Chapter 8: You’re A Very Lucky Man
“A lot of kids come to the science lab after school. What are you saying?”
“Come in, Greg, sit down.” Superintendent Clark reached across his desk and shook hands with the rugged science teacher who could hardly contain himself.
Still early in his teaching career, but after ten years of winning seasons as eighth grade basketball coach, Greg Hartmann was certain that the superintendent had some good news.
“Any idea why you’re here?” the older man forced a smile.
“Well, Mr. Clark, I’ve been waiting for this,” Hartmann beamed. “It’s the varsity slot, isn’t it? It’s open?”
“I wish to god that was it, Greg.”
“No?”
“You know Mrs. Kimball?
“Kimberly’s mother?”
“Yes. You’ve met her?”
“Just once. Parents’ night, and she came to a few of the basketball games. Kimberly was head cheerleader.”
“I know,” the superintendent said as he took a pen and a pad of lined paper from his middle drawer. “Mrs. Kimball was in here yesterday. She’s fired up, Greg, and you’re the reason.”
“I don’t get it.”
“She says her daughter spent a lot of time after school up on the third floor — in the science lab. Is that right?”
Hartmann swallowed hard. “A lot of kids come to the science lab after school. What are you saying?”
“It’s not what I’m saying, Greg,” the superintendent got up and shut the outer office door. “It’s what the girl has been telling her mother.”
“Are you accusing me of something?” Hartmann’s face was flushed.
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” the superintendent held up his hands, “Kimberly is, and so is her mother.”
Hartmann rubbed his sweaty hands on the knees of his pants. “No shit. Well, that’s…”
“And your buddy in the room down the hall, your assistant coach, the math teacher, Johnson.”
“Jake?”
“Yes, Jake Johnson. The girl says he was there.”
“‘There? What is that supposed to mean, ‘there’?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell. We all hit it off during basketball, and some of the players and cheerleaders would come up after school. End of story.”
“Okay.” The superintendent jotted a note on the pad. “I’ll recommend that Kimberly be seen by a psychiatrist. I’ll call Mrs. Kimball and …”
“Don’t do that,” Hartmann got up and walked to the window where he stood with his face in his hands. “I don’t believe this!” He whirled around. “This is pure bull-shit!”
“You want a lawyer?”
“It was nothing. I’m telling you. Nothing.” Hartmann sat back down. “A little fooling around.”
“Let me tell you something, young man,” the superintendent’s tone hardened, “you’re on the edge and you’d better know it. Have you heard the expression, fifteen will get you twenty?”
The younger man said nothing.
“Have you?” the superintendent growled.
“Yes, damn it, I’ve heard it. But this was nothing. We fooled around a little. Nothing below the belt, I swear on my mother’s life, Mr. Clark. For crissakes, with the custodian up there cleaning the building! You think I’m stupid!”
“Let me ask you one question, Greg, yes or no. Mrs. Kimball says you asked her daughter to give you a pair of her underwear. Is that true?”
“Well, yeah, but…”
“Forget the buts, Greg. Here.”
The superintendent tore off his note and pushed the pad across the desk. “I want your resignation. Effective immediately. And I want to see Jake in my office by four this afternoon. Send him over when you go back to pack up your stuff. This is your last day in that school, you understand.”
Hartmann sat down. “Are they pressing charges?” he asked as he began to write.
“They won’t go after you unless you fight it. The Kimballs want you out of the school. Away from the girls. They don’t want this to get around any more than you do. ”
“Or any more than you do,” Hartmann mumbled through his teeth as he signed his name.
“Damn right,” the superintendent took a small black cigar from the box on his desk and licked it several times before sticking it over his ear. He sometimes would carry a cigar over his ear all day before smoking it. “I’d say you’re a lucky man, Greg, a very lucky man.”
Table of contents, introduction: Sex in the 7th Grade
