Quantum Touch Collection

Chapter 12

WHAT HAPPENED? How did it happen? Why? I sat at my desk, staring out the window. Talk about confused. Lee was kind of fun, but not the Ford plant and the Battle of the Overpass. And the Triangle Fire was Horrific. What if something had happened to one of the kids? What if we couldn"t get back? How did we get there?

WHAT HAPPENED? How did it happen? Why?Lee was kind of fun, but not the Ford plant and the Battle of the Overpass. And the Triangle Fire was Horrific. What if something had happened to one of the kids? What if we couldn"t get back? How did we get there?From the middle of my desk, under a handful of student papers, a labor history book beckoned. Blazing from the first marked section was “The Triangle Fire.” I looked at the doorway and rubbed my chin. My right hand brushed my shirt pocket. An old reflex. I could use a cigarette. The classroom door jerked open. The next class began entering with none of the usual greetings; they stared instead. At me. Quieter than I"d ever seen this bunch. I ignored them.

I could use a cigarette.Ashley poked his head in the door. “Are you okay, Fritz?”

“I forgot to call Linda.” While Ashley looked on, I speed dialed home. As it rang, I said to Ashley, “Gonna be a great dinner.” When Linda answered, I said, “Hi hon. I forgot to call earlier. I asked Ashley to come to dinner. OK? Good. I"ll tell him.” I stuck up a thumb and focused on my silent ninth graders. They inspected me, maybe for defects.

A hand went up. “Is it true, Mr. Russell?”

“Is what true?”

From the other side of the room, Jason Mayer said, “Come on, Mr. R. It"s all over school that you changed the class into a forest.”

He didn"t know it, but Jason had just bailed me out. I leaned on the front edge of my desk. “Will one of you please show me the tree stumps? Obviously, I"ve also cut down all the trees.” Reluctantly, the class laughed, albeit briefly.

“Okay class. Pick sides—Barney and Alan, you"re the captains. I"m the pitcher.” Baseball was a good way to take my mind off the trips to 1937 and 1911. They moved the desks. “OK, ready?”

First up was Tom O"Brien. “Single,” he said.

“Who"s the senior U.S. Senator from New Jersey?”

“Christie,” said Tom, naming the governor instead.

“You"re out.” Tom frowned and went to the end of the line. “One out, next batter.”

Mary Mitchell asked for a double. But she said please.

“Who is president of Russia?”

“Uh, Putin?”

“Go to second base. Next batter.”

Jacob Krugman asked for a double. “What is the vernal equinox?” I asked.

“The what?”

“You heard me.” I realized my tone was a bit sharp. “Sorry, Jacob.”

With a puzzled look, Jacob ventured a guess, “Is that the equation for the Mars rocket fuel?”

“Swing and a miss, you"re out.” Groans came from his team and laughter came from the other. Barney Shera, the cleanup hitter, asked for a triple.

“What South American river has had an outbreak of man-eating fish?”

“The sss?”

“Well, it"s a river, but you"re out. Home team, batter up.”

The new batter was Brandy Levine. She asked for a single, but then she said, “Mr. R, what"s wrong. You"re never like this. Are you okay?”

“I"m fine thanks, Brandy.” She was right, and it wasn"t them distracting me. “Who is president of England?”

Brandy, looking stumped, said, “Mr. Russell, there isn"t a president in England; it"s the Prime Minister in charge, isn"t it?”

“Take first base, Brandy. You can hit a curve ball.” She smiled and went to first.

Dennis Rogers, next up, asked for a single.

“Into what country did NATO just send troops?”

“Spain, no wait.” Dennis reached out his hand, trying to retrieve his answer.

“You"re out. Sorry.”

Brandy then said, “Mr. R, can I steal a base?”

“What does NATO stand for?”

She thought for a moment, and said, “Truth, justice, and the American way!”

Everyone laughed, me included. “Caught stealing. Two outs.” But the answer took the edge off.

Next up was Alan Goodman, who said “Home run, please, Mr. R.”

“What ancient civilization miscalculated the end of the earth, which is now supposed to happen this year?”

