Checkered Motives

Joshua couldn’t think of a worse way to spend a Wednesday afternoon than serving as a substitute teacher at Priss Middle School. The school was trash, the kids were mean, and worst of all, the parking sucked. He’d gotten a call to drive out to the school after a teacher, one Mrs. Hersch, fell ill with multiple rounds of explosive diarrhea. The Assistant Principal felt it absolutely necessary to inform Joshua that she required medical attention.

He hadn’t seen a direct deposit in over three weeks, so all work required consideration. He’d always wanted to be a teacher, even went to school for it, but lost interest the first second inside of a classroom. Now he was $32,000 in debt, living at home, single, and careening toward a midlife crisis occurring at 30. He had no choice but to accept.

Joshua couldn’t help but feel at a loss of words upon arrival. The paint peeled. The “r” in the school sign had fallen away. It looked less like a school and more like a secondary prison for Rikers Island rejects. And the kids? They were brutal. One accidentally ran into him and said, “Out the way, ya fat bastard.” What kind of a middle schooler talks that way? The kids at Priss apparently.

It took him almost 15 minutes to find classroom 6E. The jackass who designed the place decided to put the even numbers on one side, and the odd on the other. Joshua reached the last hallway on the left, hallway 11, before realizing the idiotic system. E was at the end of the hallway despite there being a 6H. Why? Joshua didn’t know.

The class was elated to know Mrs. Hersch was unavailable. Joshua thought it smart to only say “she’s not feeling well.” He spoke as if he knew her. She’d left him instructions on the lesson plan. She’d done everyone a favor: a video, followed by a quiz on said video. He’d repeat for the second and final class to come in around noon. She underlined that the quiz ​must be a pop quiz. He didn’t see the point of that. To him, Mrs. Hersch was more interested in seeing which kids wouldn’t pay attention (most of them) than seeing who would do well when they knew they had no choice.

So he told them there was a quiz.

The video was depression-inducing. Joshua couldn’t tell you what it was about even if you gave him a printed script. He heard something about the Founding Fathers, but knew nothing of the context. He stared out the window. Rows of cars faced him, a glowing orb reflected in every windshield. Beyond the parking lot was an apartment complex. The sun shone on the brick buildings.

But Joshua wasn’t thinking about any of that. His eyes were glazed over - his mind wading through memories. Reina left six months ago, and he’d replayed the final conversation for about as long. She wanted to travel and see the world. His substitute teacher salary couldn’t support that. But Andre’s finance career could. He couldn’t be too mad at her because he knew she was always out of his league, but it still hurt.

He awoke from his trance to a 13-year-old asking if he could go to the bathroom. “This isn’t Gitmo,” is what Joshua wanted to say. “Of course, yeah,” is what he said instead.

The video came and went, as did the ensuing quiz. The class left for lunch. He

eventually found the teacher’s lounge and heated the cold pasta in his lunchbox. He stood in front of the microwave and watched his bowl spin. You don’t realize how long a minute is until you waste it doing nothing. He looked away after thirty seconds, unable to maintain eye contact with the fat bastard staring back. The two closest tables were occupied by full-time teachers. They made no attempt to welcome him. Why would they? They knew he wouldn’t be back

tomorrow. Their set up wasn’t that different than what it was when they were in middle school, Joshua thought. The gym teachers hit on the English teachers, the math and science nerded out over some shit, and the single art listened to a podcast.

Joshua returned to class and waited for the second class to enter. They were about as enthused as the prior about Mrs. Hersch’s absence. The video started and ended. Joshua spent the time in between thinking about Reina again. He handed out the quizzes and prepared to head home in about 40 minutes. He watched the minutes tick away. He remembered, though a little late in the day, the instruction that he ​must​ walk through the rows of students to ensure no one cheated. It didn’t seem super important to him given the style of quiz (“question 1: which one of the following signed the Declaration of Independence?”, followed by five answers choices that were all correct), but he didn’t want it coming back to him. The last thing he could afford to do was to lose this opportunity as well.

He got to his feet and roamed through the rows. The kids were hard at work. Well, almost all. One didn’t seem committed. His pencil rested beside the quiz paper. No answers selected. He hadn’t even written his name at the top. He stared. Joshua wondered if he should say something. He was an awkward bastard for most of his life, but middle school was especially bad. Maybe this kid was going through some shit at home, some shit with girls, or some other shit, but definitely going through something.

“Hey,” Joshua whispered as he leaned close to the boy. “Everything okay?” The kid eyed Joshua from above his thick-rimmed glasses. He leaned back and smiled, his thick, oily bangs falling over his eyes. Joshua was confused by what was going on. “Is that a no?”

