See Me After Class(89)

“Please don’t tell Principal Dewitt,” Chuckie, a senior with bright red hair, says, pleading with Arlo.

“And why shouldn’t I tell her?” Arlo asks, holding a tiny bottle of vodka in his hand. I still have no idea how Arlo spotted Chuckie on the dance floor with it, but he did.

“Because she’s going to suspend me, and my dad . . . well, you know.” Chuckie swallows hard. “Please, Mr. Turner.”

Leaning in, Arlo says, “Tell me how you got this into the building.”

“I found it.”

“Lie to me again and I’ll send your ass straight to Dewitt.” I know that menacing voice. It’s scary, and the kid folds right away.

“Basketball practice. We slipped a few under the bleachers before we left.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“I can’t rat out my bros.”

“Then looks like I’ll have to rat you out.”

“Fuck,” the kid says, pressing his hand to his forehead, obviously in distress.

“How about this?” Arlo asks. “I give you five minutes to collect the rest of the bottles and bring them to me. And if I see one bottle out there, or hear of one, I’m turning in your sorry punk ass so fast. Got it?”

“Yes, Mr. Turner.”

In a low tone, Arlo says, “Go.”

Chuckie scrambles off and inserts himself into the dance floor. Idiot. We can see exactly who he’s talking to.

“Keeping track of his conversations?” I ask.

“Obviously. Chuckie, Brannen, and Louis. Could have guessed that.”

“Why are you letting him get away with it?”

“His dad is an alcoholic. Unpredictable.”

“What?” I ask, turning toward Arlo. “Why don’t you report him?”

“No evidence, just conversations. Chuckie is incredibly smart, despite bringing alcohol to the dance. He needs to get the hell away from his dad—his home—and when he gets accepted to Stanford, I’m inclined to put him on the first bus out of here.”

“But he’s not going to learn anything—”

“Listen, you might not like what I do next, but sometimes, not everything can be by the book, Greer.”

Chuckie approaches, hands in his pockets. Arlo stiffens, and I watch him transform into the disciplinarian.

“I have three more bottles,” Chuckie says.

“How many did you start with?”

Chuckie swallows hard. “Six, Mr. Turner.”

“Where are the other two?”

“Already consumed.”

He nods and says, “Hand the bottles to Miss Gibson.”

Chuckie hands me the bottles, and I stick them in my dress pocket. As Arlo grips the boy by the shoulder, he bends so he’s at eye level.

“You listen to me very carefully, Chuckie. You haven’t met your community service hours yet.”

“Yes, I have.” Chuckie nods vigorously. “I finished them this summer.”

“And who has to sign off on those?”

“You . . .” Chuckie says, realizing where this is going.

“Guess who just earned himself twenty?”

“Twenty?” Chuckie’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Why twenty?”

“Ten hours per bottle. Now, I’m only counting the ones that were consumed. I could be a real asshole and give you ten per bottle, making it sixty. Would you prefer that instead?”

“No, tw-twenty is good.”

“That’s what I thought. See me Monday morning. I’ll get you started on those hours. Got it?”

“Yes, Mr. Turner.”

He starts to turn away when Arlo halts him. “Look at me.”

Chuckie looks him in the eyes.

“I want to remind you of something. Alcoholism runs in your family. Now, you’re going to be on your own soon and the choices you make will be yours, but it’d be smart to consider where you come from. You’re smart and going places, so make intelligent choices.”

Chuckie’s shoulders sag and he nods. “Thank you, Mr. Turner.”

“Now get out of my face and report back Monday at seven in the morning. No later.”

“Yes, sir.”

When he starts to walk away, Arlo calls out, “And have some innocent fun. You have forever to be an adult. Enjoy these moments.”

Chuckie smirks and then takes off, jumping into the center of the dance floor, where he joins his friends.

And me? Well, I just stand there, jaw on the ground, my heart reaching out to the teachable moment, the way Arlo handled Chuckie, how he spoke to him. It was beautiful, the trust they have in each other.

Clearing my throat, I say, “I was mistaken.”

“Huh?” Arlo turns to me.

“Earlier this year, when we were fighting, I said you weren’t a memorable teacher. I was very, very wrong. That, right there, that’s a moment Chuckie’s going to remember forever, and he’ll learn his lesson.”

“One can only hope.” Arlo reaches out and says, “Hand me the bottles, I’ll take care of them.”





Chapter Twenty-One





GREER