“The Aztecs?”

“Nope. You"re out. Nice try, Alan.”

The game succeeded in distracting me—despite the ice melting down my face. “Class, those of you who got hits have no homework. Those of you who were out should write a paragraph about the question you missed for Monday.” I smiled when they booed.

As the bell rang, I began to pack my briefcase. Ash squeezed past the exiting kids. “Want to get out quick?”

“Hang on a bit, can you, Ash. I have the seventh period coming back for a few minutes.”

“Sure, I"ll be in my room. Just come down.”

The seniors began to shuffle in and sit down. No one was talking. I felt their eyes boring through me. Jennifer Bennett said, “Mr. Russell, seriously, what happened in our class?” She sounded ferocious. Heads bobbed.

I gave them two answers. First, a version of the truth. “You know we witnessed the Triangle Fire in New York City. The Triangle Fire was the deadliest industrial disaster in New York City history. In 1911, it was the second deadliest disaster of any kind in New York City, and it stayed that way until the World Trade Center was attacked in 2001. Doors to the stairwells and exits were locked, which was not uncommon at the time, supposedly to prevent stealing and unauthorized work breaks. Most of the victims were young immigrant women, mostly Jewish and Italian, mostly around your ages.”

“As a result, new laws were enacted for fire safety, such as fireproofing, improved exits, and sprinkler systems. The fire was also the impetus for the growth of the International Ladies" Garment Workers" Union. The owners were prosecuted, but they were acquitted. Now, how we found ourselves there, I don"t know. That"s answer number 1.” Answer number 2 was that I had a friend who invented a projection system that recreates events and that he had asked me to try it out in my class. I told them he worked in Hollywood.

Jennifer said, “Which is it, Mr. R?” She barked at me, ready to bite.

“Which do you think?” The students looked around at each other.

Larry Singer said, “How are we supposed to know?” His bark was lower pitched.

“What do you THINK?” I barked back.

Leigh Cohen, looking at the clock, said, “Well, none of us is hurt, and no one got lost. But it was pretty realistic, whatever it was.”

Larry went on, “I don"t think time travel is likely, so the Hollywood guy must be the answer.”

“Thanks, guys; you"re right. I want you all to think about what you saw, what you know, and what is most likely. I don"t want to keep you any longer. I know you all have better things to do on a weekend. We"ll talk more on Monday. You"re dismissed. Have a nice weekend.”

“Mr. R, some people had flashlights. That didn"t seem real either,” said Jacob.

“Jacob, dry cell batteries and the little bulbs were invented in the late 1890s, and the casing we"re used to first appeared a few years later. Good observation.”

Mike asked as his classmates rattled out, “Mr. Russell, what"s a shirtwaist?”

“It"s a kind of woman"s blouse, Mike. Good question. Remind me to show you next week.”

As the class emptied, Jen Bennett stopped and whispered, “Mr. Russell, I think we were actually there. I think you know how to time travel.”

“You know, Jen,” I whispered back, “it felt that way to me too. Pretty good system, huh?” I smiled at her, and she gave me a weak, unconvinced smile in return. “Have a nice weekend, Jennifer.”

“You too, Mr. R.”

Before I left, I put the books on my chair to take home and look through over the weekend. I walked to Ashley"s open door. “Ash, I"ve got to go to the office for a second. I"ll be right back.”

“Okay. I"ll be here.”

I walked down the hall. I"d never really noticed how remarkably quiet it is after school, with only the occasional kid at a locker. It"s amazing how quickly this place empties on a Friday. George McAllister walked out of his office. His face was red. “Mr. Russell, may I have a word?”

It"s amazing how quickly this place empties on a Friday.“You haven"t called me "Mr. Russell" in five years. What is it, George?”

“It"s come to my attention that there were some strange activities in your classroom today.”

