Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [46]
Thomas laughed. “We’re feeling guilty together. Nothing sounds better to me. I also like the idea that you can take a break for a while. Whatever’s wrong with you, whether it’s just a bug or something serious, we’ll have time to find out before you have to dive into anything.”
“And that can wait. I feel wasted, I confess. But I don’t think it’s anything dire. Why don’t you pursue this, and if it happens, once you get settled in and we find a place to live, if I still feel I need to, I’ll see a doctor.”
17
Thursday | Forest View High School
Brady Darby’s last class of the day was metal shop in the industrial arts wing, and much as he liked working with his hands, he found himself more distracted there each day, looking forward to rehearsal. Metal shop had been the only class in which he’d been able to maintain higher than a D, but a big test was coming. Unfortunately, it was a book exam, not a project one. If he was only assigned to fashion something, he thought he was as good as anyone in the class. But if he had to come up with the whys and wherefores and melting temperatures and stress calculations, he’d be lost.
Worse, while his instructor was discussing the test, Brady’s mind was elsewhere. Until he saw Mr. Nabertowitz at the door. The drama teacher apologized for the interruption and huddled with the shop instructor. Then both turned and nodded at Brady. Mr. N. motioned for him to come, and Brady quickly gathered his stuff.
“We have a meeting with the dean,” Nabertowitz said as they headed down the hall. “Be on your best behavior.”
“Hosey?” Brady said.
“Dr. Robert Hose to you. And you know what’ll happen if you give him an ounce of attitude.”
“Believe me, I know. Hauled me in for spit wads freshman year. Thought he was gonna expel me. Worse than terrorizing Mr. Peepers—you know who I’m talking about—in study hall was slouching in the chair in Hosey’s office.”
“Yes, no slouching.”
“So, what’d I do now?”
“That’s another question not to ask, at least that way. If you really don’t know, say so, but you know he’ll ask if you know why he wanted to see you. And we both do, don’t we?”
Brady shrugged.
“Well, don’t we?”
“’Course.”
“I’m going to bat for you, Brady. You do your part.”
Dr. Hose was a short, compact man with close-cropped black hair. He did not rise from behind his desk when Brady and Nabertowitz entered, and Brady wondered where a guy bought a three-piece suit he could keep buttoned while sitting without looking like he was going to burst.
The dean narrowed his eyes at Brady as he pointed to chairs facing his desk. “Still smoking, I smell, huh, Darby?”
“Trying to quit, sir. You were right. You said it would become almost impossible.”
“Almost. I quit, cold turkey, when I got out of the service. You can do it. I suppose you know why I asked to see you.”
“I sure do, sir. My grades.”
“It’s not my practice to allow a teacher in here when I’m delivering bad news, but Nabertowitz thinks you’re worth fighting for. Are you?”
“I’d like to think so.”
Hose made a show of lifting a sheet and studying it. “If you were in sports, you wouldn’t be allowed to compete. Why should I let you be in a play?”
“A musical,” Nabertowitz said, falling silent when Hose flashed him a look.
“Whatever it is, you’d be up there acting like you belong with kids who do their homework, pass their classes . . . are, in short, good citizens.”
“I’m really working on turning things around, Mr. Hose.”
“Dr. Hose,” Nabertowitz said.
“Right.”
“Your turn, Nabertowitz,” Hose said. “Sell me on this kid. He’s about a tenth of a grade point from probation, and you know what that means.”
“Well, Bob—uh, Dr. Hose—Brady comes from a difficult home.”
“Don’t we all?”
“Sure, but some worse than others. His father died recently; his mother is working but has some issues.”
“What issues?”
“It’s fair to say she struggles with addiction, and—”
“She’s a drunk,” Brady