Changing the Rules (Richter Book 1)(14)

Once Mrs. Hanley gave him the dime tour, they returned to her office.

“Mr. Diaz has left a class plan on your desk. He’ll put together a month-long one by the end of the week.”

“And if we need longer than that?” Cooper knew they would.

“Mr. Diaz will accommodate whatever you need. He was happy to take some paid leave time.”

Cooper sat comfortably on the other side of her desk. “Who have you told that I’m here?”

“No one. Well, my husband, if I’m truthful, but no one here on campus.”

“You’re friends with the staff?”

“Of course. I’ve known some of the people here for many years. But I’m well trained at keeping secrets. The last group that came through brought that point home. I honestly felt safer with them on campus. I’m quite surprised it took this long for you to come back.”

Cooper couldn’t help but wonder if her words meant none of Warren’s people were there any longer.

“Even your closest friends on staff know nothing?” Cooper prodded.

Mrs. Hanley laughed. “Goodness no. The students aren’t the only ones who gossip around here. The superintendent made it clear what my role is.”

Cooper watched the time. “I’ve been given information on the teaching staff, but if you could give me some insight on the ancillary staff, I’d appreciate it.”

“What kind of information?”

“Names, ages, what their roles are, how long they’ve been on staff. The basics. I’ll avoid coming to you directly as much as I can.”

“I’m here to help,” she offered.

“I’m sure you are. Your intentions are not what my focus is on. If I were to ask you about Sally, in the counseling office, and you and Sally spent your weekends together with your families, your bias will come through. Or you’ll unintentionally treat Sally differently and spook her, or spark conversations.”

“I understand.”

“This isn’t a two-way street. If you hear anything on campus about me or your new student, you need to let us know.”

“I can do that.”

Cooper stood. “I should get a feel for my room before everyone shows up,” he said, reaching out a hand.

“Welcome to Auburn High,” she said.



Auto shop?

How in the world did he qualify as a substitute teacher for auto shop?

Cooper searched the faces of the kids filing into the classroom that had a single wall between it and the shop filled with tools, lifts, cars . . . Yeah, he knew his way around the engine of a car, but what the hell did he know about teaching it?

He looked at the syllabus Mr. Diaz had mapped out. Third period was Auto 101. From the looks of the curriculum, it wasn’t auto so much as small engines. Not one tire or exhaust to change out.

The kids took their seats. Most of them looked like they were twelve.

How bad could this be?

Ten minutes into class, his back was turned while he drew an illustration on the board, and something wet hit his neck.

If not for the laughter that followed, he would have thought the aging school had a leak.

Memories of his younger years surfaced.

Images flashed of him sitting back in his seat, acting like nothing happened. His friends all laughing along . . .

Cooper turned and watched as one by one the smiles slowly faded to snickers. The upright spines slid into chairs . . .

One student’s eyes narrowed on his, the straight line of his lips shouted in their lack of expression.

As their eyes fixated, the room moaned in silence.

“What’s your name?” Cooper asked.

At least one of the kids cut in with an audible ohhhh.

Cooper knew he had his man . . . or kid, as it stood.

The kid responded in Spanish . . . and with the delivery of his name, he added a slur he didn’t expect Cooper to understand.

When Cooper narrowed his eyes, the kid laughed and looked around the room.

His friends, the ones who knew exactly what he said, started to laugh.

Cooper returned to his desk, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared.

The longer he did, the more silence cloaked the room.

Slowly, eyes shifted between each other until all darted back and forth from Cooper to the kid that smarted off.

“You got somethin’ to say?” the kid challenged.

Cooper shrugged. “You and your friends obviously know the material. No need for me to teach it.”

The kid tossed his pen on his desk and sat back.

The institutional-style clock on the wall ticked.

Each.

And.

Every.

Second.

Cooper waited until the bell rang.

“Mr. Diaz is out for the next three months . . . give or take. There’s a test first thing tomorrow on today’s material.”

Cooper heard at least one f-bomb drop as the class grumbled in opposition.

As the one class funneled out, the next shuffled in.

Cooper silently apologized to every high school teacher he ever dissed, and moved into position to take his lashes of pushover substitute for the rest of the day.





CHAPTER SIX


One of the parts about being a graduate from a military school that had its students recruited for legit special forces units—and at the other end of the spectrum, criminal assassins—was extensive knowledge of communications.