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    Miss Lydia Fairbanks and the Losers Club
    Miss Lydia Fairbanks and the Losers Club
    Miss Lydia Fairbanks and the Losers Club
    Ebook222 pages3 hours

    Miss Lydia Fairbanks and the Losers Club

    By Duane L. Ostler

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    About this ebook

    Frail, timid Miss Lydia Fairbanks is the newest teacher at Inner City Junior High School, the deadliest school in the state. While the school principal believes she won't last a day, Miss Fairbanks quickly surprises everyone by not only surviving in the midst of her killer students, but actually thriving in the classroom. But even someone as weak and small as Miss Fairbanks can harbor troubling secrets from the past, which threaten to destroy her ...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDuane L. Ostler
    Release dateApr 25, 2016
    ISBN9781310641596
    Miss Lydia Fairbanks and the Losers Club
    Author

    Duane L. Ostler

    Duane L. Ostler was raised in Southern Idaho, and has lived in Australia, Mexico, Brazil, China, Utah, the big Island of Hawaii, and—most foreign of all—New Jersey. He practiced law for over 10 years and has a PhD in legal history. He and his wife have five children and two cats.

    Read more from Duane L. Ostler

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      Book preview

      Miss Lydia Fairbanks and the Losers Club - Duane L. Ostler

      MISS LYDIA FAIRBANKS AND THE LOSERS CLUB

      by Duane L. Ostler

      Copyright 2015 Duane L. Ostler

      All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, copied or distributed without the express permission of the author.

      The author was formerly identified in prior versions of this book under pen name E. Reltso.

      This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between the characters of this book and a real person is purely coincidental.

      Cover art: U.S. Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information photo, 1943, picture of Miss Norma Kale, Woodrow Wilson High School English Teacher. Photographer Esther Bubley.

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      CHAPTER 1

      CHAPTER 2

      CHAPTER 3

      CHAPTER 4

      CHAPTER 5

      CHAPTER 6

      CHAPTER 7

      CHAPTER 8

      CHAPTER 9

      CHAPTER 10

      CHAPTER 11

      CHAPTER 12

      CHAPTER 13

      CHAPTER 14

      CHAPTER 15

      CHAPTER 16

      CHAPTER 17

      CHAPTER 18

      CHAPTER 19

      CHAPTER 20

      CHAPTER 21

      OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

      CHAPTER ONE

      Tom Clyde was sick. He had ringing in his ears, grinding in his stomach, palpitations in his heart, aches in his kidneys, arthritis in his joints, and puffiness in his eyes. In addition to these minor problems, he also had high blood pressure and diabetes flare-ups, not to mention the migraine headaches and agonizing shingles stretching all the way up his arms.

      Tom Clyde was sick indeed. But he was no fool. He knew what the REAL cause of all these maladies was. It was not a weak or unhealthy body. It was not inherited poor genes. It was not viruses or flu bugs. It was just one simple thing.

      His job.

      Inner City Junior High School. Even repeating the name in his own mind caused him to shudder involuntarily, and also caused the gurgling in his ulcers to start. Inner City Junior High School. Take any school in the state, shake out all the bad and rough students and throw them together--and they would be mere pussycats compared to the average students who ranged the halls of Inner City Junior High School every day. The place stank. It was not so much a real odor or physical smell that it reeked of. Rather, it stank of harshness, brutality, failure, bullying, despair, frustration, hopelessness and crime. All of these things and more oozed from the very walls every day.

      And Tom Clyde was its principal.

      With a sigh, he leaned back in the swivel chair in his office. The chair squeaked in its usual irritating way, adding to the general spirit of discomfort he felt just by being here. One of these days the silly chair was going to break altogether and leave him sprawling on the floor. But such a minor tragedy would be laughable compared to what he had to deal with every day in this awful school.

