CHAPTER FOUR

THE BLACK PILE OF RUST CLAMORED into the parking lot of Jane Hopkins. It was after hours and the school was completely deserted.

“Why are we here,” Max asked, “We can’t go inside so what do you expect to find just wandering around outside?”

“We can check into the windows and poke around before heading off to the motel,” Tristan smirked, adding, “I called the school while we were stopped at the gas station. I told them that I was a clerk from the district and that I had heard they were in need of a substitute.”

“How did you know that they were short on teachers?”

“Every school is,” Tristan grinned smugly, “And I told them we had an assistant that would be in interested in observing.”

Max thought it over and agreed that it would make a pretty darn good excuse. He had to give Tristan some credit for creativity. Usually Max was the one that had to provide the legitimate covers for their jobs.

They headed over towards the entrance and began to poke around the windows. There was nothing much to see – just the usual desks, whiteboards, teachers’ desks, and computers. No sign of spooks.

“Come on, Max groaned, “Let’s get outta here before we get taken for trespassers or something.”

Surprisingly enough, Tristan didn’t put up too much of a fight and they returned to the truck and headed off to find a motel. The only thing close to a Motel Six was a Betty and Bo’s Bed and Breakfast. They boys agreed that they should probably stay there. After all, the place was close to the academy.

Tristan growled at the delicate white house with the green shutters. “I feel like I just pulled up into Green Gables,” he snarled with teeth bared and fists clenched, glued to the steering wheel.

Max laughed, amused at the thought, “I didn’t know you even knew what Green Gables was.”

“I went to school – I’m not a degenerate, Max.”

“Whatever,” Max rolled his eyes, knowing well and good that when Tristan was in school, which was rarely, he wasn’t taking his eyes off the cheerleaders long enough to read a book – much less open one.

They hopped out of the truck and made their way up a cobble river road to the front entrance. Max rang the doorbell and a woman in a little yellow housedress and fuzzy blue slippers that matched her hair answered punctually.

“Can I help you boys?”

“Yes,” Tristan nodded, “We need a room for a while.”

“How long you boys plannin’ to stay, sweetie?” She asked, eyeing Tristan hungrily. Max rolled his eyes, used to women goggling at his older brother.

“A week, maybe two. So do you got a room for us, ma’am?”

“I think we can make room for you two darlings. My name is Betty and my husband and I own this bed and breakfast. It’s small but comfy. Follow me.”

Tristan and Max followed Betty inside the antiquely decorated home. Everything was gaudy, too overdone and a bit too lavish. Like someone poured a bottle of syrupy décor all over the whole house. Faux gold frames housed cheap imitations of expensive paintings. Yellow and pink loveseats gathered in what Max guessed was a parlor. Pink carpet winded around a long hallway, filled with rooms.

“This is yours,” Betty smiled towards one of the doors, “Two beds, two dressers, a table for breakfast. It isn’t much but I think you’ll find it pleasant enough.”

“Believe me, ma’am, it’s better than what we’re used to getting,” Tristan grinned, making his way through the heavy wooden door, “Looks nice to me. How much?”

“It’s thirty a night but for two handsome boys like you, I think I can bump the price down to twenty. Just don’t let my Bo know. He’s a sucker for a cent.”

After wishing the boys a good night, Betty excused herself. Tristan had a look around the room and snorted at the floral wallpaper. Little pink roses and doilies. It was enough to cause him to puke.

“If you’re planning on barfing, do it somewhere else,” Max rolled his eyes, flopping down on the bed, “Now this is a real nice place. I bet they actually wash their sheets here.”

“And I bet no one would dare get it on with two old coots in the next room.”

“You never know,” Max shrugged, situating himself comfortably on the floral down comforter, “At least Betty seams nice.”

“We’re not here to socialize,” Tristan reminded him, “We’re here for a job and that’s it.”

Max rolled his eyes and Tristan glared warningly towards him, “So are you ready for tomorrow?” He asked, as he hopped in amongst the flowery sheets, “I mean, I know you’re never really ready but…”

“I am as ready as I will ever be,” Max answered honestly, “So teacher assistant, eh?”

“Yeah,” Tristan grinned, “It was the only legit excuse I could come up with for you being there.”

“Anyone die there?” Max asked the routine question he doubted he’d ever grow accustomed to asking. Max figured Tristan had been around death so long that he had become desensitized to it. Death no longer seemed to faze him.

“Yeah, a girl…”

“Slit her wrists and a boy threw himself down the stairs. I am asking about death with revenge. Did anyone die that would come back to haunt.”

“The girl – a Miss Juliana Stephens. Online reports said that she hated the school.”

“Figures,” Max snorted, “Stress to be the best of the best will cause a horrible hate. Imagine never feeling good enough.”

“Max…” Tristan’s voice held a note of warning, “Don’t let the emotions get to you. You can’t let yourself get so attached.”

Max nodded; he understood what Tristan was trying to say. That was his problem: getting so attached to things that there was no real point getting attached to. As much as Tristan hid his heart behind a wall of ice, cold stone Max wore his proudly and painfully upon his sleeve. He was too much like his mother in that regard. It was that very trait that caused Tristan to get so fed up with his brother. He just couldn’t wrap his head around the thought of emotions.

“It’s late,” Tristan mumbled, “Get some sleep, Max. We’ll need all our strength to get through tomorrow. First I’m sleeping on a bed of roses, tomorrow I’ll be teaching at a prep school. Damn, this ain’t good for my image.”

~*~*~

Morning came sooner than expected. After rushing through a quick breakfast of biscuits and gravy, the brothers hurried off to the academy. As the truck pulled into the parking lot, it was greeted by cold stares from a group of girls in plaid skirts. Max felt the hair upon his neck prickle under their icy glares. He was familiar with their type – snobs. This job sure as hell wasn’t going to be easy.

After pulling into the spot labeled “faculty,” Tristan and Max made their way inside.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Tristan smirked, looking back towards the truck.

“You did,” Max reminded him, “Back at Clinton High. You got suspended for three weeks.”

“And by that time we’d already moved on to another school.”

The front office was right off to the side of the entrance and Tristan explained to the secretary who they were. She was a plump lady with red hair and catlike reading glasses. After introductions were shared, she directed them to their classroom.

“We are so glad to have you,” she said as the two were fixing to leave, “Mr. Stern has the flu and substitutes are so hard to come by.”

“We’re always happy to be sent where needed,” Tristan smiled before excusing themselves.

The classroom wasn’t too hard to locate and Tristan was relieved to find lesson plans upon the teacher’s desk.

“They’re learning Les Miserables,” Tristan announced, “Ever read it?”

“Of course,” Max picked up the teacher’s copy and began to flip through the fifteen-hundred or so pages, “It’s the classic plight of the poor and poverty as well as the power-hungry law enforcement while mingling a beautifully tragic tale of romance and loss…”

“Dude…you gotta get a girl,” Tristan rolled his eyes, “That or admittance to a loony bin. Take your pick.”

Max decided that it was best to not indulge Tristan’s anger management issues and dropped the subject.

“We got our work cut out for us,” Max mumbled.

“How’s that?”

“Well, snobby rich kids learning about the plight of the poor won’t be exactly easy. Try pulling them away from their Chis, Gucci bags, argyle sweaters, and sports coats long enough to pay attention to Jean Val Jean…”

“Dude…what the hell?”

“Hey, if I were you, I’d be thanking me right now.”

“Why so?”

“Because,” Max smirked, “You don’t know shit about Les Miserables and Jean Val Jean and Cosette. You need me to teach it to you.”

“Alright, little brother. You got exactly fifteen minutes to teach me this whole book. Shoot.”