“Well, no,” the girl said, frowning. “It's because you're limited to the number of characters you can use on Twitter and pasting the whole URL will eat up the character space.”
The pink in Riggler's cheeks brightened. “Right.”
It went on like this for several more minutes, with Riggler suggesting things about social media sites and the students correcting his assertions. Each time they refuted his statements, he'd get a little more flustered and the kids would tune out a little more. By the time the bell rang, I was pretty certain Mr. Riggler was not an expert in social media. And I was definitely sure that no one had learned a thing in computer class that morning.
Emily hesitated at her desk, then walked back toward me. “Why are you here?”
“Because I need to work on something with Mr. Riggler,” I told her. “Like I said when I walked in.”
“You couldn't have waited until after class?” she asked, clutching her binder to her chest.
“Was my presence that horrific?” I asked, not bothering to hide my annoyance with her sullen act. “Have I completely destroyed your reputation and your day by showing up and sitting her e quietly in the back of the room?”
Her face immediately went red and her shoulders slumped further. “No, I just...I meant...” She sighed and shook her head. She'd worn her hair loose and stray strands clung to her cheeks. “Never mind.”
I'd put up with the disgruntled teen act for a few days now and I was done with it. Until I attempted to sit at lunch with her and show her baby pictures to her friends, she had no reason to be upset with me. She was going to have to learn to co-exist with me.
“Mr. Riggler seems a bit...confused,” I said, lowering my voice as I watched him speak with several students near the front of the room.
She rolled her eyes. “You think? He knows nothing.”
“I'm not sure he's ever been on any of those sites,” I said.
“I'm not sure he's ever been on the Internet,” she countered. She brushed her hair away from her face. “It's always like this. He can barely turn on the computers.”
I frowned. “But he's the computer science teacher.”
“And the media literacy teacher,” Emily added. “Except he knows nothing about computers or media literacy. Every kid in here knows more than he does.”
I knew that teachers were sometimes thrust into teaching a subject that might not have been their first choice or their area of expertise. But listening to Mr. Riggler made it sound as if he'd never been on the Internet. Emily was prone to exaggeration, but in this case, I believed her.
“I gotta go,” she said, backing up. “I'll see you at home.”
“Or you could ride with me,” I reminded her. “I'll probably be up in the front office.”
“We'll see,” she said. Her tone had changed and she sounded almost apologetic. “Don't wait for me. See you.”
I watched her walk down the middle of the room, say something to Mr. Riggler as she passed him on the way out, and disappear out into the hallway.
Mr. Riggler smiled nervously at me as he made his way to the back of the room. “Class is a little disjointed right now, I'm afraid. With no computers, I mean. It's hard to teach things when we can't use them.”
“I'm sure,” I said, trying to sound sympathetic.
“I, uh, ended up creating an inventory list last night,” he said. “I was here late so I just thought I'd go ahead and finish
I opened the folder. There was a single sheet of paper in it, listing computers and printers and a few other things. All of it was handwritten and a bit hard to read.
“I was going to use Powerpoint, but I thought it might be easier to just write it down,” he explained.
“Powerpoint?”
“Yeah, like the sheet you started with yesterday?” he said. “With all of the columns and stuff?”
I stared at him. “You mean...Excel?”
His eyes darted away for a moment and his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Oh, right, right! Right, Excel. That's what I meant. Not sure why I said Powerpoint.”
I wasn't sure either, except for the fact that I was thinking he really didn't know the difference between the two. Which was kind of a problem, given that he was the one responsible for teaching the kids how to use those programs on their computers. I didn't know if he was tired or stressed because of the computer theft, but I genuinely hoped that his confusion was due to one of those rather than simply not knowing.
I stood from the chair. “And you think this is everything?”
He nodded. “Yes, and it includes what we came up with yesterday. I just started from scratch. I think that's all of it.”
“Okay,” I said. “Well, I'll take it down to Mrs. Bingledorf's office. I'm sure she'll get in touch with you if she has any questions.”
He slipped into the chair I'd just occupied. “Yes, yes. I'm sure she will. And thanks again for all your help.”
I left the classroom with the folder in my hands.
I really wasn't sure what help I'd given him.
But it was pretty evident that he needed some.
TEN
I reached the office and Ellen's face brightened as soon as she saw me.
“Evelyn is back,” she announced, as if this was news I'd been waiting on. “She'd like to see you in her office.”
For a moment, I was transported back to my own high school days, struck with a pang of anxiety that an educational higher authority wanted to see me for reasons I wasn't aware of. I reminded myself, however, that I was now an adult and couldn't be sentenced to detention. I headed down the hall to her office.
Evelyn Bingledorf was on the phone but waved me in and motioned for me to have a seat. She wore a red business suit today and long silver earrings that reflected the overhead florescent lights.
“Yes, yes, very good,” she said, smiling at me, then glancing away. “That all sounds wonderful. Alright, I'll be in touch in a day or two. Goodbye.” She hung up and amped up the smile. “Good morning, Daisy. How are you today?”
“I'm well, thank you. Yourself?”
“Excellent!” she said, nodding for emphasis, as if I might doubt her. “Things are a bit calmer this morning than yesterday.”
I wasn't sure why that was so because the computers were still missing, but maybe she was just referring to the chaos of finding out that the school had been robbed.
“I have this,” I said, holding out the sheet the computer teacher had given me. “Mr. Riggler actually completed it last night. He just gave it to me this morning.”
She reached for a pair of reading glasses, a sturdy pair with zebra print frames. She studied the sheet for a moment. “This is...difficult to read.”
I'd thought the same thing when Riggler had handed it off to me. “Well, I think he was trying to do it quickly,” I offered. “We'd started with the sheet you'd given me, but I had that with me, so I think he was just trying to get it all down.”
“Yes, yes,” she said, not sounding convinced at all. “Well, I'll have Ellen type it up and make it a bit more presentable.” She set it down on the desk and refocused on me. “This is great to have. Thank you.”
“I can't really take any credit for it,” I said. “I went to his room this morning to complete the list, but he'd already done all of the work.”
“Nonetheless, I appreciate your effort,” she said, as if she hadn't even heard me. She removed her reading glasses and set her hands on the desk. She studied me. “Daisy, you seem like a doer to me.”
I raised my eyebrows. “A doer?”
“One who gets things done,” she said, tapping her fingers on the desktop. “A woman who can handle tasks. A woman who can accomplish things.”
I was glad Jake wasn't in the room because I was sure he would have burst out laughing. He would have immediately countered by saying I spent more time thinking – or rather, obsessing – about doing things than actually getting things done.
“Uh. Okay.”
“I like your personality,” she said, pointing at me. “You are a go-getter. Definitely a doer.”
This was our third conversation and the previous two had been extremely brief. While I liked to think of myself as someone who could get things done once in awhile, I wasn't exactly sure what she'd seen that made her come to this conclusion.
“Which is what we need here at Prism,” she said, smiling. “Especially now.”
“Especially now?”
She leaned back in her large leather chair and her expression grew somber. “We are in a crisis here, Daisy. An emergency of sorts. As a school that bills itself as a technological leader in education, we find ourselves without the means to carry out that mission statement.” She paused. “We need to rectify that. Immediately.”
Her words sounded like those of a politician trying to win my vote or to get me to understand an issue that she thought was important. I wasn't clear on where she was headed.
“And we need your help,” she said, emphasizing every word.
“We?”
“The Prism community,” she clarified. “We are in a time of need and I think you are just the person who can help us.”