My arms were crossed, holding me back. I"ve known George for almost nine years. He can be irritating when he plays the boss. Outside, away from school influences or activities, George is a considerate, thoughtful guy, although not very exciting. He taught middle-school math before he became a principal. At school, well, that"s another story. He once asked if I had any interest in being a principal. I was a little insulted since he also said he thought he"d gotten the job because his predecessor had been “innovative.” George said that he was sure they liked him because he believed in following the rules. I told him I liked teaching but thanked him for thinking of me. “George, do you want to see for yourself? I promise there are no trees growing through the floor.”

“Well I suppose I should check into it.”

Reaching my classroom, I peered in the window. Everything seemed normal. But the buzz on my fingertips was there again as I opened the door. We walked through and into the White House Oval Office. The president was sitting at his desk, his rising eyebrows pulling his head up.

I knew right away we were in trouble, so I said quickly, “Mr. President, please, we"re not a threat. When we stepped over the threshold, we thought we were going into my classroom. My name is Fritz Russell. I"m a high school teacher in Riverboro, New Jersey and somehow I have opened a time-travel portal. This is George McAllister, my principal. This is the fourth time today this has happened.”

“Fourth time?” George sputtered. “You told me it was nonsense!”

“What did you expect me to say?” Another door swung open abruptly, and a secret service agent entered, drawing a pistol.

George started to object. I said, “Quiet, George. This is my fault, I think. Mr. President, if you"ll give me a moment to explain, I think I"ll be able to convince you that we"re no threat to you.”

The secret service agent said, “Sir, I think you should leave. I"ll take care of this.”

“Mr. President, we are not armed.” I stared right at him. “I have ID, and I have a story to tell.”

The president said, “Tom, check them for weapons.”

George grumbled, and though Tom was a bit rough, I said, “George, we just walked in on the president of the United States. Stop complaining. This is the most interesting thing that"s happened to you in the last ten years.” The president chuckled.

It was hard not to look around. We were in the Oval Office. And it really is oval. I glanced at the portraits and the Resolute Desk, and looked over the president"s shoulder at the gardens. I felt like twins, one who just walked in on the president and another who inhaled the history of the place.

The agent turned to the president and said that we had no weapons. “Tom,” said the president, “check their identification and then put out an all-clear.”

“Yes, sir.” We handed him our drivers" licenses and told him our phone numbers.

The president stepped out from behind his desk, and said, “Won"t you sit down?” as he motioned to a couch. He sat across from us. “You said you had a story. The fourth time today?”

I wanted to look around at the architecture, the paintings, the bookcase, but I met his stare.

“Mr. President, I can"t explain this, but right now that door,” pointing to where we came through, “is a passageway. What I"m about to tell you happened today, but I can"t tell you how or why.” When the president said that he was skeptical, George chimed in with “me, too.”

“Yet here we are,” I said, looking from one to the other. “And George can verify that we were just in New Jersey a couple of minutes ago.” George shook his head in agreement. Then I recounted the events of the day, including my wound, watching the growing look of amazement on each man"s face.

When finished, I said, “Mr. President, I apologize that we"ve taken up so much of your time. The only way to prove where we came from is to leave. If you"re as curious as I am, maybe your secret service agent can take us to the door. Then we all can see what happens. We"re clearly not a threat.”

“Mr. Russell, that"s not what concerns me. If somehow you"ve made an entry into the space-time continuum, then you"ve proven part of Einstein"s theories, and I really need proof of your proof. Why Mr. Russell, you could be top secret!” the president said.

I felt my stomach tighten. Although spoken with a smile, our surprise appearance had to concern him. His secret service agents would be worried. I was. I suggested we try to return to the school so he could see for himself and have Tom check that it was a school. “You can stand by your door and watch. I think that as long as the door is open, we have a connection. And once the door closes on our side, everything will go back to normal.”

“Tom, what about it?” asked the president.

“Mr. President, they don"t seem dangerous. We"ve verified their personal information. We have locations. If this is real, we"ll know in a second.”

“You"re game?” asked the president.

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, let"s try. But first, Tom Andrews, meet Mr. Russell and George, uh, sorry, didn"t get the name.” George mumbled, “McAllister” and started to reach out his hand, but then thought better of it when Tom"s hand moved to his waist.

