Chapter 8

Monday, August 14, 2006

Mr. Piotrowski had found a nice office set at an estate sale, and had arranged to have it delivered. The two brothers who delivered the furniture had a good deal going. Call them from anywhere in the county and they'd show up with a truck and move your stuff.

The laptop looked a little lonely on the desk all by itself. Scott had convinced Mr. Piotrowski that he'd be better off with an external mouse instead of trying to manipulate the touch pad. His fingers were a little too beat up and arthritic for the delicate manipulations required by the pad.

"I think you need a plant or something," observed Scott.

Mr. Piotrowski was trying out the chair while Jobe sniffed the desk and side table. A two drawer file cabinet came with the set.

"A plant might be nice, but what I really need is a printer and a fax machine. We might have to go to Odessa to find a decent printer. Plus, I'm going to have to buy another dog bed for the office."

Jobe was being spoiled.

"Mr. Piotrowski, this is the internet age. We can bring almost anything directly to you."

Scott turned the laptop around and did some quick searching.

"Look at this. These are called multifunction printers. They print, copy, scan, and fax. It's all rolled into one device. If we buy from this place they include 'free' shipping and don't charge any sales tax."

"I like the idea of that," replied Mr. Piotrowski. "What's the difference between ink jet and laser?"

Scott explained the pros and cons as he understood them.

"I don't see why I'd need color. You pick out the best one and order it."

He spent an hour reading multifunction printer reviews before he finally decided on one that was on sale. Scott liked that the retailer told you if a reviewer had purchased the item from them or not. He added a nice power strip with a surge protector to the order.

The remainder of the morning was spent organizing the filing cabinet. The bottom drawer was for Mr. Piotrowski's personal papers, and the top drawer was for business. Scott labeled folders for Mr. Piotrowski and sorted through their old auction sales.

Jobe barked from downstairs.

"That's probably Eddie," Scott said and ran downstairs.

"Invite him to lunch if he wants," Mr. Piotrowski called after him.

Eddie was standing over by the motorcycle. Scott had pushed it out of the storage building. He wasn't sure if he wanted Eddie to see the heavy bag and weight set.

"This is so cool!" Eddie said by way of greeting.

"Hey, Eddie, yeah it is pretty great."

"Dad was telling me how all the guys at the shop pitched in. He said that he'd never seen them so excited to work on a project."

"They surprised the heck out of me, and saved me six months of work. Not to mention that they did a better job than I ever could have. Let me start it up."

Scott leaned over and pressed the starter button. Eddie loved it when he gave it some gas.

"Want to go for a ride?" Scott asked.

Eddie shook his head, "I wish I could, but my mom would kill me if she found out. I asked if I could get a motorcycle too. She said two words, 'hell' and 'no.' Did you know she made my dad get rid of his motorcycle when they started dating?"

"Yeah, he mentioned it. Look, I'll ride it around the driveway and then shut it off. You can sit on it if you want. I don't think she could complain about that."

Scott rode slowly down the drive and did a tricky slow speed turn to ride back up to the storage building. He shut it down and told Eddie to take a seat. He pointed out the basic functions of the bike and tried to explain how the hand clutch and shifting with your foot worked.

"It's more complicated to describe than it is to actually do it. Eddie?"

Eddie was trying to crawl off of the motorcycle and had a terrified look on his face.

"Eddie, what's wrong?"

"Dog! Big Dog!" he exclaimed as he scrambled off of the motorcycle.

Scott turned around and saw Jobe trotting toward them. His ears were perked up, and he obviously intended to meet the new guy and see what was going on.

Scott went over and grabbed Jobe by the collar and told him to sit. "Shhhh, you're making Eddie nervous. Don't make any sudden moves or bark, okay?" he whispered to Jobe. He'd had no idea that Eddie was scared of dogs.

"Eddie, this is Jobe. He's a real nice dog. He won't hurt you or anything. Jobe, this is my friend Eddie."

Jobe sat there panting at Eddie. Eddie was keeping the motorcycle between himself and the dog.

This might take a while.