      The telephone on his desk buzzed. Mr. Clyde? came his secretary's tired voice. I just got a phone call from Fred Bozley. You know--he teaches science. He's going to the hospital to have his head examined. He says two students threw books at him in the hall, and hit his head. Apparently there was a bit of blood.

      Tom groaned, but at the same time almost felt like laughing. Fred was going to have his head examined! That's what every one of the faculty should do for even working one day in this horrible school--including himself! What sane person in his right mind would ever want to work here?

      Tom spoke to the phone on his desk, since he knew Mrs. Jensen was expecting an answer. Did you call the school district substitute line? Are they sending someone over to take Fred's classes?

      I called and they said they'd try, she answered. But you know how hard it is for them to find substitutes willing to come here ...

      Tom leaned farther back with a groan, causing his unhappy chair to squeak a good deal more. The last thing he wanted to do was go in and substitute himself. It would be like stepping into a warzone.

      How about Coach Mane? he asked with dim hope. Sometimes the coach was willing, and given his size, the kids didn't mess with him too much.

      He's got a class the next hour, came Mrs. Jensen's voice. He said he could sub for the rest of the day after that, though.

      So we just need to find a substitute for the next hour, said Tom, drumming his fingers grumpily on his desk. It looked like he might have to do it himself after all.

      Maybe, said Mrs. Jensen mysteriously. Suddenly she added, There's a Miss Lydia Fairbanks here to see you. For a job interview to become a teacher here. She says she has an appointment ...

      Tom instantly understood what Mrs. Jensen was thinking. This Lydia Fairbanks person, who was insane enough to come here wanting a job, could perhaps be asked if she would be willing to substitute for an hour ...

      Send her right in, he said flatly. He straightened up in his chair, causing it to squeak more harshly than before. Then he picked up an old silver dollar he kept on his desk, which he flipped aimlessly through his fingers whenever he felt nervous. It got a lot of use every day.

      Should he do it? Should he send Lydia Fairbanks into the classroom? He'd read her resume and knew she had just graduated from the local community college and was hoping to fill the writing teacher opening at Inner City Junior High, which was currently being taught by unhappy substitutes. She clearly had no experience, and for her to even consider applying to this school she was obviously struggling to find a job. It was understandable why--writing teachers were a dime a dozen, and as often as not ended up flipping burgers rather than teaching. But no matter. All that mattered today was finding a sub for the next hour, and Lydia Fairbanks could be just the ticket. But he knew if he did send her into the classroom, she'd probably withdraw her request to become a teacher here. That is, if she had any sense--and if she survived.

      The door opened quietly, and as Lydia Fairbanks stepped into the room Tom's heart sank. One glance at her clearly showed she was no match for the tough kids that ranged these halls. Although she was young, she was small and frail-looking, with a plain, unattractive face. She walked with a timidity that seemed to jump out and say, Look at how unconfident I am! She fit in this place about like a baby duckling fits in a den of hungry wolves.

      Mr. Clyde? said Lydia in a barely audible, quiet voice. She stretched out her hand tentatively then pulled it back, clearly at a loss about what to do. Should she offer to shake hands or just sit down? In the end she just sat down, causing her chair to squeak like all the chairs in Tom's office. I'm Lydia Fairbanks. I'm here about the writing teacher job ...

      It was only too obvious to Tom Clyde that, even if he gave her a job here, she probably wouldn't last a day. It now seemed like a blessing in disguise that Fred was on his way to the hospital. Lydia's taking his class would be just the taste she needed of Inner City Junior High School, so that she would leave its wretched halls and never return again.

      But he wasn't going to tell her any of that. He'd start off by pretending this was a real job interview, even though his only goal now was to get her to substitute for an hour. Yes, I've looked at your resume, said Tom, eyeing her through his puffy eyes, while rubbing his head in an effort to soften his migraine. I notice you don't have any teaching experience ...

      Oh, but I can learn! said Lydia quickly. The pleading look in her eyes jumped out at Tom. I did a great deal of student teaching while at the community college, getting my degree.

