Book Excerpt: Project June Bug by Jackie Minniti

 

It was shaping up to be another lunchless day. To make matters worse, I’d overslept again and had to skip breakfast. Even poor Brutus had to start the day without his toast. I grabbed a handful of animal crackers from the box on Nancy’s desk.

Nancy took out a disciplinary referral form and wrote Michael Tayler at the top. “Now tell me exactly what happened.”

Everything was fine in homeroom. Michael was jittery, but at least he wasn’t acting out. Maybe Anna was right, and he was just stressed about being in a new school without a peer group. Since I had lunch duty, I checked to see if anybody was sitting at his table. There’s nothing that spells “Loser” like sitting alone in the cafeteria. At first, Michael was the only occupant at a six-seater in the back corner. Then Jessica Corcoran came in with her friend, Chelsea Hopkins, and they sat on either side of him. Jessica is one of those kindhearted types who would probably take in a stray skunk. It must have bothered her to see Michael sitting by himself. All that female attention perked him up, and soon the three of them were chatting and laughing like old friends.

About five minutes before the end of the period, I was making a final clean-up check when I passed Michael’s table. The girls had cleared their places, but the area in front of Michael was littered with crumpled food wrappers, a half-filled bottle of Snapple, an empty potato chip bag, and a pile of used paper napkins.

“Michael, the bell’s going to ring soon. You need to throw away that trash.”

I’d never seen someone look down their nose while looking up, but somehow Michael managed to do just that. “I think you’ve got me mixed up with the help,” he said.

Help? If you don’t lose the attitude, you’ll need help picking your teeth up off the floor. I decided to count to three before I responded.

Jessica and Chelsea turned to him with identical, appalled expressions, but his eyes were fixed on me.

I glared back at him. “Unfortunately,” I said, “in this school you’re expected to clean up after yourself.”

“Why?” he asked. “Isn’t that what janitors are for?”

My fingers itched to slap his insolent face. Before I could respond, Jessica came to the rescue.

“C’mon, Michael. Chelsea and I will help you.” She started gathering the paper napkins, and Michael’s eyes broke away from mine just as the bell rang. He wadded the rest of the trash together, picked up the Snapple bottle, and followed Jessica to the trash can.

I didn’t see him again until the kids were at their lockers. He was talking to Jessica when Bryan Grant and Alex Benitez came down the hall. They were horsing around like they always do, shoving each other as they walked. Alex pushed Bryan into Michael, and Michael dropped his binder. Papers went flying.

Bryan looked surprised. “Yo, dude. My bad.” he said.

Michael spun around. “You stupid asswipe!” He punched Bryan in the chest, knocking him into the bank of lockers across the hall. Bryan didn’t even have time to react. Alex dropped his books, ready to jump to his friend’s defense.

I grabbed Michael by the shirt. “Michael, calm down.”

“Let go of me, you bitch!” he shouted, trying to twist out of my grasp.

Wanna see a bitch? I’ll show you a bitch. I tightened my grip on his shirt and yanked as hard as I could. Luckily, Charlie Donner was nearby. He helped me separate the boys before a full-scale fight broke out. Then we marched them to the office and turned the matter over to Don Clayton.

Don is the vice-principal in charge of discipline. He’s an intense, quiet man, built like an NFL linebacker, with skin the color of mahogany. The students call him “The Enforcer.” They’d be surprised to learn that he spends Saturday afternoons mentoring homeless kids. Don has one of the toughest jobs in the school. He spends half his time dealing with problem students and the other half trying to reason with irate parents who insist that their little darlings couldn’t possibly be to blame. Talk about the job from hell. Whatever he gets paid isn’t nearly enough.

Charlie and I left the boys with Don, and I went to the guidance office to file a discipline report.

Nancy finished writing. Then she pushed her glasses up onto her head and looked me in the eye. “So it’s your opinion that Michael overreacted, and the other boy was not at fault.”

“Seemed that way to me.”

“You realize this could mean an out-of-school suspension for him.”

Boo-freaking-hoo. Suspension was one of the most serious penalties in Morrison’s discipline code, the result of a new “zero tolerance” policy enacted to eliminate school violence.

“I know,” I said. “But as much as I’d love a few Michael-free days, I wouldn’t let that color my judgment. Michael just lost it. Bryan and Alex may be itches, but they’re relatively harmless. I’ve never known them to harass anybody. They’re too busy annoying each other.”

Nancy pinched the bridge of her nose. “Please don’t think I’m questioning your judgment. I just want you to be certain of your facts. This could become a little—volatile.”

“Meaning?”

“Do you recognize the name Bennett Tayler?”

My gurgling stomach was interfering with my brain’s capacity for higher-level thought, so I popped another animal cracker to clear my head. “Sounds vaguely familiar. What’s the connection?”

