Read Online King Dork Approximately by Frank Portman - Free Book Online
Authors: Frank Portman
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asked if I was insane. Well, I’m sure I sounded plenty insane, especially when I begged him to put Sam Hellerman on the phone and avowed that it was a matter of life and death. That was taking things too far, I know, but if I’ve learned anything in my brief time among the inhabitants of this planet, it is that your chances of getting your way can only be improved if the other party believes you’re crazy enough to be dangerous. Sam Hellerman soon came on the line.
“I can’t talk, Henderson,” he said in an exasperated whisper, and I didn’t blame him. It had sounded like Herr Hellerman was planning to give someone a nice Christmas beating, and Sam Hellerman was certainly the most likely candidate to receive it.
“Just tell me about your letter, Hellerman,” I said quickly, in a tone of voice that added “that’s all I ask.”
“My letter,” he repeated, in the way that someone who was unaware of any letter might say the word “letter” when asked about a letter.
I was pretty sure I had my answer right there, but just to confirm I added:
“So you didn’t send a letter.”
“No, why would I do that?” he said. “Do you know how crazy you sound right now?”
I was just about to hang up when I heard him suddenly say:
“Oh, wait.
That
letter!”
I could almost hear him wince over the phone when I said “Jesus fucking Christ.”
“You mean the one from the school district,” he said. “It wasn’t from me. Did you get—”
But I had already hung up.
There was no mail from Sam Hellerman in the huge pile of barely opened mail on the mail pileup area of the kitchen counter by the phone, but there was lots and lots of mail. Junk mail, bills, bank statements, threats from collection agencies—my family is not very ept at opening and answering mail. The phone and gas get cut off regularly just because no one bothers to open the delinquent bills and pay them, and Little Big Tom sometimes has to drive down to the gas company’s headquarters to pay in cash at the last minute when it gets critical.
I wasn’t expecting this letter to be anything interesting. And on the outside chance that it turned out to be something interesting, I wasn’t expecting it to be anything good. But as I’veexplained, at this point I just wanted to cross it off my list, and going straight to the source seemed a better approach than trying to tease whatever it was out of a terrified, whispering Sam Hellerman over the phone.
It took some time to find it, but in the end there it was, from the Santa Carla Unified School District, dated a few weeks back. It was a long letter. My eyes scanned it.
“… tragic events … liability … district policy … safety and well-being … students, staff, and administrators … appropriate measures … pending litigation … law enforcement … federal investigation … media scrutiny … counseling available … effective immediately … upon commencement … close its doors … offices to remain … administrative functions … smooth transition … academic excellence …”
Then I read it again, more carefully.
My God, I said, almost out loud. They’re closing Hillmont High School.
Well, what do you know? I thought. There was a lot of babble about the welfare of the students and “academic excellence” and so forth, but the bottom line seemed to be that fears of legal trouble and bad publicity and uncertainty as to what else the various investigations might turn up had led the school district’s administrators to decide that inviting students back into the Hillmont High School buildings after what had happened would only make them look even worse than they already did and would possibly open them up to further liability. Their solution was to close the school down, effective almost immediately.
I had to hand it to Mr. Teone. He and his hidden cameras had finally managed to achieve what forty years of sucking worse than any high school in the history
“I can’t talk, Henderson,” he said in an exasperated whisper, and I didn’t blame him. It had sounded like Herr Hellerman was planning to give someone a nice Christmas beating, and Sam Hellerman was certainly the most likely candidate to receive it.
“Just tell me about your letter, Hellerman,” I said quickly, in a tone of voice that added “that’s all I ask.”
“My letter,” he repeated, in the way that someone who was unaware of any letter might say the word “letter” when asked about a letter.
I was pretty sure I had my answer right there, but just to confirm I added:
“So you didn’t send a letter.”
“No, why would I do that?” he said. “Do you know how crazy you sound right now?”
I was just about to hang up when I heard him suddenly say:
“Oh, wait.
That
letter!”
I could almost hear him wince over the phone when I said “Jesus fucking Christ.”
“You mean the one from the school district,” he said. “It wasn’t from me. Did you get—”
But I had already hung up.
There was no mail from Sam Hellerman in the huge pile of barely opened mail on the mail pileup area of the kitchen counter by the phone, but there was lots and lots of mail. Junk mail, bills, bank statements, threats from collection agencies—my family is not very ept at opening and answering mail. The phone and gas get cut off regularly just because no one bothers to open the delinquent bills and pay them, and Little Big Tom sometimes has to drive down to the gas company’s headquarters to pay in cash at the last minute when it gets critical.
I wasn’t expecting this letter to be anything interesting. And on the outside chance that it turned out to be something interesting, I wasn’t expecting it to be anything good. But as I’veexplained, at this point I just wanted to cross it off my list, and going straight to the source seemed a better approach than trying to tease whatever it was out of a terrified, whispering Sam Hellerman over the phone.
It took some time to find it, but in the end there it was, from the Santa Carla Unified School District, dated a few weeks back. It was a long letter. My eyes scanned it.
“… tragic events … liability … district policy … safety and well-being … students, staff, and administrators … appropriate measures … pending litigation … law enforcement … federal investigation … media scrutiny … counseling available … effective immediately … upon commencement … close its doors … offices to remain … administrative functions … smooth transition … academic excellence …”
Then I read it again, more carefully.
My God, I said, almost out loud. They’re closing Hillmont High School.
Well, what do you know? I thought. There was a lot of babble about the welfare of the students and “academic excellence” and so forth, but the bottom line seemed to be that fears of legal trouble and bad publicity and uncertainty as to what else the various investigations might turn up had led the school district’s administrators to decide that inviting students back into the Hillmont High School buildings after what had happened would only make them look even worse than they already did and would possibly open them up to further liability. Their solution was to close the school down, effective almost immediately.
I had to hand it to Mr. Teone. He and his hidden cameras had finally managed to achieve what forty years of sucking worse than any high school in the history
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