Juji -- Teen Investigator

Chapter 4 - "Crowded Cafeteria"

    It was twelve o’clock, and I was not interested in collecting books or exercising additional examination of cars in the parking lot. It was lunchtime, and I knew I had my aluminum sealable container carrying my Wednesday lunch made by Grandma. Today’s lunch was sure to be one turkey sandwich, a small bag of mixed fruit, and a sealable bottle of water.

    As I approached the open doors of the cafeteria, I noticed a crowd of students surrounding a large poster hanging on the wall in the hallway. I had seen this style of graffiti art at school before but was curious about the specific legality of these postings of senior students.

    It was a cardboard material paper, about four feet high and eight feet wide. Senior students were signing names, drawing pictures, and writing quotes about their final year at Pixley High School. I immediately thought about what I could write and what sentiment I could post that would be significant to me, my children, and my grandchildren someday in the future.

    As I approached the sign, I had second thoughts. Was this really something I wanted to proudly display, or something I may someday regret? In my life as a detective insisting on proper law enforcement, this is not something I would recommend to anyone. I decided to curiously read a few postings but decided against displaying any feelings from my personal life.

    In a quick examination of signatures, I noticed the small scribblings of a variety of students. The football star, Freddy, had drawn a football next to a quote, “The person with the fewest mistakes wins!” And cheerleader Haley’s comment read, “Injustice is a threat to justice.” Clever comments, but not original and possible copyright infringement.

    I continued reading quotes from senior students that I didn’t know and didn’t care to know. More writing and drawings were being scribbled on the board as I read, and students were laughing and commenting as they read. I wanted to step back and take photos of each marking, but I felt it best to wait until final writing was done, and the board was documented. I could then legally take pictures with no one around to question my recordings.

    Just as I turned to make my way to my usual spot on a side bench in the cafeteria, Brooke rushed up beside me. “What did you write?”

    “Oh, I didn’t write anything,” I said politely before trying to make my way into the cafeteria. Brooke immediately followed.

    “Juji! Why not? Why don’t you write something?” Brooke asked. “Come on. The entire senior class is signing the board, and it’s just one way of documenting your final year of high school before graduation. We may not see this poster again -- before our fifty-year reunion!”

    I stepped back considering the possibility of writing my name and documenting my attendance of Pixley High School, but a reunion was not something I had considered. I was not planning to attend any high school reunion so a signature would serve no purpose.

    “Check out my quote,” yelled Brooke with excitement as she pointed to a dark red colored heart. “Just say yes! Brooke Thomas,” she read from the board. “My kids will be reading this one day, and they’ll be showing their kids. It’s important!”

    “Yes,” I said as I nodded my head.

    “What do you think of my original quote?”

    “Just say yes?” I asked, then paused to think about the overall meaning. “I guess it just depends on the question.”

    “Well, it means you have to go after every opportunity with everything you’ve got... You know?” Brooke seemed confused with my skeptical look. “Forget my quote. What are you going to write?”

    I stepped back and thought about all the quotes I’d read and all the sayings that had influenced my life. How did I feel about pride, and what impact did that have on my ideas and my lifestyle? I did not want to write anything I might regret. I nodded my head and headed for the cafeteria.

    “Come on, Juji! At least sign your name!” Brooke yelled with excitement.

    I noticed a blank space in the corner, and I approached the board cautiously and looked around. No matter what I decided to do with my life and my career, this quote would be permanently recorded as documentation of my attendance at Pixley High School.

    I finally printed awkwardly while leaning over the poster. “Too much pride causes mistakes. Juji.”

    “Mistakes? What does that mean? You’re not proud?” Brooke studied the print closely. “I don’t get it.”

    “Well, my Dad once told me to be cautious of pride,” I mumbled. “Restrain the temptation of pride to avoid making mistakes.”

    Brooke looked confused, then jumped up and raced to the cafeteria door. “Let’s get some lunch. The cafeteria has a special on chips and drinks every Wednesday!”

    I reluctantly walked in with Brooke carrying my lunch in the bag and looked around. Brooke was older, prettier and much more confident than students I normally dealt with. I felt uncomfortable just walking into the cafeteria with a girl like this.

    But I gripped my teeth and nervously followed Brooke into the cafeteria and up to the slow-moving line.

    Cafeteria Manager, Abigail, immediately noticed me and walked over. She was just who I didn’t want to see. “Look who’s in line today! Are you going to pay for something, or are you just going to complain? Again!”

    “No. I’m just here for lunch Miss Abigail. Thank you,” I said politely.

    Abigail looked suspicious at Brooke and me before she turned and walked away.

    “What’s she talking about?” asked Brooke.

    “It’s a long story,” I responded. “She’s unhappy with a confrontation we had months ago, but it is not important.”

