Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [54]
“Thank you!”
“Oh, well, thank Gladys. She arranged all this like she does everything else.”
Gladys bustled here and there, making sure everyone was taken care of, while Thomas stood awkwardly, wondering if he should try to eat and drink while greeting all these new associates. He decided against it, but Gladys brought him a plate with a doughnut on it and a cup of coffee.
“I’d better go easy on the sweets,” he said.
“Oh, go on and have one,” she said. “It’s a party.”
“Lot of calories, I’ll bet.”
“Tell me about it,” she said, beaming. “I say, ‘Get thee behind me,’ and then I eat ’em, and they do!”
Maybe it was first-day jitters, but the unexpected humor caused a snort when he laughed. He would have to engage with the warden’s secretary more when occasions arose. It was a joke, but she had quoted Scripture. He wondered where she was spiritually.
Thomas managed to hold both his plate and his cup in one hand as he shook hands with nearly everyone and quickly recited for each where he was from, that he was eager to introduce his wife someday, and how glad he was to be there.
“You seen the unit yet?” someone said.
“That’s next, I believe, after my meeting with Warden LeRoy.”
“You’d better decide after that how glad you are to be here.”
20
Forest View High School
Dean Hose called Brady out of a morning class. Brady had no advocate along this time.
“Against my better judgment, I slipped into that dress rehearsal.”
“No kiddin’? Did Mr. N. know?”
Hose shook his head. “Thing is, live theater is not my deal, especially musicals. But I loved it. I’ll be bringing my family and even another couple.”
“Cool.”
“You’re really good, Darby. Who would have guessed?”
“Not me. Thanks.”
“Anybody who can do what you do on that stage is no dummy. So what are you doing about your grades?”
“I told you. I’m trying harder, gonna get my homework done, study for these tests, look into getting some help.”
“C’mon, Darby. Who do you think you’re talking to? That’s a load, and you know it.”
“Sorry?”
Dr. Hose pointed to the brass plate on the edge of his desk. “You see my title, ‘academic dean’? Academic, son. You think I’m not in daily touch with every teacher in this school and don’t know who is and who isn’t in trouble? You haven’t talked to one of your teachers about your situation, haven’t asked for help, haven’t asked for a tutor, and worse, you’re not keeping up with your homework. That one I can’t figure at all. At least do that!”
Brady hung his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, believe me, I understand. You’re not the first smart kid who’s more concerned about his image than his grades. It’s one thing to be the hip tough guy who crashes the preppies’ party and lands the sweetest role in the musical. But to do your daily assignments, carry your books, take notes, get help—no, that’s beneath you. Am I right or am I right? Huh?”
Brady felt exposed. “Let’s be real. I’m going to be a workingman all my life. I just can’t get myself worked up over these classes.”
Hose stood and thrust his hands into his pockets. He peered out the tiny window in his door, then turned to face Brady. “That’s something else that’s always puzzled me. Most of your friends are in work-release programs where they take shop classes in the morning and head for a job in the afternoon. Why not you? You get to start that as a junior.”
Brady shrugged. “Can’t afford a car yet, so I haven’t gotten a job like that. Anyway, I wanted to play football, and when that didn’t work out, I tried out for the musical.”
“You know, don’t you, that if you don’t do something drastic, you’re going to be out of the musical? Past that, how will you ever graduate? While there’s nothing wrong with being a workingman, as you say, you’re never going to get to be a foreman if you don’t have a sheepskin. It’s all right to punch a clock, but wouldn’t you like to at least be on salary someday, get some benefits, have a little job security? You’re going to want a wife and a family, aren’t you?”
Now Hosey had hit Brady where he lived. He had no crazy notion