We moved toward the door. I said, “I think I probably have to be the one who opens the door.” Tom gestured for me to go first. Through the doorway, we saw a hallway, granite floor, light green tiling bordering lockers on the walls. “Wow,” Tom said. Locking stares with him, I said, “You should be in my shoes.”

Standing behind, the president, seeing the familiar view of a typical school, said, “Amazing. Tom, I want to take a look.”

“Mr. President, I don"t think that"s a good idea. At least, let me go and check it out further.” Tom walked down the hall, looked in classroom windows, and turned the corner.

I told the president I didn"t think it was a good idea either, that I didn"t know how to control it. “Mr. President, I don"t know if I can get you back. I think I"m in enough trouble already.”

Tom returned and told the president he had seen the trophy case with the name of the school on it. The president told him to call James. Tom pulled out a phone and spoke briefly. In less than five seconds, another agent ran in, with his hand on his pistol.

The president said, “It"s cool, James, no g*n,” and held up his hand. James walked to the door, but his eyebrows rose when he saw the lockers. He kept his hand where it was and looked questioningly at the president. “I"ll explain later.” Looking to Tom, he got a nod telling him it was ok.

“This is what I want to do,” said the president. “If closing the door breaks the link, we need to keep it open. Tom, you and I can go through, just to look, and James, you"ll stay here at the door to keep it open.”

“Mr. President, I really don"t think the risk is worth it,” I said. “I don"t know what will happen.”

“James, if I don"t reappear in five,” said the president, “call for the helicopter to head to Riverboro High School in New Jersey. Was it April tenth when you left?” I nodded. I also showed him my watch. “We"re both on today"s date and our watches show the same time, so we know we can get back. Also, James, if something happens, tell them I wanted a hotdog from Nathan"s, the original in Brooklyn, so that"s where we went.”

James looked at Tom, who said, “It"ll be fine, James. I"ll be with them.” James said, “Yes, sir.”

The president said, “Mr. Russell, I"ve been taking risks since I took office. You must be aware of the constant shelling I"ve taken from Congress.” He smiled. “Okay. Let"s go. Oh, by the way, the fellow in the door is James Williams. We"ll do the rest of the intros later.”

The president stepped through into the hallway, George lagging behind. James stuck his head through just to see. “This is SO cool,” said the president. Tom and James shared an anxious look of understanding. The president had taken a risk, and they needed to be alert. The president looked through the door into the Oval Office, whispering, “wow.” He looked at George and me and said, “There are a number of considerations here. First, we need to document this. Does anyone have a phone?” Everyone did. “James, call Lily Evans and ask her to bring her camera.” When Lily, the president"s secretary, rushed into the office, she halted, her hand over her mouth. The president said, “Lily, I"ll explain later. Please take pictures of us here and make sure you get the lockers. And we won"t be mentioning this for tonight"s news.”

“No, sir,” she answered. “No, sir,” said Tom and James in unison.

“Lily, James, stay in the doorway. Tom, please take pictures of all of us from here.”

I told the president that I"d like one, and after Tom took his, I photographed all five of my unlikely companions.

The president was thinking, an unfocused look on his face. That look makes Tom itchy, I later discovered. The president asked, “I"d like to walk around the school, if that"s all right.”

“Mr. President, to do that I think we have to shut the door and that will break the connection,” I said. “I think right now we are still in your office, like we"re in a tunnel. I don"t think we should leave it open to anyone who wanders by, but I don"t know if I can open it again.”

“Hmmm. I"m in New Jersey now. Right?”

“Well, yeah, sort of. I guess so.”

The president took out his phone, pushed a number. The phone rang on his desk. “So now we know that I can call home. Like E.T.” He alone thought that was funny, but he shrugged off the lack of response. “Tom, the helicopter is on its way?” Tom nodded. “So, George, want to show me around?”

Tom begged him not to go further. “Mr. President, please sir, don"t do this. Mr. Russell has said he can"t be sure he can get you back.”

“Tom, this could be more important than anything else I do in office. Tell you what. I want you and James to come with me. Lily, when the door shuts, I"m going to call you immediately.”

