build muscle, class?”

I open and close my fist in time to their response.

“Contract, release, contract, release.”

“If you don’t release will you build muscle?”

“Nooooo,” the class answers in unison like a well-trained army of geniuses.

“If you don’t rest, will you build muscle?” I ask.

“Nooooo.”

“No.” I look down at Burrows. “You’ll get worn out, injured, burnt out . . . and you’re no good to me dead.”

I spin around to the class. “Extra credit point on the next quiz for the first person who can tell me who said that!”

I like to keep them on their toes. And these kids eat up extra credit like a puppy scoffs down dog biscuits.