“Bennett Tayler is the president and CEO of TechTron Industries. He also happens to be Michael Tayler’s father.”

Bad news flash. The synapses in my brain started firing on all cylinders. TechTron was one of the biggest employers in Morrisonville. Bennett Tayler was one of our town’s major VIP’s.

“Bennett Tayler has friends in high places—including our school board,” Nancy continued. “And judging from the info I’ve squeezed out of Elgin’s guidance department, he takes a dim view of anyone who criticizes his son.”

Just what we need around here. Another screwy parent. Suddenly I wasn’t hungry anymore. “Now I see where this is going. But it doesn’t change what happened. Michael was definitely the instigator. Bryan didn’t even throw a punch.”

“I’m not saying we should give Michael special consideration. You know me better than that. I just want to make sure you’re protected in case this gets nasty.” Nancy set her pen down. “It seems Mr. Tayler caused some massive headaches for the Elgin staff. One of Michael’s teachers was even forced to resign. I couldn’t get Michael’s counselor to give me any of the details, but he hinted that it had something to do with a dispute between the teacher and Bennett Tayler. So I want you to go into this with both eyes wide open.”

The animal cracker I was chewing had turned to sawdust in my mouth. I swallowed hard as I considered my response.

“Well, I saw what I saw. If Bennett Tayler wants to dispute that, let him try. I was there. He wasn’t. And the day I bend over to some pushy parent is the day I hand in my chalk.” With any luck, I sounded braver than I felt.

Nancy shook her head. “I knew you’d say something like that. But sometimes being right isn’t enough. Can I give you some friendly advice?”

“I’ve never been able to stop you before.”

“Start documenting every encounter with Michael. Get a notebook, and write down dates, times, places, and everything that was said and done. Start with homeroom yesterday, and try to remember every detail up to and including today.” She shrugged. “Who knows? We may be lucky, and this whole thing will blow over. If that’s the case, your notes might still be useful. Maybe we can find some pattern in Michael’s behavior that will help us figure him out.”

I took another handful of animal crackers and gave Nancy a hug. “You’re the best. What would I do without you?”

“One thing for sure—you’d have to find another source for your animal cracker fix. Now get going or you’ll be late for seventh period. We’ll have to reschedule our lunch date, unless all those crackers you ate count as lunch.”

I popped a lion into my mouth. Then I went back to my room and searched through my desk until I found a notebook I’d bought in Disney World. It had a big, grinning picture of Goofy on the cover. I opened to the first page and started writing.

The conversation with Nancy had unnerved me, so I had to force myself to stay focused on my last two classes. The seventh period kids were so bright and motivated, they didn’t seem to notice. Michael Tayler was conspicuously absent from my eighth period class, and rumors were flying. I heard the police took Michael away in handcuffs. Bryan had to go to the hospital— they think he has a concussion! Bryan’s parents are suing the Taylers for everything they’ve got. Bryan’s head was split open. There was blood everywhere! Alex and Bryan are gonna jump Michael on the way home from school. That’ll teach him to mess with Morrison boys.

Practically the only thing I didn’t hear was that Michael was abducted by aliens, but I could understand why they wouldn’t want him. Anyway, I knew better than to pay attention to the flurry of gossip. High school kids bore easily, and today’s high drama would be tomorrow’s old news. By the end of the week, everyone would most likely have forgotten the Michael Tayler affair. Everyone, that is, except me.

After the dismissal bell rang, I opened my Goofy book and checked that each detail I’d written was accurate. I was so lost in thought, I didn’t hear Chris come in.

“Earth to Jenna.”

I jumped as if he’d jabbed me with a cattle prod. “Dammit! You almost gave me a coronary.”

“Hey, calm down. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He looked like a puppy caught chewing a new shoe.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s not your fault. I’ve just got something on my mind.”

“Want to tell me about it? Might make you feel better.”

I considered that for a moment. “You know, it just might. I would like to talk, but not here.”

“Why don’t I cook up some dinner and bring it over to your place? We can talk while we eat. I’ve got a great new recipe I want to try, and I need a guinea pig.”

“Where did you find a recipe for guinea pig?”

Chris laughed as he sat down on the corner of my desk. “Not what I meant, but I’ll bet I could even make a guinea pig taste good.”

“I may have skipped lunch, but I’m not that hungry.”

“Probably because your stomach’s full of animal crackers.”

“So you’ve been talking to Nancy.”

“I happened to pass her in the hall, and she said you needed feeding.”

Nancy the Matchmaker strikes again. She’s decided that Chris and I belong together, and she never misses an opportunity to pair us up. Not that I’m complaining.

“I need feeding, huh? What does she think I am—some kind of zoo animal?”

