4
Colta City Blues
Moving day. A meeting with Principal Kane. Cindy McNeil. Bronson helps in the AV room.
Bronson knew he was doomed the second he set foot in his uncle’s apartment, but he tried to be polite.
“Interesting place, Uncle Randolph,” he said.
The apartment was small. Two milk crates sat in the center of the main room. They were turned over with old pillows on top. An old portable television was propped up on a cardboard box. There were doors on either side of the room leading off to who knows where. A small half-kitchen was right next to the front door. The sink was full of dirty dishes. Some discarded junk food wrappers lay on the counter.
“You can see I’m a man of modest means,” Randolph said, “which means you’re going to have to contribute.”
“Yeah, I can help clean the place up. Keep up on dishes. Maybe even cook. I’ve never done it before but I could make sandwiches and stuff.”
“You misunderstand, my boy,” Randolph said as he picked up Bronson’s trunk, “we need money. Cash. The world doesn’t spin on a satisfied mind. You can’t expect me to give you a place to live and food, can you? I expect you’ll find a job somewhere. For now let’s take you to your room.”
“Yes, sir,” Bronson said.
He followed Randolph to the door on the left.
“Open that, would ya, Bronson?” Randolph said.
Bronson opened the door. Randolph tossed Bronson’s trunk on the floor. A torn up mattress lay under a small, broken window. There wasn’t much else.
“This is it?” Bronson asked.
Randolph pushed Bronson through the door. He fell on the mattress.
“You’re the son of my estranged brother. You’re lucky I had this much room to spare. Now get a good night’s sleep. I’m required to send you to school in the morning but after that you’d better start asking around. There are a lot of shops downtown that’ll let you work under the table. Think about it. G’night, my boy. Don’t let me hear you breathe.”
Randolph slammed the door behind him as he left. Bronson put his trunk by the window then lay down on the funky mattress and listened to the sounds of the city. Horns, sirens, and the occasional voice sent him off to sleep.
Bronson stood across the street from Woodrow Wilcox Junior High watching some kids playing hacky sack on the lawn as others made their way through the front doors. He’d arrived at the school about ten minutes prior. He hadn’t worked up the gumption to go inside. He’d gone to the same schools with the same kids since kindergarten so he’d seen firsthand how new kids were treated. Heck, in his old school where he wasn’t a new kid he didn’t fare well. Encounters like the one with Arthur Tillman at the playground were not a unique occurrence.
He couldn’t put off crossing the street any longer though. His Uncle Randolph told him he had to be at the school by 8 am sharp and it was 7:56. Getting to the school had been a challenge considering he’d almost never left his neighborhood on his own before but somehow he managed to navigate the city buses okay. He pulled a small mirror out of his backpack then gave himself a once over. His hair bugged him the most. There were these three big chunks that would shoot out in different directions. He pushed them back into place then crossed the street.
“Hey, new guy,” a girl said as she ran up. She had an empty milk jug. “You got any pop tabs? We’re collecting them for Key Club. It’s for the homeless.”
“What do the homeless do with pop tabs?” Bronson asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe make clothes out of them or something? All I know is that for every one of these puppies I fill up I get a service credit toward the big party at the end of the year. So, you got any?”
“No, sorry. My mom doesn’t—didn’t let me drink soda.”
The girl surveyed the plaza then walked over to another kid. “Hey, Carl, you got any pop tabs?”
“Yeah, my name’s Bronson. What’s your name? Want to be friends?” Bronson said to the spot where the girl had been standing. His first potential friend lost; he walked up the steps into the school.
Behind the desk in the front office sat an older lady. The nameplate on the desk said “Michelle Dyson – Secretary to the Principal.” She wheezed as she sorted colored paper into colored stacks. Bronson walked up to the desk and waited. And waited. He coughed.
She squinted her eyes at Bronson. “You the new kid?” she asked.
“Yep,” Bronson said, “Bronson Black. It’s my first day and my uncle told me I should come to the office first.”
She wheeled her chair back to a waist-high filing cabinet then pulled on the bottom drawer. It didn’t open. She grabbed a three-hole punch, which she used to tap the top of the cabinet a few times while jiggling the handle. “Darn thing, I’ve been telling him we need to replace it.” The drawer shot open. She pulled out a manila envelope labeled New Student Packet. She handed it to Bronson.
“Take a seat over there. Principal Kane will be with you in a moment.”
Bronson sat in a plastic blue chair next to a plastic green fern and thumbed through the packet. Basic stuff: map of the school, dress code guidelines (no profane language on t-shirts), club schedules. The door behind Mrs. Barnett opened. A smiling man looked in.
“Mr. Bronson Black?” the man asked.
“Yes, sir,” Bronson replied.
“I’m Principal Kane,” he said as he shook Bronson’s hand, “Rob to my friends. Well, my adult friends. I like to think of all my students as my friends though. First off I want you to know that here at Woodrow Wilcox Junior High we pride ourselves on having a close relationship with our students. I’ll tell you, Mr. Black, this city can make you ill. The other schools in the city don’t care about their students. They want their pensions and enough money for a house in the suburbs. We live and breathe our students. Most of our staff live within walking distance of the school. They live in the same neighborhoods our kids do. Did you know that? We try to engage every student on a personal level. For instance, I already know a lot about you.”
