Burn Scars by Eddie Generous (best novels for beginners TXT) 📕

of the hockey game, the end of my drink, plus what it takes me to get out here. Not too long, maybe bring your homework.” He smiled. “Might get into a conversation. Linda says I have to be seen in a way that people remember my being there, and that makes sense.”

“Yeah, but what difference does it really make? I mean, if the place is robbed at night and you’re in town same night, doesn’t that…I don’t know, seem convenient.”

“There’s sensors in the warehouse and time stamps when doors open and close. When you close the door, it stamps a time. Right then, we’ll all be busy and you’ll be home alone because it’s a school night.”

“Right.”

“That’s why you’ve got to set the precedent for the rest of the week. Better if you don’t duck out again.”

“Right.”

“Maybe you should go to the afternoon classes.”

“Right, yeah, okay, but what if something goes funny before we hit the road?”

“All the layers are like failsafe steps. Linda says if we lose some, it’s not all lost, we just have to be a little more perfect with every piece that’s sacrificed. It’s only the truck driving step that’s totally important. We just have to be perfect if we make a couple mistakes, this scheme has tiers.”

“Like what?”

“Well, like if I go out to the lot and the rig’s not there and I find out at the warehouse you broke your leg or something under a stacker or a range or like under a TV or whatever, and I have to drive out of there. It’s still game on, even though I’ve blown the best parts of my alibi.”

“Man, if we’re relying on me being perfect, we’re in trouble.” Rusty reached to the dash for his smokes.

“Yee of little faith. It’ll be fine.”

—

“Hey, it’s Frogger!” shouted one of the country boys as Rusty stepped into class, reeking of diesel and cigarettes. “Why don’t you just go on welfare or something?”

Rusty scrunched his face, squinting his left eye in one of those what in the hell are you talking about? faces. “You can’t just go on welfare, dumbass. That’s not how that works. Plus I have a job?”

The big boy’s frown suggested that he wasn’t anticipating this answer and had no rebuttal. He looked to his left and then right, found no assistance, and finally pretended to be mighty interested in his backpack.

Mrs. Betts came into the room and opened her leather accordion satchel. She then looked around the student body. “Ah, Mr. Talbot, you missed class on Friday.”

“Yeah, had some stuff to do. I mean, I didn’t have much of a choice. I wanted to come, for real.”

“Uh huh. School policy says if a student misses thirteen classes in a semester, it’s up to a teacher’s discretion whether or not pass them, marks notwithstanding. Do you know how many classes you’ve missed?”

Rusty didn’t bother thinking it through, probably he’d missed a bunch more than thirteen. This was her show and she was going to have her peace. He shrugged.

“Counting those you missed before you rejoined the noble pursuit of a high school education, twenty-one.”

The footballing farm boys sniggered behind him and Rusty was pretty near rattled enough to catch a murder case, or two. “Okay,” he said, the second syllable coming out on a jitter, his fists tight balls in his lap.

“How do you plan to make up what you’ve missed, and will surely miss in the next month and a half?”

Rusty shook his head slowly.

“The answer is homework of course. I’ve talked to your other teachers and, all but your English teacher, have extra work for you—”

“Why?”

Mrs. Betts looked at Rusty quizzically. “Why what?”

“Why did you go and do that? Why does it matter? I’m doing my best and you aren’t making it any easier. So I’m not good at school, and it only gets harder for me the longer I’m here. I have these little boys hassling me,” he waved over his shoulder, “I have you hassling me. I have my boss hassling me. I have bills to pay. I eat like once a day because I’m burning all my work hours in class, I’m trying to get this over with. If there was another way, don’t you think I’d do that? Shit lady, for a schoolteacher you’re kind of stupid.”

Mrs. Betts stiffened and the class sat in a rigid silence for a ten count and then the teacher continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Like I said, I’ve talked to your other teachers and all but your English teacher have extra work for you to complete alongside your regular studies. Nobody gets a free pass in my class.”

Quitting was the best solution. Quitting because going back was stupid. Quitting was what he ought to do again; he was right that second time all along…but the precedent, the norm, the staying out of prison.

“Fine, I’ll do whatever,” he said.

Mrs. Betts frowned.

“Hand it over.”

“Well, I haven’t put it together yet.”

Rusty folded his arms over his chest. “Did you think this little public shaming was going to go some different kind of way?”

“Excuse me?”

“Pointing at me, in front of the class, and saying I was probably going to screw up, did you think the end result was going to be something other than what’s happening? Like, did you want me to get all red and scream or something? Maybe run away crying?”

“I had no—”

Rusty, really flying, interrupted her. “Ever pass up an opportunity to kick a dog when he’s down?” He spoke this without emotion. “I ask that honestly.”

“Excuse m—this is a serious issue and I’m well within the school’s guidelines to—”

Whenever he let emotion out, he got flustered and sounded stupid, the only chance he had at winning this, whatever this was, was