"Jobe is a Belgian Shepherd that somebody abandoned out here. See how he has a dark muzzle and ears? They call that a mask. The dark mask and the light color of his coat are one way you can identify his breed according to the vet. I found him earlier this summer. Mr. Piotrowski took him to the clinic and he got all of his shots. He even has a computer chip between his shoulder blades, under his skin. Any vet can run an electronic reader over and it will tell him the dog's ID number. It's kind of like the handheld inventory guns we have at the shop."

Eddie had stopped shaking, but he wasn't coming any closer.

"Watch this," Scott said. "Jobe, shake hands."

Jobe held up his paw.

"Jobe, lie down."

Jobe stretched out on the gravel driveway. It didn't look comfortable.

"Sit up, boy." Job sat up. "Good boy! See how well trained he is? Would you like to meet him?"

"I guess so," Eddie was less than enthusiastic.

Scott kept a hold of Jobe's collar and walked over to the motorcycle. He stopped just out of reach of Eddie. Jobe sat next to Scott.

"Okay Eddie, here's what I want you to do. Take your hand and hold it out, but below the dog's head. Dogs don't like it when strangers put their hands above their heads to try and pet them. It's a dominance thing. You can reach and pet his chest or stroke the fur, okay?"

Eddie stuck out his hand, "Like this?"

"Yeah, just like that. See that's not so bad right?"

Eddie gave him a nervous look as he stroked Jobe's coat.

"Okay take your hand and rub the bottom of his chin, and then roll your hand into a loose fist and hold it in front of him."

Jobe gave Eddie's a hand a big lick.

"That's wet!" Eddie exclaimed wiping his hand on his jeans.

Scott walked Jobe around a bit still holding onto his collar, "You want to try?"

"No thanks, I think that's enough for one day," replied Eddie.

"Okay." Scott went and put Jobe into the house and told him to stay until Eddie was gone.

Eddie explained that he had been bitten badly when he was little. Dogs had been a problem for him ever since.

"I'm sorry Eddie. If I had known I would have warned you, or I could have brought the bike over to your place."

"It's okay, you didn't know. Besides, maybe it's time I tried to get over my fear."

"You should come running with us. Jobe likes to tag along; he's a lot of fun."

"Run? No thanks, man."

"Hey mister football player, those two-a-day practices are going to kill you if you don't get your wind back. You've only got a week. Might as well be a week ahead of anybody else who didn't work out over the summer."

"I'll think about it," said Eddie.

"Come look at something," Scott pushed the bike back into the storage building and showed Eddie the weight bench and heavy bag.

"I thought you weren't working out?" Eddie accused.

"I haven't started lifting yet. I just got the weights. I have been working the bag and doing pull-ups and calisthenics," he jumped and grabbed the duplicate set of the bars that Rico had made and did a couple of quick pull-ups.

Eddie took a playful punch at the heavy bag and shook his hand ruefully. Scott showed him how to make a good fist and the correct way to hit the bag.

"Usually I wrap my knuckles before doing that."

"Are you going to beat people up this year or what?" Eddie asked.

"Me? No way. It's a good workout though. See how it builds the shoulders and arms? Can you show me some stuff on the weights?"

They goofed around and Eddie showed him some good exercises to do with the weight set. They did some bench presses, clean and jerk, squats. They put some weights on the dumbbell and curling bars. Eddie tried a few pull-ups. He wanted to get a set of bars, so Scott told him to ask Rico about it when he got back from welding school.

"You really like that Rico guy?" Eddie asked.

"Rico? Yeah he's good people. He was young like us and fell in with some of the wrong crowd. He's really turned himself around. Got his GED, and now your dad's paying for him to attend that fancy welding school. You could tell the football team about these pull-up bars. They're probably better than anything they can buy, and cheaper. You and Rico could go into business together."

"Yeah sure, man."

Eddie complained, but he showed up early Tuesday morning to go running with Scott and Jobe.

Wednesday was freshman orientation at the high school. They would get their fall schedules and learn where their classrooms were and that sort of thing.