He told her he wanted her to call him back to have a record of the outbound call. James stepped into the hallway, and the door clicked shut. Through the window, my classroom reappeared. The president motioned for Tom to open the door, and we went in.

“Interesting,” said the president. “Looks like a classroom to me. Interesting color, Mr. Russell.” George frowned. I had been asking him for years to have my room painted. The president and the agents scanned the room. Despite the strangeness, he was smiling at me. We had a connection.

“Mr. President, you need to make that call,” said Tom.

As the president dialed, a face appeared at the door, clearly startled by what he was seeing. Both agents reached for their waists.

“Mr. President, that"s Ashley Gilbert,” I said. “He teaches here, his classroom is down the hall, and he"s my ride home.” I raised my hand to tell Ashley to wait and looked at the president, who nodded OK. I waved him in. Ashley walked in. He was followed by Sandy Horton, an English teacher with a quick brain and fast wit. They each took one step and stopped. Ashley gave me a quizzical look as he entered. The president walked toward them as Ash watched James and Tom.

“Come on in. Ash, Sandy. I"d like to introduce you to the president. These gentlemen are secret service agents. This is Tom Andrews. And this is James Williams.” The president shook hands with the new arrivals. Ashley glanced at George and the agents and then turned to me.

“So it"s true?” said Ash. In his left hand, he had a book, his finger as his bookmark. “Sandy and I were talking and heard noise in the hallway.”

“I told you it was going to be an interesting dinner.”

“What"s the book?” asked the president. The question combined caution and curiosity.

“Just an old yearbook I found. I was showing it to Sandy.”

“Can I see it?” the president asked.

Ashley opened the book and laid it on a desk. The president checked the pictures and laughed.

“That"s a foul, for sure,” he said. “Charging.” The picture showed two young teachers playing basketball. “I play too, you know.”

“What year was that, Ash?” I asked.

“2006, my first year. You"ve gotten better under my tutelage.”

“Do you have portraits in here?” asked the president. Ashley turned to the English Department and his picture, then flipped to the History Department and mine. “I played in high school, you know.”

“You were pretty good, they say,” said Ash. The president smiled and looked at Sandy.

“I"m guessing you"re not in here. Ms. Horton, is it?”

“I was in high school in 2006, Mr. President.”

“This sure brings back some memories. Your book is in pretty good shape.”

“I was digging through a closet last night. Didn"t find what I was looking for, but I figured Fritz might like to see it, too. His is probably buried in his garage.” I nodded. We have a lot of pictures in yearbooks, Ash and I. The chronicles of our careers. Ashley"s annual poetry readings, the chess club he supervises, and my history baseball.

“I look a lot younger,” said George.

“You were never young, George,” Ashley said. “You were born a principal.”

The president said, “We were about to tour your school.” We suddenly heard “Hail to the Chief” coming from his phone. He looked at everyone and said, “Still don"t know who did that. Yes, Lily, it"s me.” He asked her to stay by the phone and said he would call again in ten minutes. “If the world appears to be ending, please call me back.” Then he looked back at us. “So let"s go.” All seven of us walked out of the classroom and turned into the heart of the school.

“You know,” said Ashley, “according to all the laws of physics, including the theory of relativity, this is impossible.”

I said, “I thought you teach English. When did physics become your thing?”

Twitching like he had bugs in his shirt, George said, “If you turn left here, we"ll get to the gym. The core of the school was built by the WPA in 1936. We added wings, three of them, plus the cafeteria, the gym, and the auditorium in the 1950s and 60s, as Riverboro"s population swelled from the baby boomers.” George kept turning around while he lectured. “We keep the gym open after school for pickup basketball. One corner has mats and a couple of gymnastic pieces, and we use it in inclement weather for team practices, Mr. President. This is our cafeteria,” gesturing to his left. George was nervous; his voice rose and fell, but there was pride in it.

George led us to the gym and held open the door. “Looks like a gym to me,” the president said. Heads had turned as the door opened, and when the players began to look, the basketball game slowed and then stopped. A ripple of silence washed over the visitors. The president held out his hands, asking to be passed the ball.