Chris stood up and looked at his watch. “I’ll come by around seven. Make sure you throw a cover over Mongo the Killer Bird.”

“Make Brutus an extra serving of whatever you’re cooking, and I’m sure he’ll do his best to tolerate you. And bring a bottle of wine. Or three. It’s been a long day.”

Chris arched an eyebrow. “This is beginning to sound promising. Shall I bring candles too? And massage oil?”

“Don’t push your luck. Now go. I’m starving.” I shoved him out the door, fantasizing about the massage oil.

Once I got home, I had to forget about Bennett Tayler. The house looked like the “before” version of a home makeover show. A film of dust dulled the hardwood. Fingerprints smeared the glass-topped coffee table. The tan microfiber sofa was barely visible under a heap of unfolded laundry. An impressive spider web adorned the ceiling fan, and unwashed dishes filled the sink. A nearly empty glass of root beer was stuck to the crumb-covered kitchen table. If my grandmother wasn’t already dead, she’d die of shame.

To make matters worse, Brutus had expressed his indignation over missing breakfast by flinging parrot food onto the living room floor. The colorful pellets crunched under my feet as I walked toward his cage.

“Hey, buddy. Sorry I ignored you this morning. Want to come out and play?”

Brutus wasn’t letting me off the hook that easily. He turned his back and gave a shake. One golden feather floated to the bottom of the cage.

“Come on. I said I was sorry.” No response. This called for heavy artillery, so I reached for a walnut.

“Want this?” I wiggled the walnut under his beak.

“CRACKER.” He stepped onto my arm, and all was forgiven.

“You are such a nut-whore,” I told him. He looked at me and grunted.

“Now we have to have a serious talk. Chris is coming over tonight, and I want you to be nice to him.” Brutus pretended to study the walnut. “I mean it. Chris is my friend, and you have to behave.”

I carried Brutus into the kitchen and placed him on his perch while I performed my not-so-merry maid routine. He crunched into the walnut, crumbling shells onto the white linoleum. When I took out the vacuum cleaner, he froze.

“I know you don’t like this, but you made a mess.” As the vacuum roared to life, Brutus let out such a skull-splitting screech that I immediately switched it off.

“Okay, you win this time. But only because the last thing I need right now is a headache.” I put the vacuum away and took out a nice, quiet broom. After sweeping the floor, I gathered the loose papers that littered the room and crammed them into my bottom desk drawer. Then I wiped the kitchen table, covered it with a flowered tablecloth, and set it for two. Not bad, even without the candles.

I was touching up my lipstick when I heard odd thumps coming from the front door. Yanking it open, I narrowly missed being kicked by Chris’s left foot. His day-glo orange oven mitts cradled a steaming pot that released a heavenly fragrance. My salivary glands kicked into high gear.

Chris elbowed me out of the way. “Move over. I’ve got to put this down. These mitts are heating up.”

I followed him into the kitchen like a bloodhound tracking fresh meat. “Smells great. What is it?”

Chris removed the mitts and rubbed his hands together. “Beef Bourguignon. It’s a classic French stew made with burgundy wine. You said you wanted wine, right? And there’s a bag in my car with a couple bottles of Chianti Reserve and a loaf of French bread. Could you get it? I have to put the finishing touches on the stew.”

I hurried out to the car and wrapped my arms around the large brown bag in the passenger seat. It radiated warmth and a marvelous bakery aroma. I tried not to drool on it as I carried it inside.

“Okay, let’s eat.” I set the bag on the table.

“Don’t you have a bread basket? I made this bread myself. It’s too good to be served from a paper bag.”

I rummaged around in the cabinet under the sink until I found a tired-looking wicker basket that once held a floral arrangement. “How’s this?”

“It’s not exactly what I had in mind, but I guess it’ll have to do.” He lined the basket with a white napkin. “There, that’s better. Now where’s the corkscrew? This wine has to breathe.”

“Breathing wine? Sounds like something from a Stephen King novel.”

Chris gave me the look he reserved for students who couldn’t add. “Red wine needs to be uncorked for at least fifteen minutes to allow the full flavor to develop.”

“Fifteen minutes? Are you kidding? I’ll starve to death.”

“Trust me—it’ll be worth the wait. Have a piece of bread.”

He ripped off a hunk of the warm, spongy bread and held it to my mouth. Before I could get my teeth into it, an angry tirade erupted from the living room.

“BAD. NO-NO-NO-NO.”

Brutus’s feathers were standing up like blue and gold daggers, and the pupils of his eyes had shrunk to pinpricks. Both wings were outstretched, and he was shifting from foot to foot as if to say, Okay, pal, bring it on.

“Oh, look,” I said. “Brutus is saying hello.”