Scott was at Eddie's bright and early. Mrs. Mendoza was going to drive them to town. They were in the kitchen where Eddie was telling him how gross it was to remove old toilets from abandoned houses. Mrs. Mendoza came into the kitchen and got a good look at them.

"Scott, have you been shopping for school clothes yet?" she asked.

"Me? No ma'am."

Scott never worried about clothes. He didn't particularly care what he wore as long as it fit. Mrs. Delgado ordered a lot of the boys' clothing at the ranch from catalogs. The ranch got a discount through the state. Some things like coats came from the Goodwill store in town.

She came over and was tugging on his t-shirt and jeans, "These are getting too tight. You'll come with us this afternoon. I have to buy Eddie new pants and shirts."

Scott looked over at Eddie who reached down and tugged at his jeans. Scott saw what he meant. Eddie's old jeans were 'highwaters' since he'd gotten his growth spurt. They were easily an inch above his ankles. Eddie was wearing cowboy boots to try and cover the fact.

"I'll call Luisa and have her meet us in town," Mrs. Mendoza announced.

Eddie told Scott, "Better go along with it. There's nothing you can do when she gets like this."

At the high school there were signs posted directing students to the gymnasium. The bleachers had been pulled out for seating. Scott and Eddie found a seat and started looking around. They heard a shout and saw Bo heading their direction. He was trailed by a couple of football players.

Eddie and Bo did the ritual greeting. Everybody was amazed at how tall Eddie had gotten over the summer.

"Scott, we've got a painting job coming up in two weeks if you're still interested?" Bo said as he sat down.

"Count me in."

"What's this?" asked Eddie.

Bo explained about the work his dad's contracting crew had done at Mr. Piotrowski's.

The school principal tapped on the podium microphone to get everybody's attention, "Good morning, I'm Principal Reynolds. I want to officially welcome the freshman class to Fort Stockton High School. A squad of cheerleaders ran out from a side door and did a tumbling run down the length of the floor. They gathered around the podium and led the students in a cheer. Let's hear it for the future senior class of 2010!"

The students stood up and screamed. Scott tried not to roll his eyes.

Eddie shouted into his ear, "School spirit, buddy!"

The principal's speech wasn't terribly long. He concentrated on the dress code and rules. High school was different he kept reminding them. After his speech students were directed to lines organized in alphabetical order. They had to collect their official schedules, locker assignment, rules package, and check that all their forms had been signed correctly.

Eddie, Scott, and Bo's last names all started with the same letter so they were in the same line. Eddie and Bo were waiting for Scott so they could go find their lockers. Scott took his packet from the teacher manning the desk. He looked at his schedule, and then took a closer look.

"This is wrong," he said.

"Excuse me?" said the teacher.

"My schedule is wrong," Scott repeated.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Well you need to go down to the other side and get in line to see one of the counselors," the teacher informed him.

"Guys, you better go on without me. I have to get this sorted out."

"What's the problem?" asked Eddie.

"They've got me in the wrong algebra class and another class I didn't sign up for. I'll get it straightened out."

"Okay, we'll catch up to you later then," replied Eddie as he and Bo went off to find their lockers.

Scott went and stood in the new line. Eventually it was his turn. The bored school counselor had a fake smile, "Name please?"

"MacIntyre, Scott Wayne," he replied in an equally bored tone.

"What's the problem?"

"My schedule is wrong. It has me down for Algebra I instead of Algebra II, and Speech instead of Geometry."

"I don't see how that can be, are you sure?"

Scott sighed. He retrieved his wallet and removed a folded piece of paper. He had kept a copy of the schedule that he had filled out with the help of his middle school guidance counselor that spring. He showed it to the high school counselor.

She examined it skeptically, "I'll have to go check on this."

Scott waited for five minutes. The counselor returned.

"The math teacher has declined to change your schedule," she announced.

"Declined? What is the teacher's name? Does he know that I have a recommendation from my eighth grade math teacher? Or that I maxed out on the math portion of the assessment tests. More importantly, does he know that I've already taken algebra? I got an 'A.' There's a reason we take those assessment tests isn't there?"