      I see, said Tom, rubbing his sore kidneys. He gazed down at his shoes, wondering why he was feeling a sudden pain searing up his leg. Was this a new malady the blasted school had given him?

      He looked up at her again. I think it only fair to warn you that most teachers find this school to be somewhat of a ... challenge. Mostly men teachers apply here, and the ones who stay are usually big men, with some training in martial arts ...

      The pleading look in Lydia's eyes intensified. But I'm very good with children and youth, she said hurriedly. They usually respect me. At least that's been the case in all the classes where I did my student teaching while obtaining my degree--

      The community college is hardly going to send its trainee teachers into difficult schools, said Tom with a scowl. This school is nothing like you've ever seen before. He paused, watching as her lip quivered. She must be nearly penniless to want this job so badly. He made a mental note to himself, to make sure she received a full day's pay for substituting, even though she would only take Fred's class for an hour.

      I think perhaps it would be good to try a little test, he said, while gingerly lifting his foot off the floor and moving it around, with the hope that would make the pain go away. One of our teacher's has unexpectedly had to leave today, and a substitute is needed for the next hour. It's a science class--not your subject, of course. But it seems that we need someone there right now, and you just happen to be here--

      Wonderful! said Lydia, rising to her feet and clasping her hands. Tom couldn't stop himself from shaking his head in pity. I doubt you'll think it's wonderful an hour from now, he said darkly. But if you're willing to do it, Mrs. Jensen will tell you were the classroom is, and you can go there immediately.

      And if all goes well, will I get a job here? asked Lydia hopefully. Tom looked at her frail face, so full of hope. Suddenly he felt uneasy to send her into that lion's den for even one hour. She probably wouldn't last five minutes, and he'd end up down there himself, subbing for the rest of the hour.

      She continued to stare at him with hope-filled eyes. He looked at her and sighed, wearily. There was no need to dash her hopes. What could it hurt to promise she could have the job if she lasted an hour? He knew he wouldn't see her again. In a matter of minutes she'd be out the door like a rocket.

      Certainly, he said amiably as he rose painfully from his chair. His doctor had said only last week that he might have gout in his left leg. Maybe that was what this new pain was. Just come back after the class, and we'll discuss it further ...

      Lydia beamed at him, then quickly went through the door and over to Mrs. Jensen's desk.

      Poor woman, mumbled Tom to himself, reaching into his drawer for some of his pills. She has no idea what she is about to face. He popped several pills in his mouth, wishing they'd bring him the relief they were supposed to.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Class, I am Lydia Fairbanks. Today I will be your substitute teacher.

      No one heard her. No one in fact had paid any attention to her from the moment she'd walked into the room. The 27 students were too busy beating each other up, or yelling and screaming profanities at each other, or throwing things at each other to pay any attention. One student threw a book that nearly took a girl's eye out. It smacked her on the side of the head with a sickening thump that was sure to leave an ugly bruise. She promptly responded by picking up the book and throwing it back in the direction she thought it had come from, even though she had no idea who had thrown it. It hit another girl in the face, nearly breaking her glasses.

      A book bag crashed into the window, shaking the glass, but not breaking it. And for good reason. It had been decided long ago that replacing broken windows in THIS school would not only exceed the school's budget, but probably the entire school fund of the entire state. So a special, fine-wire mesh glass had been installed that was nearly impossible to break. It looked ugly, but did the job and saved the taxpayers a great deal of money. And it even let in a little sunlight as well.

      A big, rough-looking kid with a scar under one eye yanked open another boy's backpack and pulled out a soda can. He shook it wildly, then pointed it point blank at a nearby student and opened the lid. The spray went everywhere. Instantly there were screams, shouts and profanity from half a dozen soda-soaked students.