Before there was time to react, he said, “Hold on a second.” He slipped off his suit jacket and handed it to Tom. Turning back, he signaled for the ball. Jerry Warner passed it to him, and the president turned in one smooth motion and shot. A low arc and a barely audible swish. Jack Dylan retrieved the ball and threw it back to the president, who stepped to his left and shot again. The net barely moved. Ash whispered, “I can do that.”

Clapping and a few whistles reverberated through the gym. When the students moved closer, the president said, “Sorry to interrupt. We"re just looking around, guys.”

Chris Brothers asked, “Could we get your autograph, Mr. President?” He held out the basketball and then glanced at George for an okay. George nodded. The president took his jacket back, pulled out his pen, and scrawled “To all the gym rats at Riverboro High.” He scribbled his name and handed the ball back. As he was putting his jacket back on, a couple of students walked up, holding notebooks, with a “would you sign my book?” look on their faces.

He asked them their names and chatted with them. Just like General Lee, I thought. Other students had disappeared into locker rooms to find their own objects for autographs, and in a short time, a group of kids spread out in front of the president.

Just like General Lee,As he began to sign, I said, “Mr. President, you need to make a phone call.” The president nodded.

“Hang on kids. Gotta make a call.” It was answered instantaneously, and he said, “Everything is fine, Lily.” Then he said, “Where is the helicopter? OK, see you soon.”

Turning back to the kids, he asked, “Okay, who"s next?”

While the president greeted and signed, Ashley whispered to me, “What"s going on?”

I whispered back, “Dinner.”

Although the line was still a dozen long, George said, “We really should move along, Mr. President.” In contrast to the president"s calm, George was fidgeting, shifting foot to foot, his hands going from pants to jacket pocket and back.

The president said, without stopping, “There are only a few more,” and continued signing. He seemed less offended than I was that George would try to tell him what to do. He stopped for a moment to exercise his hand. When he had signed all the notebooks and other objects handed to him, including Jack Dylan"s left sneaker, he said, “I"ve gotta go, guys. Nice to see you all.”

“Thanks” and “thank yous” echoed as we walked out. Applause reached us from behind. He poked his head back in, smiled and waved, and let the door close with its usual clang.

George took the lead again, but the president hesitated and spoke to me. “I"d like to go back to the classroom.” George skittered to a stop and turned around.

Backtracking, we returned to my classroom, stopping at the door. I said, “Keep your fingers crossed.” Not knowing what would happen, I hoped for a shock, although I wasn"t sure why. I grabbed the doorknob and pulled, knowing it would open to the Oval Office. From behind me came the sound of exhaled relief. I straddled the doorway, one foot in the corridor and the other in the Oval Office. Lily Evans stood by the president"s desk. Many staff members filled the room.

The president stepped through and turned to us. “I don"t think I"ll be able to walk through this door again without being apprehensive.”

George said, “Before you go, Mr. President, would you consider coming to our graduation? It"s on June twenty-third, a Tuesday.

“Lily, please note my schedule to see if we can do graduation on June twenty-third,” the president said. “George, we"ll have to get back to you, but believe me, I"ll try.” He then turned to me. “Mr. Russell, I believe you and I will need to have another conversation soon. Thanks for a most interesting afternoon.” When he shook hands with Ashley, I realized they were about the same height. So was Tom Andrews. His secret service agents shook our hands and headed through the door. The president ushered them in and, for a final handshake, took my hand in both of his and whispered, “I"ll be in touch.” He walked back into his office. I waved, stepped back into the hall, and let the door close.

AFTER THE INTRUDERS had departed, the president scrutinized the stunned crowd in his office. They were all waiting for an explanation, a story, something. He had no doubt that they all would have something to say to someone. “Everyone, this has become top secret as of right now. You are all sworn to secrecy. Who"d believe you anyway?” he shrugged and then smiled. He went from person to person asking for a verbal answer, not just a head nod. “We don"t know what just happened and we"ll investigate. What you just witnessed, whatever it is, however it happened, is important. But you will say nothing. Now, we all have other things to do. Before you leave, give your name to Mr. Clemmons,” he said, referring to his chief of staff. “Back to work.” As the room cleared and his chief of staff took names, the president wrote notes on a yellow legal pad, trying to recall the exact details of his visit to a high school in New Jersey through a door in his office. He was interrupted by a throat clearing.