"I'm sure he must know that," she said imperiously.

"Who do I appeal to?" he asked.

"Your parents can call the office."

"My parents are dead."

That was always a great foster kid line, and it flustered her, "Then your guardian can call the office."

"I'd rather not bother the judge with this sort of thing."

She stared at him. "Wait here."

She returned with the school principal in tow.

"I'm Principal Reynolds. What seems to be the problem?"

"Scott MacIntyre, sir. The problem is that I've already taken algebra, and somebody replaced my geometry elective with speech class. I had straight 'A's' in middle school, and my math assessment scores were maxed out. My old algebra teacher even included his endorsement for advanced classes in with my schedule application."

The principal blinked.

"Well, that's quite a speech. Mr. Channing is the freshman math teacher and has good reasons for his choices. He believes two math classes are too much for a freshman."

"I've already taken algebra. Am I supposed to twiddle my thumbs all semester?"

"Watch your tone young man. What I will do is put you in a geometry class. I'm afraid you're stuck with speech. We want our students to have fun at Fort Stockton High."

"I'm not here to have fun. I'm here to get an education and graduate," Scott insisted.

The principal just stared at him. He took the schedule and made a hand notation and then gave it back. Scott now had Geometry instead of Algebra I, but was stuck with speech.

Shit!

Scott's bad mood continued through lunch. Eddie was sympathetic, but he couldn't understand why Scott wanted to take two math classes in addition to his advanced placement prep classes.

After lunch Scott got Mrs. Mendoza to stop at his bank. He went in and withdrew a hundred dollars since he was going to have to buy school clothes. Mrs. Mendoza drove them over the clothing outlet store where they met Mrs. Delgado. Eddie's mom dragged him off into the depths of the store. Scott went to the clearance rack and was trying to find some shirts.

"Mijo, what are you doing?" asked Mrs. Delgado.

Scott showed her his money, "Trying to find some shirts."

"Oh sweetie, put that away and save it for something else. It wouldn't buy much anyway. I have money from the ranch budget that we use to buy clothing for you boys. I'll pick out some things."

How could you spend two hours shopping for clothing? Scott wanted to know. He ended up with three polo style shirts, two new pairs of jeans, assorted socks and underwear, and a new pair of brown shoes.

Scott 'got his mad out' on the heavy bag at Mr. Piotrowski's that evening. He worked things over in his head and ended up doing four circuits of the property. Jobe kept up for the first one, but got bored and went to sit with Mr. Piotrowski in the house. He tried to tell himself that he could survive the first four months of high school. January would be here soon enough and then he'd get his hardship license.

At least he had a job. Mr. Piotrowski had offered him fifty dollars a week to do general chores. Scott thought it was too much, but Mr. Piotrowski had insisted. Scott's hours would be flexible, and it was too good a deal to pass up. He'd asked Mr. Mendoza to cut his hours to eight a week at the shop. Scott would work Wednesday afternoons and Saturdays at the shop. The rest of the week he'd work for Mr. Piotrowski.

Scott had only made a little over thirteen hundred dollars for the summer. It was about half what he had originally counted on. The trade off was that he came away with a motorcycle six months ahead of schedule, and had experienced the most personally rewarding period of his life. It had been worth it.

First Day of School, Monday August 21st, 2006

Scott was up at 5:30 a.m. This was his wake up time during the school year. He rushed through his chores, and then threw himself into his new workout regime. Calisthenics he would do at the ranch. Everything else he would do at Mr. Piotrowski's.

This year, instead of catching a ride with the Mendozas he was riding his bike to Mr. Piotrowski's where he'd make breakfast or do some quick chores. Then he'd ride the rest of the way to Meritt's Corner. He'd chain the bike up at the shop.

The first day of school had always filled him with dread. It was everything that he hated; chaos and crowds of people. This year was different. It was now just something to be endured. The hallways were incredibly crowded compared to middle school, but then again the high school had about twice the student population with over six hundred enrolled.

