Authors: Carmen Green

What a Fool Believes (6 page)

BOOK: What a Fool Believes

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Chapter Ten

Old memories resurfaced as Byron walked through the white-walled halls of Reynolds High School, his alma mater. Although the school had been remodeled and upgraded to accommodate twenty-three hundred students, the unpleasant years he'd spent here couldn't be glossed over with new paint.

He'd been a boy of small stature; “underdeveloped,” his mother liked to say apologetically to her church lady friends.

His father promised he'd grow up thick and tall one day. For Byron, someday had been too far away. The daily torture of being knocked around Reynold's waxed floors had been frustrating.

He was grown now, yet here he still felt unsettled.

At the end of the hallway, he consulted the paper in his hand.

Anger Management: Room 100.9.
He looked up again. 100.7. 100.17. 100.27. Across the hall were 101.7 and 101.17.

He'd just come from 102.7.

What kind of numbering system was this? He tried applying an equation but grew more frustrated. In five minutes, he'd be late for his first anger management class.

Good.
He was mad, anyway.

Two girls dressed in cheerleader uniforms approached.

“Ladies, can you direct me to 100.9?”

The tallest girl slid the paper from his hand. “Don't you get the sequence? This hallway is all sevens.”

Oh.

“Go down two corridors. Take the steps down. Through the double doors, fifty paces. Turn left, and you'll be on the nines corridor. Ninth door on your left.”

He must have looked confused, because the shorter girl yanked a pen from behind her ear and took the paper. “Here, let me show you.”

When Byron looked down, he swallowed. She'd drawn a “you are here” map on the back, and an illustrated guide.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. To his dismay, they followed him, to make sure he'd made the correct turn, before going on their way.

Two minutes later, he was outside the room. A steady hum of pleasant voices filtered into the hallway, and Byron felt a smidgen of relief. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, after all.

He stepped into the room, and every mouth shut.

No, this would be worse.

Ten angry women glared at him as if he alone were responsible for labor pains,
PMS
, and the disproportionate number of men's and women's restrooms at the football stadium.

“Is this anger management?” he asked, hoping against hope it wasn't.

“Yes.” The instructor, a short man with even shorter sleeves, stood behind the desk, his credibility decimated by the length of his comb-over. The look of fear in his eyes didn't help, either.

“I thought this class was for men only.”

Angry murmurs resounded from the natives. “No,” the man responded, letting Byron hang in idiotic limbo alone.

“Great,” Byron said.

Byron heard his response in his head and ventured to see the reaction. They were pissed. He hadn't meant to offend them. Nevertheless, he wished he had his Kevlar vest, gun, pepper spray, cuffs, and billy club.

These women didn't appear to need provocation to devour him and then pick their teeth with his bones.

Maybe if he sat down, they'd forget he was there.

Byron headed up the aisle and was confronted by their size 4X leader. Frustration prickled that he wasn't in his uniform. Had he been, he'd have ordered her back. However, his student status didn't allow for a coup de grace. So he retreated and twisted his ankle on a well-placed booby trapâa purse.

Evil snickers filled the room.

Because the air was charged with X chromosome energy, he feared if he didn't diffuse the women, he'd disappear from society and emerge years later, wearing an apron and, he swallowed, pearls.

He tried to squeeze by their leader, who had her forehead to his chest, but her stout legs held firmly at a ninety-degree angleâenough to turn her into a steel girder.

Every time she inhaled, his legs slipped a little, until his hamstrings were pressed solidly against the unrelenting table behind him.

To gain the advantage, he exhaled and caved his chest.

Another tactical error, Byron realized when the sumo's body filled the space. Oxygen whooshed from his mouth. His lungs panicked and screamed for air.

The woman received encouragement from her friends. “Go on, girl!”

“He ain't nothin' but rude!”

“Show him who's boss!”

His brain received an instant message from his lungs: breathe now or die. “If you'd just letâ” he said and stopped. He was going to pass out.

Just before the silver stars in his eyes turned black, she popped through, and he gulped in air.

“No, you didn't just call me fat!”

Byron stared at her in disbelief. She'd almost killed him! “I didn't call you fat.”

“I heard you. You called me fat,” she told the indignant mob.

“I heard him, too,” a woman said, although she was two tables away.

“I never said that!” “I'm a cop,” he wanted to declare but didn't. Who'd believe him in a mob of angry women?

The instructor finally interceded. “It's over now. Everyone, please take your seats.”

Was that the best he could do? The little wimp wouldn't even look Byron in the eye.

Byron touched the chair the big woman had vacated. A purse landed on the plastic. “Taken.”

He moved across the aisle. “Taken.”

He touched another. “Taken.”

He threw up his hands. “Fine. Which of these seats isn't taken?”

The lady at the fifth table from the front pointed to a chair in the back of the room.

“That's just great.” Byron grabbed the seat and planted it firmly against the last table and sat.

He leaned back, and the chair groaned. Forced to hunch forward, Byron couldn't help but remember how little he'd liked school.

The instructor approached him. “You should apologize for calling Pebbles fat.”

Pebbles?
What sensible grown-up would have the nickname of a cartoon character? A little white tag on the instructor's breast pocket announced his name.