“Mr. President, may I take a few minutes,” asked his national security advisor. “We need to act now. This intrusion can"t be ignored. I suggest using my ops squad tonight. If they can get here, they can get anywhere. Our security is in jeopardy.”

“Mr. Koppler, I was just there. It"s a high school. They"re teachers. They"re less dangerous than you are. We have a discovery that may lead us to a better world and a better understanding of the universe.”

“Sir, I"ve seen a lot in my career, and nothing good ever comes when science runs amok. Better to end it now and not have consequences.”

“Jim, before I consider that, I want to know more. I will handle this. If we really have a problem, you"ll have plenty of opportunity to advise me.”

“Mr. President, I"ve dealt with bad actors my entire working life. None of them appear to be what they really are. At least let me take them into custody for more questioning. I am responsible for the security of this country. You CAN"T let it be.”

Gripping the edge of his desk, the president said, “You are not singlehandedly responsible for anything more than keeping your office analyzing the world. I CAN let it be. And so will you. If I need further assistance, and if you can provide it, I"ll ask. Until then, leave them alone. Is my point taken?”

“It is, sir, but with deep misgivings. Your safety has just been jeopardized, and everyone has his price. That endangers the security of the United States.”

“Jim, if you prove to be right, then I, not you, will be responsible. No one will blame you. But, I"ll say it again. I will take care of this. Now if you"ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

The president stared at the door his visitors had come through and sighed. He finished his notes and asked Lily Evans to join him. He handed her the pad, told her he was safe, and that everything would be fine. He hoped he was right.

MUTED BUMP AND CLICK. I grabbed my jacket and briefcase. I needed to get away. But George started shouting immediately. I put my stuff down again.

“How could you not let me know that this was happening in one of my classrooms? Your students could have been in danger. The school could be sued.”

Not hearing a word, I focused on what had happened. When George ran out of rant, I said, “George, if I had told you, what would you have done? Would you have believed me? Or had me arrested? Or called a shrink?”

“Well … well, I don"t know, but,” and he stopped. Ashley watched silently, glanced at Sandy, understood I wanted to escape. After I suggested that they sit down, George said, “Well, I really should report this.”

“George, think about what you"re saying. Please sit down. Now.” Surprised at my tone, George sat. I moved the books from my chair back to my desk and sat. Ashley grabbed a chair three desks over and one row behind, out of George"s sight. Sandy sat in front of me.

George said, “What did he say to you when he was leaving?”

“He said he"d see us at graduation.” My cheeks, not liking the falsehoods, twinged.

“Did he really?” I heard the voice of a kid offered chocolate.

“He"ll be here if he can.” I told him to think how impressive he would be sitting on the stage with the president. I warned him that a secret service detail would be with him. I suggested George might plan a dinner. “George, imagine the pictures in the newspapers, the national TV coverage. You might even be on YouTube.”

All in a dither, George said, “Fritz, you"re right.” I was "Fritz" again. “I have a lot to do. Will you help me?”

“Of course. We"ll all help. But don"t start telling anyone yet.” Ashley"s smirk let me know he got it.

George turned to Ashley. “Sure, George, you can count on me.”

“I think we need to go and think about what just happened. George, it"s the weekend. Take a break, and as hard as it will be, I don"t think you should tell Lois.”

“She won"t like that much,” said George. George and Lois had been married for over thirty years, and she always knew when George had something on his mind.

Ashley stood, and the uncomfortable chair"s scraping against the floor prompted George to stand. “This has been a very confusing afternoon,” said George. “Do you really think he"ll come?”

I said, “I think he feels a strange connection to us.” I know I thought so. “I think he"ll want to come.”

Looking around as he left, he said, “Have a nice weekend.”

“You too,” we said.