      Class, said Lydia Fairbanks again in her timid voice from the front of the room. I am your substitute teacher today. It is time to begin. Will you all please settle down? Once again, no one paid the slightest attention to her. A shoe came flying her way, causing her to duck.

      Action was clearly needed. And it was action Lydia Fairbanks was obviously incapable of supplying. She nervously straightened her hair, her knuckles white with tension. She needed this job so badly.

      Turning, she pulled a compact out of her bag. It was an unusual compact, although it was just a cheap one she had found at a dollar store. It had a black case with symbols of the zodiac scattered across the cover. Opening it up, she walked over to the window and turned the compact so that the sunlight reflected off the mirror inside. She then proceeded to aim the concentrated sunlight at the students around the room.

      What the--? exclaimed several students. Others responded with varying levels of profanity, some of which was strong enough to make Miss Fairbanks' ears turn red. But she didn't falter. She just kept pointing the compact mirror at the students one by one until she had attracted their attention, and their collective noise had subsided to a dull roar.

      Class, she said for the third time that day, "I am Miss Lydia Fairbanks. I am your substitute teacher today.

      Hey, cut it out with the light! cried the kid with the scar. You trying to blind me or something?

      Is being blinded by sunlight something you've been studying here in science? asked Miss Fairbanks innocently. Half the kids groaned. Of course not, ugly! said one of the bullies, who had the nasty habit of calling all teachers 'ugly.' None of us knows what ol' man Bozley tries to teach us in here, 'cause none of what he says makes any sense. We only come here 'cause if we don't stay out of the halls, Principal Clyde calls our parents or our youth probation officer, and then we catch it good!

      Several of the students sniggered, even though they all knew it was true. They were staring at Miss Fairbanks expectantly, nearly salivating at the fight they were sure was coming. No teacher they'd ever seen responded well to being called 'ugly.'

      But they underestimated Miss Fairbanks. With a faint smile, she turned to the bully who had spoken. You can be the first one, then, she said for no apparent reason. She suddenly snapped the lid of the compact shut, and closed her eyes. The students watched, spellbound, completely clueless about what she was doing and what was going on.

      Miss Fairbanks began to sway gently on her feet. I feel the stars calling me about you, since you're the first one, she said faintly. Some of the kids laughed, but others 'shushed' them to be quiet, anxious to see what was coming next. What was this loony teacher up to?

      Inwardly, Miss Fairbanks smiled to herself. She had succeeded at quieting the classroom more than its four walls had experienced in many a day.

      Yes, she said even more faintly, so her voice was hardly a whisper. The stars are calling your name ... calling your name ... calling--

      Armpitface Arnold! yelled a kid with bright, yellow hair, who simply couldn't resist the temptation. Miss Fairbanks eyes snapped open, and she smiled. She now knew the bully's name, or at least part of it.

      Shut up, maggot breath! yelled Arnold at yellow hair, launching a book at him. Yelling and shrieking suddenly pierced across the room as everyone started throwing things again. Miss Fairbanks snapped her eyes closed and started to swoon. Arnold, Arnold, she whispered.

      SHUT UP! yelled scar face with his considerable lungs. I want to hear what the loony teacher's saying! Although Miss Fairbank's eyes were still closed, she distinctly heard the sickening thud of a fist smacking into flesh, as scar face backed up his words with muscle. She cringed, and it took all her will power to avoid opening her eyes to see who the groaning victim was.

      Arnold, Arnold, she whispered again, her voice barely audible. Once more the class was quiet as a tomb, straining to hear her every word. Slowly Miss Fairbanks opened her eyes to see all the class gaping at her. They clearly thought she was nuts, but were very interested just the same. With great effort, Miss Fairbanks avoided a smile, and slowly opened the compact.

      My stars! she cried out in what to her was a loud voice, but to the students of Inner City Junior High School (who were used to constant screaming) sounded more like the tiny voice of a flea. "Can it be? I knew the mystic compact could tell the future of any person, but

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