“Joshua Covington,” the kid said. He snatched his backup off the ground. Joshua involuntarily flinched. The other kids were oblivious - the quiz held their attention. The kid rummaged through textbooks and school supplies until he found what he was looking for. He held a little black notebook. Its spine was damaged and the cover was pierced in a few places. The kid lifted the pages open, turning to the place where his bookmark lay. He scribbled some words into it.

“What’re you writing there, bud?” Joshua hesitated. He’d seen enough serial killer movies to know this kid was probably the messed up antagonist, but the last thing you did to such weirdos was piss them off. You placate them a bit, you try to get some information, but you never, under any circumstance, piss them off. He wasn’t going to be the idiot in this story, no way.

The kid dug in his backpack again and pulled out an envelope. He placed it on the table. “For you,” he said.

“For me?” Joshua responded. The kid nodded.

“Take it,” the kid said.

Joshua wasn’t sure. He’d seen enough horror movies to know this kid was probably

possessed by some demon, and acceptance would guarantee he’d surrendered his soul and likely given himself over to eternal damnation. Probably. You can never be too sure. But it was a kid, and he wasn’t coming back to this school any time soon, so what the hell?

The bell rang as he touched the envelope. Chairs groaned as the kids flew out of them. “Good luck,” the weird kid giggled as he ran off. The kids piled their quizzes on a desk near the door. Joshua hadn’t even seen them leave - his attention focused on the envelope. He wanted to tear it open, but he feared ripping whatever was inside. He thumbed at the corner until the

glue unstuck and inched it open a crack more. He held the envelope under his head and tried to peer inside. There were two pieces of paper, but neither was discernible; he’d have to open it all the way to see the contents. More inching and he’d created enough space to yank the paper out.

His mouth fell open at the first. A check for $20,000. It was signed, but he couldn’t make it out by who - the signature was closer to rubbish than English. It was from a bank Joshua had never heard of. But he could read the memo line with ease: for Joshua Covington.

His mind raced. His heart beat in his ears. Cool sweat collected under his arms. His mouth was suddenly a lot drier than he remembered. There were so many questions, but so few answers. The kid was long gone. Was the check real? Why did a random kid have a check for him? How did he know Joshua would come in?

But in between the questions was also the realization that the money was life changing. Well, if it was actually $20,000. Sure, Jeff Bezos wouldn’t so much as bat an eye at this kind of money. But for Joshua? Cashing the check would be a god send. He’d clear up most of his student debt, though not all. He could maybe take some of it and rent out his own place instead of living at home. And maybe he could get Reina back, if she hadn’t already left the country.

But there had to be a catch; he was sure of it. It was impossible that there wasn’t. He looked at the other piece of paper.

You could use more

And there’s more in store

At the home of the nest Found to the west

Who this morning felt much worse And has been confused for a Hearse.

“What the....” he muttered. He had no idea what it meant. But the idea that there was more money for him was enough to try and figure it out. “C’mon Josh, c’mon.” He paced the room. He had no idea where to start.

He jumped when he heard a knock.

“Oh hi!” the overly friendly older woman exclaimed. “You’re in for Mrs. Hersch, right?” “What? Oh yeah, I am. Hi,” he hurried over to her and held out a hand, “Joshua

Covington.”

She shook it. “Good to meet ya! I’m Mrs. Walker, but you can just call me Amy.” He let

go. “Sad what happened to Mrs. Hersch, ain’t it?” He nodded, though he wished she’d leave. “I was actually just heading over to feed her birds.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, hoping his lack of interest would make her leave.

“I just feel so sorry for ‘em,” she shook her head. “No one lookin’ after ‘em with her in her condition. But I also gotta get home to make dinner for my husband.”

He didn’t know why he needed to know, but he wished she would just go. “Is she near? Do you want me to drop it off?”

“Oh emm geee!” She shouted. “Would you do that for me?” Anything to get you to leave,​ he thought. “Yeah!”

“Thank you so much, John!” She reached into her purse and handed him a bag. “She lives right over there,” she pointed out the window at the nearby apartments. “Apartment 1214. It’s a second floor unit.” Joshua took the baggie.

“I’ll get it to her.”

“Thank you so much! And tell her Amy said hi!” She finally left. He figured he’d get some time to think about the note and the implications of cashing the check while he delivered the bird food. It wasn’t like he had anything important to do just yet, so why not?

It took him some time to find her apartment, during which time he muttered the riddle repeatedly. He knocked on her door, but was shocked when it opened on its own. “Uhhh, Mrs. Hersch?” He stepped into the apartment. He stopped when he saw her body on the floor. Blood stained the carpet. A stream reached the wood near the door. He held back mushed pasta. The phone rang.