    “A confrontation with Abigail?” asked Brooke. “You got into a fight with the cafeteria manager? Did you win?”

    “Not exactly,” I replied. “It’s a long story.”

    “What? What happened? You gotta tell me!”

    I pointed to some cans and boxes by the door and commented. “Well, I noticed aluminum cans and forms of plastic were being disposed of in the same garbage container as paper and leftover food.”

    Brooke looked confused. “So? What’s wrong with that? It’s all trash, right?”

    “Well, the metals and plastics were not being recycled, and the waste was not being disposed of in proper containers -- as documented in part of the city legal code. Improper disposal of garbage can result in a legal penalty or hefty fine.”

    “Wow, you know the law,” replied Brooke as she looked around at the properly labeled trash containers. “So how much is the fine for throwing away garbage in the wrong can?”

    “Laws vary, but proper disposal and recycling enforcement is very encouraged in our state law -- especially on government property.”

    “So, did Pixley have to pay a fine?” asked Brooke.

    “No. After my legal filing, new containers were brought in, and garbage began being divided upon use directly by students, and announcements were made to encourage everyone to simply divide their articles of waste,” I said proudly. “Cafeteria enacted rules of trash disposed into separate bins.”

    “I remember that,” Brooke replied with confusion. “There used to be one garbage can for everything!”

    “Well, Principal Ivan sided with Miss Abigail and decided recycled items were not a necessary function of students or cafeteria personnel. But after contact with the school board, and examination of Proclamation 5830, recycling garbage became a standard part of Pixley’s cafeteria and school policy.”

    “So that’s why the new cans came in! Were the principal and cafeteria manager mad?”

    I continued with my explanation. “An outsourcing of cafeteria management was recommended, but Abigail continued as manager and is now reluctantly following recycling laws.”

    “I guess if you’re not eating the food, it doesn’t matter,” responded Brooke with a confused look. “I’ll try to pick the right container for my trash.”

    “Good. Everyone should follow the law.” I smiled politely. I then headed straight over to my corner table and sat down close to the wall. I began removing items from my lunch box and looking down to avoid confrontation.

    I finally looked around to reinsure security before I pulled out my phone and began examining photos of the black sports car, driver, and students.

    With simple research and documentation, I was quickly able to confirm the original maker of the car was Triumph. The specific model was a TR-4A, which was manufactured in England for a short time in the 1960’s. The owner or driver of that car could not be determined as the car had no license plate, and detailed Department of Motor Vehicle records were inaccessible without a password.

    I continued by researching the driver of that vehicle by searching for photos of recent graduates of Pixley High School. No students named Winston were appearing and no confirmed relative of Ms. Dana could be documented. I also searched for detailed information on the Pixley Security Guard, Hank, and downloaded his history with the school. I saw he graduated five years earlier and had been working in school security for two years.

    A loud voice was echoing out at a nearby table. I looked around only to see the usual assortment of loud students. But at one table in the back, I saw Coach Kenny sitting with members of the football team.

    Coach was talking very seriously to a group of star players, and they all sat around nervously listening. “Everything’s riding on Friday’s game, and we’ve got to win with or without Freddy!”

    “But coach,” argued one player. “Freddy can still play with a ‘D’ grade. That’s not so bad.”

    “And there’s no rule against that... that I know about.”

    “He can just wear my jersey,” said another player. “As long as he doesn’t take off his helmet, he’ll be fine.”

    Coach Kenny finally slammed his fist down on the table and stood up. “I’ve been warning Freddy all this season and last season! And I made promises to Ms. Erika and Principal Ivan. I expect no less than a ‘C’ in any subject. And that goes for every player on my team! That means all of you!”

    “Well, Coach! If he doesn’t get the right grade,” said another player. “Who’s going to be starting at quarterback?”

    “Can’t you just bend the rules a little for this one game?” asked another player with his back turned.

    Coach Kenny finally looked around at all the students thinking and then announced, “We’re just going to play this game without a quarterback. That will mean just more running the football. We’ll put a halfback and fullback in, and alternate them as a quarterback. That’s the plan.”

    “That’s crazy, Coach,” responded one of the players.

    “This game is too important!” said another.

    Coach Kenny looked around the table at the nervous players before standing up. “I sent Freddy home early just to study for this exam, and his grade now depends on his willingness to put in the time. Unless I get some help, we’re all counting on him.”

    “I don’t know, Coach! This sounds dangerous.” The players looked around the table and thought about their situation.

    “Freddy’s appearance in Friday Football is riding on tomorrow’s test. That’s all I’m going to say.” Coach Kenny then looked around at each player before turning and walking out of the cafeteria.

    Freddy’s teammates whispered quietly before three players stood up and began walking towards my table.

    I thought again about possible methods of instruction and aid that I would be happy to provide, but I knew Freddy or Coach Kenny were not interested in that.

