School Daze

Evangeline Burke hated her name - hated her red curly hair - hated the freckles that spread across her face like spattered blood - hated the front teeth that overlapped - but most of all she hated the first day in a new school.

She shifted from foot to foot at the office counter while her mother filled out the admission forms. Her mother was in a hurry -- always in a hurry -- and stopped writing only briefly to study a question before scrawling some new lie across the page.

Evangeline and her mother were on the run. Hiding from her father. "The Bastard" her mother always called him, and Evangeline thought of him that way. Never dad or my father or pops but "the Bastard." Always capitalized and singular. All the feelings she had for him were wrapped around the term.

The air smelled of chalk and disinfectant and three sulky boys who were already lined up to see the principal. They slumped in orange molded chairs, legs stretched out in disdain. Evangeline peeked at them over her shoulder and hugged her book bag to her still flat, twelve-year-old chest. They didn't look back.

Her mother finished filling out the form and impatiently tapped the end of her pen on the counter. The secretary glanced toward them and clicked a few more strokes on her keyboard before rising and walking to the counter. She scanned the form.

"Looks okay," she said. "We'll send for the records from..." She pointed with a short, neat nail. "Jefferson Davis Middle School in Memphis."

Evangeline's mother nodded and straightened her waitress uniform over bony hips. But the request would be lost in the mail. Who even knew if there was a Jefferson Davis Middle School in Memphis. By the time the bureaucracy worked its way through the confusion, it would be Christmas...or Easter and time to move again.

"Ummm, let's see," the secretary said. "Sixth grade?" She consulted a plastic covered page in a thick black binder. "Mrs. Davis will be your teacher." She looked at Evangeline's mother, who nodded.

"Mrs. Davis," Evangeline murmured, locking it into her memory bank.

"I'm late for work," Evangeline's mother said. "If you don't need me for anything else..."

"That's all," the secretary answered. "I'll have someone show Evangeline to Mrs. Davis' room."

Both women hurried off. They had disposed of the business with Evangeline who stood by the counter, still shifting from foot to foot, but now alone. She dangled her book bag from a freckled arm, threaded her way through outstretched legs to an unoccupied orange chair, and slumped into it.

"Shit," she said.

The boy next to her wore a red do rag over long blond hair. He wore a black Harley Davidson tee shirt and jeans worn so thin the white cotton of his pockets was visible. He smelled of cigarettes and dirty hair. He opened one eye and shifted in his chair. "Got any smokes?" he asked.

Evangeline shook her head.

"Lunch money?"

"I packed," she said.

"Fuck," the boy said. He crossed skinny arms over his chest and allowed his eyelid to fall shut.

Mrs. Davis was a broom of a woman, ramrod thin with a thistle of blonde hair sprouting from her head. She was patrolling the rear of the room when Evangeline entered. Heads were craned toward a television set mounted in the corner of the room where a video-taped teacher was heating a beaker over a bunsen burner.

The teacher motioned Evangeline to the back of the room, took her admission slip, glanced over it, and pointed her to a chair with no desk. "Take a seat," Mrs. Davis whispered and stuffed the admit slip into her pocket.

The chair's feet made a grating noise against the floor as Evangeline slipped into it. Giggles erupted and loud "Shhhh's" followed.

"Class!" Mrs. Davis said.

Evangeline shrunk into the chair and wished to disappear. She hated the first day in a new school.

Mrs. Davis continued her patrol of the room; the electronic science teacher droned on; Evangeline surveyed her new classmates. Even from the back she could tell the "good kids" from the "geeks." Hair neatly combed vs. scraggly and haphazardly trimmed - shoulders erect and square vs. slumped - attention focused vs. wandering. Everywhere she went it was the same. The winners and the losers had already been chosen. Mrs. Davis knew who they were, and so did everyone else in the room.

Evangeline slumped her shoulders, ran skinny fingers through her hair, and sighed. The science lesson ground to a conclusion. Mrs. Davis diagrammed sentences on the chalk board and gave the class a reading assignment. She was straightening papers on her desk and waiting for the lunch bell when she reached into her pocket and pulled out Evangeline's admit slip.

"Oh," she said. "I almost forgot." She looked in Evangeline's direction. "We have a new student. Evangeline Burke." She studied the slip. "From Memphis. Would you stand up, Evangeline?"

Evangeline stood as heads swiveled in her direction. "Eve," she said. "I like to be called Eve."

At just that moment, the lunch bell sounded, releasing the students from their restlessness. Chairs squawked against tile, blood flowed back to tingling toes, and the room emptied.

Evangeline gathered up her backpack, slung it over her shoulder, and headed toward the lunchroom. She selected a table and spread her bologna sandwich, bag of Cheetos, and Twinkee out in front of her.

"You really did pack," a voice said from behind her. She turned and there was the boy from the office.

"Yeah," Evangeline said.

The boy stepped over the bench seat and sat beside her. "I'll take your Twinkee." He reached for the confection and ripped open the paper cover.

"Yeah, help yourself." Evangeline popped a Cheeto in her mouth, ground it with her molars. It popped and disintegrated in her mouth. She licked the sticky residue off her fingers.

"This place sucks," the boy said.

"They all do," Evangeline answered. Her voice was flat and matter of fact.

The boy crumpled the cellophane Twinkee wrapper and tossed it on the table. It sprung back to near its original shape and lay there.

"Wanna ditch?" he said.

"It's my first day."

He cocked his eyebrow, shrugged his skinny shoulders. "So?"

Evangeline chewed a bite of her sandwich...swallowed. "My name is Eve," she said.

The boy grinned. "No shit," he said. "I'm Adam. Let's get out of here." He stood, stepped over the bench, and held out his hand.

Evangeline Burke tore off a piece of her bologna sandwich, handed it to the boy who stuffed it into his mouth. She stood, hoisted her book bag to her shoulder, and followed him.