First period was Geometry with Mr. Channing, the math teacher who had torpedoed his schedule. He was not an inspiring teacher. Homework, they were told, would be randomly selected problems from the back of each chapter. Scott was used to burnouts working in foster care. This was the first one he had encountered in the public school system.

French was next, and he thought he might like it. Classroom participation was a key component of the class, but it didn't bother him like it once had. Third and fourth period were okay. They were his only two classes with Eddie; English II and Cultural Geography.

The salad bar at lunch might be the best thing about high school. It was a big improvement over the offerings at the middle school. Scott found a seat with Eddie and Bo. The other football players looked at him, and then ignored him. He could live with that.

He had the mandatory health class right after lunch and sat next to Bo, it was their only class together. One of the football coaches taught the class. It was not going to be an intellectual challenge. At least it was only a semester long. After Christmas break it would become an art class.

Biology for sixth period looked to be interesting. The teacher was enthusiastic at least. His most personally challenging class was seventh period speech. It was the class that should have been Algebra II. They were going to learn the art of public speaking.

For the last official period of the day he had athletics. If you were a school athlete you got one of two periods. First period athletics was for ball sports, the premier sports of high school. Last period athletics was for all the other sports. If you weren't on an athletic team you took PE during one of the other periods.

Coach Zell ran the high school cross country program, in addition to being an assistant weight lifting coach, and the girls' junior varsity volleyball coach. Simply put, he was a busy man. The cross country team had five students, and they pretty much trained on their own. The coach was very straight forward, "Finish your assigned workout, or run distance, and the rest of the time is yours. If you abuse this privilege I'll have your ass. You can study or do whatever except leave campus early."

"I could really use the extra time to study, Coach. Could I have a pass to the library?" Scott asked.

"Library, why not? This has to be renewed every two weeks which is stupid. I'm filling out ... six and the extras will be in my cubby hole here in the office so grab them as needed. See me when you run out, but don't screw with me or you will regret it."

"I hear you loud and clear, Coach."

Coach Zell did try and get Scott to go out for the weight lifting team, but he politely declined.

The bus to Meritt's Corner left at four. If he could pad some time by finishing cross country training early it would really help. He might be able to squeeze in twenty minutes of homework or studying. The library pass was a golden ticket."

The first week of school settled into a routine. Geometry was beyond boring. Mr. Channing picked random problems from the textbook for the homework assignment. You could do the other problems for extra credit. So really you ended up doing the whole section. For the weekend they were given a review from the chapter.

For the first time that he could remember, Scott put off doing homework. On Sunday night he finally sat down at his desk. He flipped through the text book. It was mind numbingly boring. Do the homework, he told himself. No, do all of the homework, the thought popped into his head.

Scott got up and raided the storage closet for supplies. He took three different pads of paper and several different pencils. The school supplies at the ranch were a wide assortment of the cheapest available. He lined the pads up across his desk. The different pencils he put down by each pad. After he found his compass and protractor, he started doing his homework. He did the next chapter and the chapter after that. Every few exercises he switched pads, but he switched pencils every exercise by selecting them at random.

Everything he needed to know was right there in the textbook. He went into a zone and time passed. Scott rubbed his eyes. It was 5:30 a.m. and he had finished the textbook. He had a pile of convincingly different homework assignments. With a pencil he dated the current assignment and put it into his backpack. The others he stacked neatly and put them into a folder that he stashed in the closet.

Scott took a shower and did his regular workout. He did not feel tired. All day he kept expecting to have to pay for the sleep deficit, but it never came. In the library he read a book on sleep disorders. It was dangerous to go without sleep for long periods of time. He needed to think about this.

An unintended consequence of his homework marathon was that geometry class became unbearable. Scott needed some way of dealing with it. He hadn't really experimented with his differences since he was very young. The parameters had been set and he stayed within them.

Working with Noah over the summer had revealed a new capability when he read the small engine manuals given to him. He discovered that he could generate wire frame models in his mind by recalling clear images of schematics and wiring diagrams. He could move them about on any axis, or change his point of view within the image. When he started studying the motorcycle manuals all those disparate facts coalesced and formed detailed images in his mind's eye. With a thought he could recall them.

