“Pleased to meet you, Abe. Chris Brennan.” Chris reached across the table, and Abe shook his hand, with a smile.
“Welcome to Stepford. My partner Jamie’s a Realtor, in case you decide to buy.” Abe’s dark eyes twinkled with amusement behind his hip rimless glasses. “I see you’re drinking the Kool-Aid—I mean, eating the grilled cheese. These people, they’re a cult. I tell them, the grilled cheese sucks out loud. The fact that it’s a double-decker only makes it twice as gummy. I speak truth to power, and by power I mean the cafeteria ladies.”
“Good to know.” Chris chuckled, genuinely.
“Chris, meet Rick Pannerman, our resident hippie. He was born to teach Art. Actually he was born to be Picasso, but somebody else got the job.” Abe gestured to the other male teacher, who was bald and chubby, with bright blue eyes and a smile buried in his long grayish beard. He dressed in a worn flannel shirt and jeans.
“Chris, good to see ya,” Rick said, extending a meaty hand. “Welcome to the Island of Misfit Toys.”
“Ha!” Chris smiled, and so did Abe.
“That’s what he calls our table. Now you’re one of us freaks. Gooble-gobble.” Abe pulled out a chair as Courtney came walking over with her tray. “Last but not least, this lovely creature is Courtney Wheeler. She’s married to Doug The Lug, the world’s most boring white guy, and that’s saying something.”
“Abe, hush.” Courtney sat down, smiling.
Abe pushed her chair in with a flourish. “Courtney is my bestie, and Prince Harry is my spirit animal. Don’t you think we look alike, he and I?”
Courtney answered slyly, “Well, you both breathe oxygen.”
“Not true. Oxygen breathes him.” Abe sat down, focusing again on Chris. “So welcome, Central Valley virgin. What do you teach again?”
“Government and Criminal Justice,” Chris answered, finishing the first half of his sandwich.
“I teach Language Arts, playing to type. I’m sensitive, yet curiously strong, the Altoids of teachers. Where’re you from?”
“Wyoming.”
“Wait. Whaaaat? Wyoming?” Abe’s eyes flew open behind his rimless glasses. “Are you kidding me right now?”
Courtney burst into laughter. “Oh my God!”
Rick grinned in a goofy way. “Ha! What are the chances?”
Chris didn’t like the way they said it. “Why? Have you been there?”
“Been there?” Abe repeated, his lips still parting in delight. “I grew up there! It was my childhood home! We left when I was nine but my parents moved back there, they liked it so much!”
“Really?” Chris arranged his face into a delighted mask. “What a coincidence.”
“I know, right?” Abe bubbled with enthusiasm. “I’m adopted, hello. My dad was a real outdoorsman. Wyoming born and bred. He was on the Game and Fish Commission—fun fact, Wyoming is one of the few states that have a Game and Fish Commission, as opposed to a Fish and Game Commission. Anyway, my dad taught me to hunt and fish. We ate fresh elk burgers for dinner! You know how many elk are up there, and mule deer, bison, grizzlies…”
“Don’t I know it,” Chris said, though he didn’t.
“Whereabouts in Wyoming are you from?” Abe leaned over, ignoring his lunch.
“Well, I’m not really from Wyoming—”
“I thought you said you were.”
Courtney blinked. “Meanwhile Abe is being rude as usual, asking a million questions and not letting you eat.”
Abe recoiled. “I’m not being rude. I never met anybody else from Wyoming out here. It’s amazing!” He returned his attention to Chris. “I didn’t mean to be rude, I just got excited. I’m an excitable boy. You get that, right?”
“I understand, no apology’s necessary.”
“I didn’t think so.” Abe glanced at Courtney triumphantly. “See, henny? Boyfriend and I speak the same language, though he doesn’t have an accent.” Abe turned back to Chris. “You don’t have an accent. You must’ve lost it.”
“I guess I did—”
“Right, you lose it. I lost mine. Can you imagine looking like me and sounding like a ranch hand? We’re talking major cognitive dissonance.”
Courtney rolled her lovely eyes. “Abe, you had the double-shot again, didn’t you?”
Rick turned to Chris with an apologetic look. “We got a Starbucks in town, and Abe lives there. Buckle up.”
Abe ignored them, turning back to Chris. “Anyway so are you from Wyoming or not?”
“No, I’m from the Midwest but I went to Northwest College in—”
“Cody! Of course! My dad’s alma mater! In the Bighorn basin!”
“You know Northwest College, too?” Chris was kicking himself. This was a problem.
Courtney interjected, “Abe loves Wyoming. He even dragged us all out there to see it. Pretty, but really? Boring.”
Rick shrugged. “I didn’t think it was boring. Sachi wants us to retire there. All that natural beauty.”
“Hold on a sec, I got snaps!” Abe slid his iPhone from his back pocket and started touching the screen.
Chris turned to Courtney to change the subject. “So Courtney, what do you teach?” he asked, though he already knew.
“French.” Courtney smiled. “I started here five years ago, after I got married.”
“Look!” Abe interrupted, holding up his phone across the table, showing a photo of a rock formation around a body of water. “This must bring back memories, doesn’t it?”
Chris plastered on a startled smile of recognition. “Man, that’s great!”
Abe turned the picture around. “It looks like a lake, but it’s not. I had my first kiss there—with a woman and a man! Tell ’em what it is, Chris! Everybody went there to make out, didn’t they? That’s what my dad said.”
“Not me, I was a good boy. I studied hard so I could grow up, become a teacher, and eat double-decker grilled cheese.” Chris took a bite of his sandwich, then acted as if he’d gotten food stuck in his throat. Suddenly he pushed away from the table, fake-choking, letting his expression reflect mild alarm, between hairball and Heimlich.
Rick’s blue eyes went wide. “Chris, are you choking?”
“Oh no, drink something!” Courtney jumped up with a water bottle and hurried to his side.
“Chris!” Abe rushed around the table and whacked Chris on the back as Rick, Sue, and Linda came rushing over.
Chris doubled over, fake-choking as heads began to turn. Each teacher’s face registered concern, then fear. He kept it up while Abe, Sue, and Linda clustered around him, calling “Oh no!” “He’s choking!” “Do the Heimlich maneuver!” “Call 911!”
“It’s okay, I guess it went down the wrong pipe.” Chris acted as if he’d swallowed his sandwich, fake-gasping. The last thing he wanted was someone to call 911, bringing the police. They could start asking questions, which could ruin everything.
“My God!” Abe frowned with regret. “So sorry, I should have let you eat!”
“Not your fault, Abe. It was the sandwich.”