Chris waved his arms at the infuriated bird. “Hi there, Psycho. Happy to see me?”

“DAMMIT,” Brutus shrieked.

“Stop teasing him. Why don’t you try to win him over instead?” I pointed to the bread.

“What? Give my gourmet creation to a bird?” Chris was interrupted by a high-pitched screech.

“Rather listen to that?”

Chris took the bread to Brutus’s cage. Brutus hissed, eying it as if it were some kind of bird-eating snake.

“It’s a peace offering,” Chris said. “Want it or not?”

The aroma must have been irresistible because Brutus smoothed his feathers and poked the tip of his beak through the bars. Chris pinched off a small chunk of bread and gingerly passed it to him.

“There,” I said. “Now you two can be friends.” They both looked at me as if I’d beamed down from the Bizarro World. Then Brutus tore into the bread, and Chris hurried back to the kitchen.

“Dinner is served.” Chris placed two steaming bowls on the table and handed me a glass of wine. I inhaled the rich, fruity fragrance and took a sip, feeling warmth kindling in my stomach. Then I dipped a chunk of bread into my bowl, blew on it, and took a bite. The burst of flavor made my eyes roll back into my head.

“Oooh, this is unbelievable. What’s in it?”

Chris rocked back on his heels and smiled. “A good chef never reveals his secrets. But since this is just between you and me…”

I listened in awed silence as he described the intricacies of French stew construction. Since my idea of cooking is nuking a frozen dinner, I’m fascinated by people who can prepare food from scratch.

When Chris finished, he smoothed his napkin on his lap. “Now that I’ve told you my secret, tell me yours. What’s bothering you?”

“Are you sure you want to hear about it? It’ll probably spoil the mood.”

“If things get too heavy, we’ll have more wine.”

I told him about Bennett Tayler, the fight, and the problems at Elgin. He listened without saying a word.

“So,” I said, “now you’ve got the whole, ugly story. Any nuggets of wisdom to offer?”

Chris drained his wine in one swallow. “Jen, this isn’t something to take lightly. You’re not a tenured teacher. This kind of trouble could put your job at risk.”

“Are you saying I should ignore the whole thing and hope it goes away, or blame it on another kid to keep Bennett Tayler off my back?”

“No. Just be cautious and logical. I know that’s hard for you. Nancy gave you some sound advice. Document everything.”

“Done.”

“And try to keep out of Michael Tayler’s way.”

“How can I? He’s in my homeroom and my English class.”

Chris thought for a moment. “Keep your interactions with him to a minimum. Don’t give his father any ammunition to use against you.”

“You make this sound like warfare.”

Chris refilled the wineglasses. “That’s exactly what it might become.”

After Chris left, I was too wired to sleep, so I decided to read for a while. Then I spotted a stack of ungraded papers on my desk—the cinquains from my eighth period class. I tossed my Dean Koontz novel onto the bedside table, figuring that poems about pet cats and dogs would put me to sleep a lot faster. I flipped the top paper over and, sure enough, the first line read, “My dog.” Smiling beagles frolicked around the border, and my eyes started to glaze over.

After grading fifteen more papers, I felt like I had a head full of cotton balls, so I put my red pen down and called it a night. I was about to switch off the light when I noticed “Mike Tayler” scribbled across the top of a ragged-edged sheet of notebook paper. My curiosity got the best of me, and I pulled the paper free.

What I saw blew all the cobwebs out of my brain. The illustration at the bottom of the page showed a gaunt face surrounded by a mane of wild, red hair. Two tortured green eyes peered through splayed fingers. Spinning outward from the sides of the face were black, writhing tornadoes. Flecks of yellow swirled through the design like angry hornets. The motif snaked around the perimeter of the paper, its effect eerie yet strangely powerful. In the center of the page, written in Michael’s barely legible scrawl, were these words:

My thoughts

Scattered, restless,

Bouncing, spinning, whirling,

Their static buzzes in my brain.

Mind-bits.

The raw intensity of the work hit me like a hammer to the chest. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I read the poem again. What was going on here? And as I read his words, Michael Tayler, the surly, irritating little brat morphed into a tormented, desperate boy crying for help.

Jackie Minniti is a retired teacher and education writer. She is  currently a columnist for The Island Reporter, a publication that  serves the South Gulf Beaches in St. Petersburg, Florida. Jackie lives on nearby  Treasure Island with her husband and two rather noisy macaws. Project June Bug, her first novel, has garnered a Royal Palm Literary Award, an  Eric Hoffer Book Award, a Cordon d’Or Award, a Next Generation Indie Book Award,  and four Parent to Parent Life Buzz Awards including “2009 Top Ten  Products”. For more about Project June Bug, including ordering information,  you can visit the author’s website at www.jackieminniti.com

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