He needed to determine the parameters of his own mind. Maybe he could research it in the library without raising any attention.

The high point of the week was when Bo confirmed that the painting job was on for the weekend.

"Where is it anyway?" Scott asked.

"You know the United Methodist Church? It's out by you."

It wasn't really. It was located about halfway between Meritt's and town. That was nearly twenty-two miles from the ranch.

Bo continued, "The crew has been sanding and scraping all week long. We're going to paint right through the weekend. The church is having services in town temporarily, so we can paint on Sunday with no problem. It's an easy job, all white. We'll probably get trim duty. Dad wants to work sunup till sundown."

"I'll be there. Thanks for remembering me."

"Yeah no problem," Bo replied.

Scott told Mr. Piotrowski that he had a one off painting job for the weekend with the Masons and would make up his hours during the week.

Saturday morning Scott was up early. He calculated that it was at least an hour and a half bike ride to the church. He packed extra water along with a couple of oranges and a few power bars. It was the furthest that he'd ridden on the bicycle. He slowed down when he passed Meritt's Corner to be safe, but there wasn't any traffic. The twenty four hour diner was open, but it looked empty. He made it to the church in an hour and ten minutes, and hadn't had to do anything extra human to achieve that time.

Bo saw him, "You rode your bicycle? I thought you'd get somebody to drop you off. Sheesh, how long did it take?"

"Right about an hour. It's no big deal. I like the morning ride, and its good training for cross country."

"You're crazy."

Mr. Mason had several dozen donuts for the crew to eat. It was a much bigger group than he had seen before. Bo told him that's because his dad's personal crew had done the work at Mr. Piotrowski's. For this job he had gotten all of his crews together.

"Are you afraid of heights?" asked Bo.

"I don't think so."

"We'll find out today. That crew with the rigging is doing the steeple. We're going to be painting the sanctuary's exterior trim and the underside of the eves. We'll be up about thirty feet. Notice that we're using a different kind of scaffolding. This is bolted right to the building, so it's very stable.

It was hot against the building. The early September sun still packed the heat of summer, and the light glared off of the white church siding. The morning flew by.

The two boys were about to start on the more intricate face of the sanctuary when they took lunch.

"You don't even notice the height after a while do you?" asked Bo.

"It's not that bad, but I wouldn't want to be up on the steeple. Those guys installing that copper flashing right below the finial are crazy."

They watched the men. They were taking lunch on the side of the steeple while hanging in their harnesses.

"Yeah, but they make good money," said Bo.

"They're earning it."

After lunch their return to the sanctuary eves was delayed after they were tasked with taping off the stained glass window over the main entryway. They finally managed it with Bo on one level of the scaffolding and Scott on the level below. They laid out long sheets of construction plastic and taped it down. The two worked well together.

As dusk was approaching they were at the back of the sanctuary building hurrying to finish the eves. Scott's neck had a crick in it from looking up all day long. The section they were in was a bit of an oddity. The church had been added to over the years and they were in a pocket corner where a newer Sunday school building butted up to the back of the sanctuary at a strange angle.

Mr. Mason came around the corner and yelled up at them to hurry up. His voice echoed off the side of the building.

"Almost done, Dad. About ten more minutes," shouted Bo.

The boys finished. Scott put his brushes and rollers in a bucket and was ready to get down. Bo urged him to hurry up and started singing "We are the champions!" He turned and stepped on the handle of a trim roller he'd accidentally dropped. Bo's foot shot out from under him and he banged his back and shoulder painfully against the rail. The end of the rail popped out of the corner post clamp, and Bo went tumbling over.

Scott had already started moving to grab Bo when he slipped. When Bo tumbled out into the air Scott made one desperate grab for him. He slammed belly first to the scaffold walkway. He had a hold of the back of the walkway, the building side, with his left hand. In his right hand he held Bo's wrist.

Bo was dangling there in open space. Scott looked down and swore that all he could see were the two black circles of Bo's giant pupils staring up into the sky. The rail from the scaffolding had buried itself in the grass below like a lawn dart.