“Like what?” Bronson asked.
“Well, to get the negative stuff out of the way I know what happened to your parents. Awful and I’m sorry to hear it. I talked to your uncle on the phone. He seems like a good man. Very funny.”
“He’s okay,” Bronson said.
“I also talked to your old teachers. I hear you were thinking about taking some audiovisual classes next semester, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well what do you think about taking those this semester instead? I’ve cleared it with Mr. Lee who runs the program and I have just the girl to help you get up to speed. They’re already a month into it so I figured you’d appreciate the help.”
“That sounds great, Principal Kane.” It was the first bit of good news he’d had in weeks. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on a camera.
“Good, well let’s go meet your study buddy right now. She’s a real firecracker. Her name is—”
“Miss McNeil?” Principal Kane said as he tapped a girl getting some things from her locker on the shoulder. She ducked then flipped around to face him with her fist raised.
“Yeah? Whu’da’ya want?” she said, “Oh, Principal Kane. You’re looking A-MAZE-ING, as per usual. Is that a new tie?”
Principal Kane looked down at his tie with a sheepish grin. The girl took the opportunity to stick her tongue out at Bronson who stood next to him.
“Why, yes, it is. Such a nice girl.” Principal Kane said. He took hold of Bronson’s shoulders then guided him over to the girl. “Bronson, this is Cindy McNeil, pride of the AV room and one of my top five favorite students. Cindy, Bronson is new here today. I’d like you to show him around, let him shadow you too. I talked with Mr. Lee and Bronson is going to be joining a few of your classes. Think you can help him get up to speed?”
Cindy put her arm around Bronson’s shoulder. She smiled hard at Principal Kane. “Definitely should not be a problem, sir,” she said. She pulled Bronson with her down the hall. Bronson was enjoying himself as they turned the corner. She looked behind them to make sure they were out of sight then took her arm back.
“Nice to meet you, Cindy,” Bronson said.
“What? Ya’ gotta speak up if you want to be heard, Brandon.”
“Uh… my name’s Bronson.”
“Bronson… Brenden… whatever.” She stopped. “A few rules for getting along with me, Bronson. One—I pretty much always know what I’m talking about. Two—I’m going to help you out because Big Bald Bob asked me to and I’m on his good side this week, but don’t bug me too much. Can’t stand people bugging me. Three— and this is the most important one— don’t bug me. Ever. If I have the time to deal with you I’ll let you know. If I don’t let you know you don’t know me. We clear?
“Yeah, we’re clear,” Bronson said.
“Good, now come on in and meet the boys”
Cindy opened a door marked AV Room. A few racks with old computer equipment lined the walls inside. Several heavy black cases were stacked in the corner. Three guys sat around a table in front of a photo backdrop of the school with the letters WWJH stenciled on it. A big camera on a dolly pointed at them. A few lights were pointed at the backdrop.
“Guys, this is Brandon,” Cindy said, “Brandon, the guys.”
“Bronson,” he corrected.
“It’s okay,” said the boy with glasses and flowered shirt, “she doesn’t know any of our names either.”
Cindy threw her backpack against the wall then jumped up behind the camera. She reached around to the front of the camera and rotated a dial behind the lens. The door to the room opened again. A tall boy with red hair walked in. Cindy looked up from her work.
“Bugs, get out of here,” she said. “I don’t need you bothering my crew. We go live in five minutes.”
“Nobody watches this crap, McNeil. Look at that set. I’ve seen better scenery in my bathroom.” Bugs poked Bronson hard in the center of his chest. “Who’s this geek?”
Cindy locked the camera down then ran over to them. “Bugs, don’t mess with him. He’s new.”
Bronson winced. So much for keeping a low profile.
“Oh, a new kid, huh? Well guess that calls for a little initiation then.” Bugs pushed Bronson from behind. He flew at the ground. He caught a black cable to try to break his fall. It slowed him for a second but then it gave. He fell hard on his belly. There was a loud crash. He looked up to see the camera lying on the ground. The cable was attached to it. Two of the guys around the table attended to the camera. Cindy on the other hand was just about tired of the disturbance.
She grabbed Bugs’s arm then twisted it behind his back.
“Aw, c’mon,” Bugs said, “I was just messing around with him.”
“Stay out of my newsroom, Bugs. Stay away from the kid or else.” She kicked open the door then shoved Bugs into the hallway. She checked the camera for damage.
“Gee, thanks, Cindy. I could’ve taken him though. That was pretty awesome. The camera’s ok, right?”
“You. Sit over there. Don’t touch anything,” Cindy said. She pointed to a chair.
“But Principal Kane said that you needed to—”
“You’ve been here less than five minutes and you’ve practically ruined my broadcast. Sit. Down. Now.” Cindy said, “Before I make you.” She raised her fist at him. Bronson took his bag to his spot. A heavier kid in a fedora sat next to him.
“Don’t let her bother you,” he said. “She takes this stuff pretty seriously but she’s pretty nice once you get to know her. What was your name again?”
“Bronson.”
“She’ll forget about it soon, you know. The news never stops moving.”
Bronson hoped so, but if the first half hour was any indication his career at Woodrow Wilcox Junior High had already reached its peak.
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