As the door shut, Ashley started to ask, but I cut him off. “Let"s get out of here.” I grabbed my jacket and briefcase, made sure the books were there, took the keys out of the desk lock, and flipped off the light as we left. We hustled out and headed for Ashley"s car, an almost new Mustang convertible. The top was up and puddled. Sandy was right behind.

“Sandy, Ash is coming for dinner, and we need to talk about this. Want to join us?”

“This is too weird, Fritz. Yeah, I"ll go home and change and be right over. Do you want me to bring something?”

“Just yourself. I think we"re set. You know where I live.”

As Sandy got in her car, a girl"s voice traveled across the lot. “Mr. Russell.” Jennifer Bennett, carrying her book bag, was coming toward me. Her face was smudged.

“What"s the matter, Jen?”

She related what had happened when school ended. She told me that a group of kids were talking about what had happened in class, and she said she thought it was real. They started making fun of her, calling her names, and she started to tear up again.

I suspected there might be more. I glanced at Ashley and asked her, “Are you waiting for your ride home?”

She said, “I live just a few blocks away. I walk.”

“I"d offer you a ride, but you know, school insurance rules. How about I walk with you for a bit? Give Mr. Gilbert your book bag.”

“That"s okay, Mr. R. It"s not far.”

“It"s not a problem, Jen.”

We started walking past newly manicured carpets and the copycat garden colorings of the copycat castles where the weekend warriors would soon appear. Spring in the "burbs.

“Jen, can you keep a secret?”

“Uh huh.”

“Good. I"m going to tell you the answer to the question I asked the class after school.” As we walked, I invented the story of my Hollywood friend—a spontaneous assortment of lies, fabrications, tall tales, and untruths with each step. I try never to lie to my students. It"s hard to backtrack, and I"ve worked hard over the years to build trust with my kids. Each year, that relationship has improved. And I didn"t like adding tarnish. “That"s why everyone from third period on was talking about the weird stuff in our class. Your class had a different scene programmed. I didn"t think he would pick such a disturbing event. I"ll have to tell him he needs to do his own censoring. That was pretty X-rated to me. What do you think?”

She halted, absorbing, processing, disbelieving. After a second, frowning, she asked, “That wasn"t real?” I shook my head no. “Mr. R, you should have warned us. That was very upsetting,” almost scolding me. “All those dead bodies, people jumping out of the building. We could hear them hit the ground. And the smoke.”

Ashley kept up with us, careful not to splash the puddles. He leaned toward the window, and I told him, “Jen"s class witnessed the Triangle Fire.” I hadn"t had a chance to tell him.

“Jeez, you"re kidding.” We reached Jennifer"s house, and I opened the car door. Ashley slid her book bag over. She hoisted it to her shoulder, questions growing like the spring flowers that were surrounding us, almost ready to burst, but said nothing.

I asked, “Got a piece of paper?” She took out a notebook. “Call me if you want to discuss this some more. But don"t give my number out,” I said lightly. I climbed into the car. “Have a nice weekend, Jen. Really.”

As I started to close the door, she said, “Thanks, Mr. R.”

“No problem. See you on Monday.” Ashley stepped on the gas.

“Now will you tell me what the hell is going on?” I could only laugh. “What"s so funny?”

“You can"t imagine how glad I am to be able to talk sanely about this. Would you believe I don"t have a clue what happened? The story about my Hollywood friend, pure BS.”

“I know,” said Ashley, “but how did you get to the White House?”

“I don"t know. Look Ash, let"s get to my house. I want Linda to hear this too. We need to figure this out.”

Returning to his office, the national security adviser passed Tom Andrews headed for the president"s office. “Mr. Andrews, a moment. You went with him. Where did you go?”

“A high school in New Jersey, sir. Riverboro. They are what they say, Mr. Koppler. Mr. Russell is a teacher, and the other guy is the principal.”

“You might think so, but I"m not convinced. The president doesn"t seem to realize how exposed he"s left us all.” Koppler eyed the agent. “Keep me informed.” Tom Andrews sighed as Koppler walked away.