the rush."
"Smart." She started stacking the assignments, her
movements precise, the corners all squared. "What can I do for you?"
"Tell me what you know about Tanner."
"Gerald?" Her hands stilled momentarily, then
resumed their task. "Well … not very much, actually. As I said in Mrs.
Patterson's office, I didn't even know whether he was married. We simply
haven't become that personal."
Connor sat as he had that morning on a student desk in the
first row. "Is he shy?"
"Um…" She considered. "No, not really. He's
friendly in the teacher's lounge. He's surprisingly funny."
Okay, Connor thought, torpedo the stereotypes. Horn-rimmed
glasses did not mean a man was humorless; skinny arms did not mean he was
pathologically shy.
"We've sat together to eat lunch several times,
especially since we've started a discussion on doing a joint project coupling
writing skills with Internet research."
"Have you seen him teach?"
She pursed her lips as she thought. Connor was annoyed to
find himself fixated on the soft curve of her mouth. Scowling, he tore his gaze
away.
"Only briefly. Generally, of course, he isn't lecturing
like I might do. The students work on computers, beginning ones on keyboarding
skills, more advanced on computer animation or simple programming. So he tends
to be wandering, looking over their shoulders, responding when they ask for
help." She shrugged. "That kind of thing."
"Do they pay any more attention to him than the students
down the hall—" Connor nodded toward the next classroom "—are to that
young blonde?"
Mariah started to rise to her feet. "Is she having
trouble?"
He waved her back. "If you mean, are they rioting, no.
Are they hanging on her every word? No." He told her about the activities
he'd seen going on.
Sounding rueful, Mariah said, "Karen is a student
teacher. She probably won't be alone with the class for more than a few
minutes. When Rich Sadow pops back in, the cards will vanish."
"Ah. The substitute syndrome."
"Exactly."
"To get back to the point…" he prodded her.
"Gerald? He is new this year, remember. But I'd say the
kids are pretty enthusiastic. He brought some very cool programs with him, I
understand. Stuff that's way beyond the school budget."
Glancing around the classroom, Connor muttered, "Is
there a budget?"
She wrinkled her nose. "No, now that you mention it.
But, to get back to Gerald, he seems passionate about computers as tools, and
that kind of enthusiasm almost always gets through to kids. Besides," she
added, "they like computers these days. They're a lot cooler than
books."
"Does he always dress so…" He hesitated.
"Yes." She frowned, as if annoyed at herself.
Firming her mouth, Mariah said, "I don't see what his choice of clothing
has to do with your investigation."
"Just trying to … create a picture. See the whole man,
so to speak."
"I honestly don't know him very well." Ms. Stavig
sounded very businesslike this afternoon. "You're going to have to look
elsewhere for help with your portrait."
Was she unable? Or unwilling? Connor couldn't tell.
"All right," he said agreeably. "On to Tracy. I took a look through her school record."
Some of Mariah's visible tension dissipated as she sighed.
"It's full of ten-inch-tall warnings, isn't it? Here's a girl who needs
lots of attention, who is lacking positive reinforcement at home, who will get
lost if you ignore her. And then what did half her teachers do but ignore
her."
"I noticed that," he agreed. "She yo-yoed—is
that a word?—from year to year. Her sixth-grade teacher downright disliked her,
I'd say, reading between the lines."
Mariah nodded. "Roberta Madison has, um, a reputation
for doing better with boy students. The good little girl who can sit quietly in
class is okay with her, too. A Tracy Mitchell apparently offends her sense of
what's right."
Connor shook his head. "Okay. Let's go back through
your talk with Tracy."
He had Mariah repeat yet again every word as close to
verbatim as she
"Smart." She started stacking the assignments, her
movements precise, the corners all squared. "What can I do for you?"
"Tell me what you know about Tanner."
"Gerald?" Her hands stilled momentarily, then
resumed their task. "Well … not very much, actually. As I said in Mrs.
Patterson's office, I didn't even know whether he was married. We simply
haven't become that personal."
Connor sat as he had that morning on a student desk in the
first row. "Is he shy?"
"Um…" She considered. "No, not really. He's
friendly in the teacher's lounge. He's surprisingly funny."
Okay, Connor thought, torpedo the stereotypes. Horn-rimmed
glasses did not mean a man was humorless; skinny arms did not mean he was
pathologically shy.
"We've sat together to eat lunch several times,
especially since we've started a discussion on doing a joint project coupling
writing skills with Internet research."
"Have you seen him teach?"
She pursed her lips as she thought. Connor was annoyed to
find himself fixated on the soft curve of her mouth. Scowling, he tore his gaze
away.
"Only briefly. Generally, of course, he isn't lecturing
like I might do. The students work on computers, beginning ones on keyboarding
skills, more advanced on computer animation or simple programming. So he tends
to be wandering, looking over their shoulders, responding when they ask for
help." She shrugged. "That kind of thing."
"Do they pay any more attention to him than the students
down the hall—" Connor nodded toward the next classroom "—are to that
young blonde?"
Mariah started to rise to her feet. "Is she having
trouble?"
He waved her back. "If you mean, are they rioting, no.
Are they hanging on her every word? No." He told her about the activities
he'd seen going on.
Sounding rueful, Mariah said, "Karen is a student
teacher. She probably won't be alone with the class for more than a few
minutes. When Rich Sadow pops back in, the cards will vanish."
"Ah. The substitute syndrome."
"Exactly."
"To get back to the point…" he prodded her.
"Gerald? He is new this year, remember. But I'd say the
kids are pretty enthusiastic. He brought some very cool programs with him, I
understand. Stuff that's way beyond the school budget."
Glancing around the classroom, Connor muttered, "Is
there a budget?"
She wrinkled her nose. "No, now that you mention it.
But, to get back to Gerald, he seems passionate about computers as tools, and
that kind of enthusiasm almost always gets through to kids. Besides," she
added, "they like computers these days. They're a lot cooler than
books."
"Does he always dress so…" He hesitated.
"Yes." She frowned, as if annoyed at herself.
Firming her mouth, Mariah said, "I don't see what his choice of clothing
has to do with your investigation."
"Just trying to … create a picture. See the whole man,
so to speak."
"I honestly don't know him very well." Ms. Stavig
sounded very businesslike this afternoon. "You're going to have to look
elsewhere for help with your portrait."
Was she unable? Or unwilling? Connor couldn't tell.
"All right," he said agreeably. "On to Tracy. I took a look through her school record."
Some of Mariah's visible tension dissipated as she sighed.
"It's full of ten-inch-tall warnings, isn't it? Here's a girl who needs
lots of attention, who is lacking positive reinforcement at home, who will get
lost if you ignore her. And then what did half her teachers do but ignore
her."
"I noticed that," he agreed. "She yo-yoed—is
that a word?—from year to year. Her sixth-grade teacher downright disliked her,
I'd say, reading between the lines."
Mariah nodded. "Roberta Madison has, um, a reputation
for doing better with boy students. The good little girl who can sit quietly in
class is okay with her, too. A Tracy Mitchell apparently offends her sense of
what's right."
Connor shook his head. "Okay. Let's go back through
your talk with Tracy."
He had Mariah repeat yet again every word as close to
verbatim as she
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