Escort For The Witch
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Picking up one of the campus maps lying on the desk, he silently, with a meaningful gesture, handed it to who he thought was the most panic-stricken of the students. The poor kid turned pale and grabbed the lifesaving map with trembling hands, barely restraining a happy smile, before plopping down on a nearby bench apparently intended for the purpose.
“Well, actually, it’s my job, young man,” the administrator girl said in an angry, squeaky voice, her gray eyes boring into on Jack’s smug face.
Jack looked around, wrinkling his nose theatrically.
“Oh, Betty, it’s you. Well, of course it’s you,” Jack smiled. “You’re doing a great job, Betty! Don’t forget to deduct my percentage from the paycheck.”
“No wonder everyone hates you,” the admin girl retorted coldly.
Jack winked cunningly and smiled even wider, trying to suppress more acidic remark that kept coming to his mind.
“Ah, Betty, let’s not argue, okay? This might last until old age. And now, try to actually do at least part of your job, okay? Tell me, where can I find Mrs. Renton?”
The girl shot a malicious glance towards the young man, whose cheerful mood had evaporated without a trace. Her whole demeanor indicated how much she wanted to yank his earring or stick a pencil into his hand. In short, to do anything to get back at him for the snide remarks he constantly showered her with. Poor Betty couldn’t recall a week in the past three years that she had worked at the university office in New Orleans without handsome Jack Cornell, or someone from his small circle, coming in and saying something nasty.
“You know you have yourself to blame, Betty,” Jack said as if reading her thoughts, his voice tinged with reproach. “So just tell me where to find Mrs.
Renton, and I promise you won’t see me again today.”
“She’s filling in for Mr. Zigon today. So, I suppose she’s giving an introductory chemistry lecture in…”
“Well, it turns out thinking isn’t such a difficult task after all, and in some cases, quite useful!” Jack interrupted and headed for the exit. Glancing back he saw that the freshmen were still trying to locate building ‘A’ on the map. “Well, sooner or later, they’ll find it and rush to their classes. I need to catch their teacher before they drive her crazy with their endless quest for knowledge in chemistry,” Jack thought, wasting no time as he hurried off in search of the coveted instructor.
The laboratory in Building ‘A’ is a specially equipped space for conducting so-called practical classes in biology and chemistry. There’s everything you could imagine here! A great variety of all sorts of plants, intricately intertwined into a cohesive whole, the mysterious hybrids of which evoke rather ambiguous, and sometimes quite contradictory emotions. An abundance of low glass shelves with various chemicals, flasks, and instruments for conducting experiments, all provided by the Department of Education of the United States of America.
Jack approached the classroom, stealthily cracked the door open and entered the room. A woman stood on a low wooden stool, leaning over and completely focused on something that Jack couldn't quite make out what it was. She was quietly humming a melody coming from a mobile phone lying on the teacher's desk.
“Mrs. Renton,” Jack called softly.
Mrs. Renton didn’t react, continuing to hum the tune.
“Mrs. Renton,” another attempt to get the teacher’s attention. The reaction remained the same. Which is to say – none.
“Mom!” Jack almost shouted and couldn’t help but smile when Mrs. Renton, startled, jumped up on the stool, nearly falling off the makeshift podium, and briskly turned towards her son. The woman was genuinely scared. Her glasses were askew and slid to the tip of her nose, her green eyes sparkling brightly, betraying the poorly and clumsily concealed joy, as well as new wrinkles. She pressed her right hand to her chest, trying to calm down her racing heartbeat. Jack grinned and bit his lip.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, barely holding back laughter.
“Goodness! Child, did you decide to give me a heart attack?” the woman exclaimed with feigned horror in her voice and, adjusting the thin sweater on her slender shoulders, gracefully hopped off the small stool, revealing to Jack’s eyes a small round aquarium. The woman smiled at her son and danced her way to the teacher’s desk.
“Mom, are you experimenting on goldfish?” Jack asked curiously, observing the tiny fish swimming briskly in the transparent water. “We’re running low on frogs now. By the way, there’s a rumor going around about high mortality rates among rats. Poor things…”
“Back off, Jack,” Mrs. Renton replied, waving her hand while calmly arranging the measuring flasks on the table.
“I won’t. You called me twelve times today,” Jack persisted.
“Yeah.”
“At six in the morning, Mom!” Jack exclaimed indignantly, offended by his mother’s calmness.
“Oh, come on!” the woman murmured melodiously.
“And you didn’t even call back, by the way!” Mrs. Renton delicately adjusted her glasses and looked attentively at her son, scrutinizing him from head to toe.
“Well, I thought we haven’t seen each other in a while, so I decided to drop by.”
“That’s true,” Mrs. Renton replied thoughtfully. “Your father sent his regards,”
she added casually and turned her attention to the leaves of a fuchsia plant that happened to be nearby. “And when was the last time you got a haircut?”
“Mom, is something wrong?” Since Dad sent his regards, something must be up.
Maybe this even explains the sudden change in weather or in Beth’s behavior, who seemed much friendlier today than usual.