Liars' Games (Project Chameleon Book 1) (4 page)

“
I’ll be here until someone throws me overboard.” She smiled with false bravado.

He laughed and stuck his hands in his pockets. “What’s on your agenda for today?”

“I’ve assigned myself the task of getting familiar with this place.”

“
Can I help? Answer any questions? I’d be happy to share with you the school’s history, if you’re interested.”

“
I would love that. You’re the first person around here to volunteer information and sound friendly. We should go to my office. It’ll be more comfortable there.”

He followed her and sat down in a chair facing her desk.
“I’m probably the easiest guy in the district to get along with. Funny, laid-back, goofy. People call me a big ham.”

She smiled. “That’s cute, and much better than being called a turkey. I’ve worked with a few of those.”

Frank chuckled again. “We’re gonna get along well together, I can already tell.”

She joined in his laughter.

“So, where do you want to start?” Frank asked.

“
Uh, well, I’ve noticed teachers, and even principals, seem to come and go at an alarming rate around here.”

Frank gave a sheepish smile.
“Guess no one told you that being assigned to this school isn’t exactly a prize.”

Claire struggled to keep her face blank.

“Mostly, it’s gang activity, drugs, and general lack of enthusiasm among the students that chases away the good employees. It’s kind of a Catch-22. When faculty and administrators don’t care enough to motivate these kids, you know, make them believe they can make a difference in their own lives, the kids drop out of school, the good employees leave, and it goes round and round.”

“
None of that is particularly uncommon in inner-city schools. But doesn’t the school district do anything to help, such as provide training to teachers so they can better reach these kids?”

Frank nodded. “We do, but it’s useless if the teachers don’t care.”

“Are all your schools like this?”

“
No, not at all; most are good. Midland’s pretty much an outlier, in terms of violence and in test scores.”

“Violence?”

“Oh, nothing as bad as Columbine has occurred here,” he said, waving his arms and speaking faster. “Didn’t mean to alarm you. You’ll see fights, threats, and bullying in school. Get familiar with lockdown procedures. Most of the gang violence occurs off campus in the neighborhoods, on the streets. I wouldn’t suggest going for a long stroll around here.”

“Why isn’t the school equipped with metal detectors and security cameras? Wouldn’t those deter trouble? Or does this school not need them?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have a good answer for you. I’m not in charge of that area. I supervise the high school principals.”

“Haven’t the administrators considered security measures? Steve Jensen made it sound like this school has
many issues.”
Good grief, don’t I have enough safety concerns of my own?

“You’ll have to talk to Steve
about that. I know he’s been trying to get more security here, however, it’s a hot-button issue.”

“Why is that?”

He shrugged. “Don’t quote me, but the logical guess is money. The school board controls things around here. You might have sensed it if you’d interviewed with them.”

An
awkward silence filled the air. She thought about Brad Meyers and his boss. “I thought there was a hiring committee. Your HR Manager told me. The school board doesn’t interview candidates, do they?”

“Well, no.
” Frank folded his arms. “Not the whole board. The board president and another board member are on the hiring committee, as is Steve.”

“Oh, I didn’t know
,” she said, suddenly understanding the slight edge in Steve’s attitude toward her yesterday. She looked away, and fidgeted with the top button of her suit jacket. “I met the Superintendent briefly yesterday,” she said. “Would you advise I arrange a longer meeting with him?”

“Not necessary. In a week and a half Steve will hold his bi-weekly round table luncheon. This one will be at Cameron High School. He’ll be there, along with a couple of the school board members, and the
six high school principals. You’ll get an email from him.”

Claire nodded.

“Have you explored the building yet?”

“Yes,” Claire said, “
I started to, but haven’t seen all of it.” She wasn’t lying. She just wasn’t going to admit she’d let her imagination scare her half to death and had hidden back in her office.

“Well, if you want, I can show you around.”

“Or I can.”

Claire and Frank spun around to see who had spoken. Frank looked surprised, then grinned. “Hey, what are you doing here, Steve? I thought you were meeting with your new committee.”

Steve Jensen said, “I did. Now it’s your turn.”

“What?”

Steve laughed. “Change of plans. We decided you’d be the best administrator for that committee, so I came to switch places with you.”

Claire bit her lip.

Frank raised one eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Afraid not.”

“Gee thanks, friend,” Frank said. “Sounds like someone didn’t wanna be on that committee.”

Steve grinned.
“RHIP, buddy.”

“Okay, where’s the meeting?”

After Frank left, Steve said, “I’m somewhat acquainted with Midland. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Claire took a deep calming breath. Keep your attention focused, she told herself.

She was compelled to peek at him out of the corner of her eyes as they walked. He was more attractive than she remembered from the day before, and still as casual in corduroy black trousers and cream polo shirt, with a burgundy sweater over it. He was taller than she remembered, too, perhaps six feet tall, trim and well-groomed although something about him reminded her of a woolly teddy bear—perhaps his brown hair, beard, and mustache, combined with his semi-gruff voice.

When they
reached the main hall, Steve said, “At one time this hall was open to a South Courtyard similar to the courtyard on the side, the one with lions.”

“Oh yes, I saw that one.”

“Great hangout for drug deals,” he said. “Gotta keep an eye on that area.”

She thought,
‘yes, and a great place for a hired assassin to hide out’. She said, “Should we close it off?”

