Read Online The Tell by Hester Kaplan - Free Book Online Page B

reading.”
    The room was anything but quiet, the restless tenor rising with Wilton’s grin. “That’s some loud reading. I’ll sit in the back. I won’t say a word. Besides, you can’t leave me out here with this.” He gestured at the trash can.
    Spruance’s front office staff was impossible to break through, but Wilton had done it because here he was, wandering the halls alone. Owen imagined that he’d charmed the women as he leaned over their high counter, thumbed their attendance book and asked their names, imitating their Spanish r ’s, and today he looked like a rich, generous uncle in a lapis blue linen shirt and pressed blue jeans. Owen pushed back his reluctance and ushered Wilton into the classroom. He introduced him as an actor. Other guests had withered under the kids’ scrutiny. Last month a reporter from the Journal had come to talk about bullying. She had cleared her throat incessantly as wet spots spread under her arms. Wilton was a combination of coyness and composure, self-confidence and humility. He leaned against Owen’s desk with his legs crossed at the ankles. He allowed himself to be stared at, every piece of him scrutinized and judged. He was priced, assessed, evaluated, and enjoying it. The attention fed him. He plumped and glowed.
    â€œYou on TV?” Kevin asked. “Because I never seen you.”
    â€œYes, on television, but way past your bedtime.”
    The kids laughed at that infantile idea. “What channel? I’m going to watch,” China said, and waved her lime green pencil at him. “You got rich, I bet.”
    â€œHow do you know I got rich?” Wilton asked.
    â€œBecause you have some fancy-ass shoes,” she said.
    â€œThese things?” Wilton looked down at his feet. “Fancy-ass? Is that a brand? Is that like Nike?”
    â€œAnd your shirt, too. Fancy-ass.”
    Wilton flipped up his collar, playing to the kids, and hooked a thumb at Owen. “What do you think of this guy? Is he a good teacher?”
    â€œHe’s good. He’s okay. He’s big, but he’s not so strong.” The kids continued to shout their opinions, some standing, waving their arms and leaning over their desks, slapping the chipped plastic veneer with open hands to make sure they were heard. They threw in what they didn’t like about him—too strict, too tall, too much writing. Too white, someone said.
    â€œToo white? He can’t do anything about that. But he’s the best teacher you’ll ever have,” Wilton said. “He’s one of the top in the country. It’s a proven fact. I’m not making it up. The experts say so. Believe me.”
    The kids were baffled by this. Maybe their teacher wasn’t exactly who they thought he was. Or maybe this man was just playing them. Owen was irritated. Why do this? What was the point? Authority was mostly an illusion; it couldn’t stand too much fiddling with and poking, too many shifts in light. The bell rang and the kids burst out of their seats. In a second, the place echoed with their escape.
    Wilton crossed his arms over his chest. “You look out at these kids and it’s like the UN. Amazing. All those colors, so many hues and tints. What are they, Puerto Rican, Dominican, Guatemalan, Cambodian, Haitian? Other?”
    â€œYes, other,” Owen said. He was sorry he’d let the man in. “The kids knew you were bullshitting them. They’re not babies. All that crap about best teacher and proven facts and experts. They can smell it a mile off.”
    â€œBut I meant everything I said. It wasn’t bullshit. You are one of the best teachers.”
    â€œThat’s bullshit.”
    â€œIs it? For weeks and weeks, I’ve heard you talk about your work, I’ve watched how animated you get, I’ve felt your dedication. You can’t fake that. I saw how you handled that poor girl out in the hall.”