“Look here, Fred. I didn't call her fat, so I'm not apologizing.”

Fred sucked up brownie points by showing his disappointed frown to the class.

“Don't you see what's happening? If we don't stick together, we're dog food.” Byron tried to establish a sense of brotherhood with the man, but he knew it was a lost cause.

“I'll have to report your lack of cooperation,” Fred said loudly.

And that would be all Captain Hanks needed to have his badge. “Wait.” Byron hated not having choices. He chewed the inside of his jaw before forcing his lips to move. “I didn't call you fat, but I apologize if you misheard me.”

He'd managed to elicit consternation from every person in the room.

“How is that a real apology?” Pebbles demanded.

Even Fred looked confused. “Well, that's a good beginning.” He headed to the front of the room. “My name is Fred, and we're here because you're all dealing with a similar issue. Making good use of your anger.”

The door flew open and banged against the wall, and Tia Amberson walked in.

Byron wasn't the least bit surprised. If the big rock that was Stone Mountain were to shrink to the size of a marble, he wouldn't have batted an eye.

Surprise was the norm in his life lately.

“Sorry I'm late.” Tia hurried in, oblivious to the disruption she caused. “I've been looking for this room for twenty minutes. The numbers aren't sequential.”

Dressed in black pants and black-heeled boots, she marched around like she owned the place. She scrawled her name on a blank name tag, growing exasperated when she couldn't peel off the waxy back.

Tearing it in half, she finally peeled it apart, slapped the sticky back on her chest, and ended up in front of Fred, whose mouth hung open. “Here's my paperwork,” she said.

Flustered, Fred tried to find the words. “I can't allow you in this class. Timeliness and perfect attendance are requirements.”

She looked at his chest. “Fred, I already explained that I couldn't find the room. So how about you giving me a break?”

“M-m-my hands are tied.”

Tia folded her arms over her chest and walked toward the already too close instructor. “Fred, I'm here for anger management because I'm angry! So, unless you're willing to mark me absent, which we know isn't true, I'm staying.” With that, she plopped into a chair and crossed her legs.

Fred wiped his comb-over twice, his eyes wide.

“You should let her in,” Pebbles told Fred. “You can see she's got issues.”

Tia looked at the woman. “Thank you. No wonder kids flunk out of school. They can't ever find their classrooms.”

The other women chuckled in agreement.

Byron watched the exchange as if it were a bad play in community theatre.

“Oh, okay. Th-this one ... just once,” Fred finally managed. “Let's get down to business.”

Byron wondered how long it would be before Tia saw him.

“Introduce yourself. Starting in the back.”

“I'm Roxy,” the woman said a table up from Byron.

Tia turned around, saw Byron, and gathered her things. “Is there another class offered at this same time?” she asked Fred.

“No.” He backpedaled like a frightened golden retriever.

She shouldered her bag. “I guess I'll have to do my thirty days in jail.”

Fred danced like a fire had started in his pocket protector. “I said you could stay, Ms. Uh”âhe squinted, a good four inches below the name tag she'd stuck near her shoulderâ“wow.”

“Like what you see?” Tia snapped her jacket, and Fred jumped. “Can men only read at breast level?”

“I wasn't looking at your bre-bâ”

“What's my name?” Tia demanded.

“Uh ...” Fred looked like he needed a bathroom. “I don't know.”

“Case closed. Can we move on?” Tia remained standing.

Byron pitied Fred, who had wiped his comb-over so often, it had crested at the crown of his head. Then he collapsed in his chair.

“Please, somebody introduce yourself. Give a brief explanation as to why you're here. Start here.” Fred motioned to Tia, without looking.

“I'm Tia. I'm here because my ex-fiancÃ© cheated on me, and I got caught redecorating his car by a heartless police officer who thought I was making a play for him when I was really fainting, then gave me a black eye, and arrested me, anyway.”

The gushed words came to an abrupt halt.

“What a jerk,” Roxy said. “He's probably jealous because he doesn't have a woman.”

Ouch.

Breakfast with Lynn had been an illusion. Having her at his house when he got home this morning had made him want her there.

Someone
there, he corrected. Not necessarily her. Yet, he hadn't told her not to come back tomorrow.

“She'd probably leave him because he's too busy minding other people's business and not earning any money,” the purse lady said.

“Get him fired,” Pebbles added. “I'll bet most of us are here because of a man.”

The women started clapping like they were in church. Byron wondered why Tia didn't out him.

“I'd like to go next,” said a soft-spoken woman two rows from the front. “My name is Ginger Kelstonâ”

“Don't give your last name, please,” Fred said.

“Okay.” She began again. “I'm Ginger, no last name, and I was sent here by my family therapist, who thinks I have anger issues, because I sleepwalk.”

The woman across from Ginger gave her a suspicious look. “You sleepwalk? That's it?”

Ginger laughed, and her russet hair bobbed. “Well, I've been arrested three times for trying to board a plane, bus, and train with semiautomatic weapons in my possession.”

“Where were you going, and what were you going to do with them, Ginger?” Fred asked as he eased toward the door.

Punk.

“It seems I'm always heading to Utah, where my husband moved a month ago with all of my inheritance so he could become a polygamist.”

BOOK: What a Fool Believes

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