“Probably wouldn’t do much good unless you seal it up with concrete.”

At the unexpected comment, she turned her head to look at him askance. He was watching her and grinning, which made her laugh.

He said,
“The auditorium originally had windows looking into the hall. They’ve been bricked and plastered over, and pieces of statuary adorning various rooms have been removed.”

“I
wish I’d seen it back then.”

“I know what you mean. I wasn’t here, either, but I’ve seen photographs. Midland’s gone through many changes,
such as reorganizing space, for one. Most of these changes occurred decades ago. The front of the second floor was originally planned as a teachers’ lunchroom. Insufficient funds made it necessary to use it as a study hall instead. Later, the study hall was lost too when it had to be divided into three much needed classrooms.”

Steve stopped a moment and physically backtrack
ed, then turned and led her down a different corridor. By now, the faculty was beginning to arrive for work and teachers were unlocking classroom doors. “Sorry. Even though I know the school fairly well, I still get a little lost now and then.”

He
stopped once more and looked at her face, his eyes locking on hers. Her first impulse was to look away. Feeling as though he was testing her, she held her head up and waited. He was better at it, though, and she finally gave in and looked away, down the hall, hoping he would start walking again.

H
e did.

They entered a large gym.
Steve said, “The original gym, built back in the late fifties was larger and had a balcony allowing for spectator basketball games. In the early eighties, the boys’ and girls’ Locker rooms were enlarged, eating up a portion of the gym. Around that same time, the balcony was enclosed and turned into ROTC offices.”

She absorbed the information without comment.
They walked upstairs and peeked into a few classrooms, greeting teachers who were polite yet distant.

On their way back to her office, Steve said, “Unfortunately, while general building maintenance has been
performed, major repairs such as replacing inefficient heaters and classroom equipment have been on hold.” He looked at his watch. “Students will be arriving any minute. I wish I could stay and talk more. Unfortunately, you’ll be busy and I’m supposed to meet with another principal in half an hour. I’ll stop by again in a few days. If you need us, don’t hesitate to call me or Frank Lawrence. He’s the assistant superintendent who will supervise you.”

“Thanks, Steve.” She tilted her head. “You’ve made me feel more welcome here. I wasn’t sure yesterday
. . . .”

“
Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve had time to think about it. Maybe someone young and full of energy is what this school needs.” He turned to leave, glancing back, and smiled.

Claire
smiled back, then turned and started walking toward the administrative office. Halfway there, the first warning bell of the morning rang.
Hmm, might be a good opportunity to see how this all works.
She changed direction, walking over to a window, and stood watching the students clamor off the lined-up busses. Some students came straight into the building, but many milled around, visiting with friends. When the second bell rang, more students came in. By the third bell, it seemed like most students were inside the building, though judging from what she’d seen yesterday, she suspected some still lingered outside.

She turned and watched the students inside.
The entry hall and corridor were bustling with activity now: people pushing and shoving, locks on lockers clicking, locker doors opening and closing, voices buzzing loudly. Chaos. The halls quieted as students and teachers dispersed to their classrooms and the last bell rang.

She turned back to the window.
As she’d guessed, at least a dozen students stood around in clusters outside; well, a dozen that she could see from her position. Nearly all of them wore orange bandanas and sported tattoos. Unlike yesterday, she now knew these bandanas were worn by the toughest gang in the school. Somehow she would have to figure out what to do about them, though not today.

The
fourth and final bell rang, telling everyone that classes were in session. Instead of going back to her office straight away, she walked back upstairs and looked in the first open door. Students were sitting around chatting, some laughing. Others had ear buds sticking out of their ears and MP3 players in their laps or lying on their desks. Where was the teacher? Claire let her gaze move around the room until it landed on Bob Lewis, a teacher. He was sitting at his desk in the front left corner of the class, his legs stretched out and his feet resting on the edge of the desk. He was reading a magazine.

Claire gritted her teeth and moved to the next room. This one was worse. Students were out of control: throwing paper airplanes, tossing insults, flipping chairs around like balls. The teacher was shouting and waving her arms
, but they ignored her.

In the next classroom, the teacher was speaking about Shakespeare and two students were actually discussing Hamlet with him. Several other students appeared to be listening, while others doodled on paper or typed messages on their mobile
phones.

Oh dear
. Clearly the students aren’t the only problem here.

She turned and started walking back to the administration office. Inside the outer office, several students were sitting in chairs. “
How may I help you?” she asked.

“I’m
here for the nurse,” a girl said. She didn’t look like she was in dire need of assistance, so Claire went on to the next student.

“We’re waiting for Mr. Baker,” a boy said, motioning toward his buddies.

Claire nodded and started toward her office.

“'You Ms. Constantine?”

“Yes.” Claire looked around her to ascertain who had spoken. A middle-aged woman whom she didn’t recognize was staring at her.

“You have the Keoghs in your office.”

Claire frowned. “What are Key-os?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Keogh.” The woman sighed theatrically. “They're here about their son, he was thro
— told to leave the class yesterday.

“Right. Right. She looked at her office door, then back at the woman. “So, what would be the best thing with them
. . . ?”

She held out a file. “This is sweet little Donny's rap sheet. He's okay, but talks, you know?” She shrugged. “The parents are okay. They like to let off steam. Talk nice, promise them he'll be back, they'll promise he'll behave, you'll both agree he's a good kid at heart.”