"Well, first of all," said Ms. Wilton, opening a binder and examining a chart with all sorts of numbers and checkmarks and notes on it, "Paul seems to have a problem getting to class on time. He's rushing in at the last minute, which causes a real disruption to the class, especially when everyone else is settled in."
It was pretty hot in there, especially after all the running I'd done. I pushed my chair back, causing it to squeak against the floor, to allow myself room to work my jacket off. "Just hang on a second," I said, struggling to free myself from one sleeve while in a sitting position. Once I had the jacket off, I slipped it over the back of the chair. "You were saying?"
"When Paul comes to class late, it can cause a disruption to the class."
"I can understand that." I turned to Paul. "Is this true?"
He shrugged. "Sometimes I'm coming from gym, and we have to get changed, or have a shower, so I don't always get here on time."
Time, I thought. How much time did I have? How long before this stranger found his way to our house? And what did he plan to do when he got there? He could have the purse, the $20,000, it didn't matter to me. Just take it and get out of our lives. As long as I handed it over, there was no reason for him to hurt me or any member of my family. He didn't know that I knew he was a killer, so it wasn't like he had to eliminate me as a witness. I'd tell him pretty much the truth. I found the purse at the grocery store, just wanted to return it, you must be her husband, nice to meet you, here it is, have a nice day, don't slam the door on your way out.
"Paul also has some difficulties in staying focused," Ms. Wilton said. "The material we're covering is fairly complicated, so if you're not paying attention, you're going to have a lot of trouble when it comes to tests and assignments. Mr. Walker?"
"Yes?"
"You follow what I'm saying?"
"Of course. He has to be on time. I'm in total agreement there."
"No, I was talking about how Paul needs to pay more attention."
"To what?"
Ms. Wilton seemed to be the kind of person who got irritated very easily. There was a tone in her voice when she said, "To what goes on in class. To what I'm saying."
"Oh, again, I agree." To Paul, I said, "Aren't you paying attention in class?"
He shrugged. "I try. But I'm just not very interested in science. I mean, what's the point? What am I going to do with this stuff?"
I looked back at Ms. Wilton. "Over to you."
Ms. Wilton's eyes narrowed. "Mr. Walker, you're an author of science fiction novels, are you not?"
Again, this tone. This was not the way a fan usually brought up my work. "That's true, yes. I've done a few novels."
"Wouldn't you agree that even if you don't intend to become a rocket scientist, or an epidemiologist with the Atlanta Centers for Disease Control, that a general background in science is valuable? Even though your focus is fiction and good storytelling, haven't you benefitted from a general understanding of scientific principles in your line of work?"
Slowly, I nodded. "That's an excellent point." I turned to Paul. "That's a good point."
"That's all I'm trying to do here with Paul. To give him a good grounding in science. He doesn't have to find a cure for cancer, but he should at least know, for example, what keeps an airplane aloft, the aerodynamic principles involved that keep it from crashing to the ground."
I've never really understood why airplanes don't crash into the ground, but this didn't seem like a good time to ask for an explanation.
"Paul's got a 55 for this semester, and there's only a few weeks left of school, and a major exam coming up, and he's going to have to work hard to make his mark a passing one," the teacher said. "And it would help a lot if Paul spent less time listening to his little gadgets and more time listening to me when I'm speaking."
"Gadgets?" I asked.
"Pagers and phones and those, what do you call them, MP5 players?"
"MP3," Paul corrected her. "That's all I've got. I don't bring a phone or pager to class."
"As you can imagine," Ms. Wilton said, addressing me, "it's very difficult to compete for attention against all the technological toys that are out there these days."
I nodded. "Sure, I can -"
And the cell phone in my jacket pocket started to chirp. "I'm sorry," I said. "Could you excuse me for just a second?"
I turned around in the chair, reached into my pocket, and withdrew the phone. "Hello?" I said, smiling sheepishly over my shoulder at Ms. Wilton.
"Zack?"
Sarah.
"I totally forgot. I tried to get you at home and there was no answer. The interview with Ms. Winslow."
"Wilton," I said, smiling at the teacher.
"Yeah. You're supposed to be there."
"It's under control," I said. "We're doing it right now."
"Oh, God, sorry. I better go."
"No, that's okay."
"What's the teacher say?"
"Well, he needs to be paying more attention, you know, that kind of thing. How 'bout with you? How's it going there?"
"Oh, pretty quiet. A fire downtown. But this is interesting. They've called out the homicide guys in Oakwood. Not too far from our place. Some woman bought it."