    The group of three football players then approached. “Hey, Juji. Coach Kenny said you’re in Freddy’s History class,” said one player. “Is that true?”

    “Yes,” I replied politely.

    “And you sit next to Freddy?” asked another.

    I immediately knew what the players were implying, and I was offended by the simple proposal. “Yes, I sit next to Freddy. But there is no relevance between our sitting positions and his grade.”

    “Well, we heard you got a solid A in the class,” mumbled one player slowly. “Is that true?”

    I looked around before replying politely, “My grades are not public information, no more than Freddy’s grades.”

    “We were wondering what it would take to have you expose test answers on your multiple-choice answer card as you fill in letters.”

    “It wouldn’t be cheating or anything,” said another player. “It could just be a way for Freddy to double-check his answers.”

    “Exposing answers would not only be a form of cheating, but it would also act as an encouragement of cheating, which would face the same punishment as the person copying the answers,” I replied. “And it’s not something I am willing to participate in.”

    Football players looked confused, then mumbled comments as they turned and walked back to their table.

    I was disgusted by the team’s attitude but was not surprised. I had many times faced requests for aiding a cheater, or improperly preparing homework for a party too lazy to complete a simple assignment. Although I was always willing to help, following the rules always took precedent in decisions I made.

    I finally pulled out my sandwich, fruit salad, and water and laid them on the table. While sitting alone, I turned off my phone and shoved it back into my pocket.

    I then opened my history book to the chapter summing up the fifteenth century. I believed I would feel more comfortable answering questions using information from the textbook rather than my computer -- whether it was more accurate or not.

    Brooke suddenly jumped into the open seat of my empty table. She looked around with a smile and pulled out her drink and bag of chips. She immediately began speaking rapidly. “You’re studying history? I’m not worried. I think it’s all a big panic over nothing.”

    “It is a very important exam,” I replied.

    “You think you’re prepared for this midterm? I know questions will be confusing with multiple choice answers and lots of options for every question.”

    “There will be five options.”

    Brooke took a bite from her bag of chips and continued, “I plan to read and reread each question and carefully consider all options before I scribble over a letter.”

    “The questions will be based on documented information,” I responded. “It shouldn’t be so difficult if you study.”

    Brooke wasn’t listening and was looking around the room. I continued, “By simply memorizing information printed in the textbook, you can rule out four answers for each question. Either way, the answer will be correct.”

    “So, are you going to the Friday Football game?” she asked while taking a sip from her drink.

    I was embarrassed to answer as I wasn’t a big fan of high school football, and had no intention of riding my bike alone to the game. “No,” I replied. “I’ve got some work to do this weekend. Plus, I’ll be studying for my Chemistry exam scheduled for Tuesday.”

    “That’s no excuse,” replied Brooke. “We’ve got ‘Friday Football’ on Friday and the ‘Fall Formal’ on Saturday. It’s a big weekend, and something you can’t pass up in your senior year! It’s your last chance!”

    “I don’t think so,” I mumbled politely with a laugh.

    I always made it a habit to consider all possibilities and to make clear decisions about extra-curricular activities.

    Did I have any interest in attending the Pixley football game? No. And could I comfortably dress up for a formal dance? No. Not at my age. At fourteen, I was not old enough to even consider a social night away from home?

    “Juji, there’s a million guys at this school that would give their right arm to bring a possible Valedictorian to a high school dance!” said Brooke. “Just sit back, and I can easily get you a date lined up.”

    “No thank you, Brooke. I will not be fifteen for another few weeks. At my age, a formal date is not something I’m ready for,” I replied. “Maybe one night next year I can just attend a school dance at my alma mater.”

    “No. You’re not getting out that easy! You’re a senior! You’ve got to attend the Fall Formal,” she exclaimed. “And fourteen is still not too young!”

    “Thanks for trying to help. I really appreciate it,” I replied. “But I’m just not interested.”

    Brooke looked around the cafeteria, then turned back to me. “I see a couple of guys that would do anything for a date to this dance! I think I can line something up!”

    “But Brooke! I’m not old enough,” I said again as Brooke looked around. “I’m three years younger than all other high school seniors. And I don’t even know how to dance.”

    “You can’t dance? Well, the Fall Formal is the perfect place to learn. I know just the guys!” Brooke pointed to people across the cafeteria. “And I’ll be there to protect you! It’ll be great!”

    “Thank you for thinking of me,” I answered. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.”

    Brooke then waved to a few other students and stood up. “I’ll get you a date. And this will be the dance to remember!”

    I sat quietly before Brooke walked over to a couple of boys at a bigger table. A conversation began before they all spun around and looked at me. Brooke waved, and the nervous boys also waved politely.

    Brooke then sat down at their table and began explaining and laughing. I calmly reached over, packed my lunch, and stacked my books. I then quietly left the cafeteria without looking back.