breasts, sensational legs that weren’t stick-thin and wavy hair of a particularly deep shade of auburn. Natural, if her creamy skin was any indication.
She circled around her desk and gestured toward a chair. “Please, have a seat, Mr. Ward.”
He stiffened at her tone of voice. He was not one of her students.
“I gather Trevor was involved in another fight,” he said curtly.
“Trevor unquestionably started this one. For no apparent reason. The other young man accidentally jostled Trevor in a crowded hallway. He turned around swinging. One of our teachers observed the entire altercation and described the ‘flare of rage’ on Trevor’s face as frightening. Perhaps you can explain what’s going on with your son.”
His jaw had gone into lockdown again as she spoke. For the first time it occurred to him that he might be ill equipped to be a full-time parent. He had never, not once, gone to a parent-teacher conference. Yeah, he admired report cards, but he hadn’t been there to set rules for homework, to do flash cards, to fold his arms and say, “You knew what you had to do this week to earn that trip to the zoo, and you blew it, buddy.”
Not my fault.
No, it wasn’t, but resentment that he hadn’t had the chance welled up in him until he was all but choking on it.
Ms. Callahan’s ill-disguised disdain and dislike rubbed him the wrong way.
“Trevor is a seventeen-year-old boy. If you’ve looked at his records, you’ll find that at his previous high school—an urban high school with a significantly larger class than here in West Fork—he was in the running to become valedictorian. Colleges were scouting him for both football and basketball. Here he’s transferred for his senior year, and it appears West Fork High School is already failing him.” Richard knew he wasn’t being fair, but right this minute he didn’t damn well care. He didn’t appreciate anything about Ms. Callahan’s attitude.
Her back was so stiff he could tell it wasn’t meeting her cushioned office chair. Her lips thinned. “Trevor has been uncooperative and unpleasant since the day he started class. I need to know if he was angry at having to leave his former school to come here. Was he, for example, sent to live with you as a disciplinary measure, Mr. Ward?”
“No,” he said shortly, if not altogether honestly. “His mother has recently separated from her current husband.” Her third. “I believe Trevor was reasonably fond of him, but hadn’t lived with him so many years the attachment was deep. I’m aware that moving to a new school for your senior year is hardly ideal, but he didn’t object.”
They glared at each other. Her eyes, Richard decided, were closer to gunmetal gray.
“In other words,” she said icily, “you’d like to blame the teachers and students here for somehow, in a startlingly swift few weeks, driving your son to rage that inspires him to attack another boy without provocation.”
At his sides, Richard’s hands flexed briefly into fists that he forced himself to relax. I’m not handling this well. But goddamn it, couldn’t she say something helpful? Offer some guidance? Where was the school psychologist? Or didn’t they have one?
“No,” he said reluctantly. “Of course I don’t. Trevor’s attitude hasn’t been great at home, either.” Major understatement. “All I can tell you is that I’m trying to get to the root of it. I’d appreciate some sense that you and his teachers care about Trevor rather than seeing him as nothing but a disciplinary problem.”
Fire lit her face. She planted her hands on her desk and half rose from her chair to lean toward him, apparently calling on the greater height to emphasize her authority. “Perhaps it hasn’t occurred to you, Mr. Ward, that there were two boys involved a week ago. Two boys today, one of whom is likely on his way, as we speak, to the emergency room. I care about my students. Trevor was the aggressor today.” She straightened, on her feet, and held up a hand to silence him when he opened his mouth. “My first obligation is the safety of all students at this school. Do I care? Yes. I also care about the boy Trevor battered bloody this afternoon. I am this close—” she pinched her thumb and forefinger nearly together “ —to expelling Trevor. Because I care, I am only suspending him for the remainder of the week. However, let me make clear to you, as I did to Trevor, that if there is any repeat of his aggression, I will have no choice but to expel him from this school. Do I make myself clear?”
Somewhere midspeech he’d risen to his feet, too, so that he could tower over her.
“Yeah,” he said, “you do. Thank you for your consideration, Ms. Callahan. I’m moved by your obvious concern for my son. So moved, I’ll be sure to mention it to the principal. Possibly the superintendent, too. John is a friend of mine.”
His threats, issued in a gritty voice, affected her not at all. She continued to gaze stonily at him. He nodded and walked out. This time his son let the hand holding the ice pack drop and looked at his dad. If there was something worried or even childish on his face, it was fleeting and replaced by his now-current sullenness.
“We’re going home,” Richard said, and kept walking, leaving Trevor to fall in behind him or not.
Good. Great. His meeting with Vice Principal Callahan had made him sullen, too, and about as mature, behaving like the average middle schooler, forget high school.
And now he had to figure out how to be the parent.
* * *
CAITLYN SNATCHED A carrot that her mother had just peeled and crunched into it. Molly pretended to slap at her hand but then took another carrot from the crisper and began to peel. She watched with pleasure as Cait plopped her book bag on the breakfast bar, hopped on a stool and hooked her feet on it. Orange bits flew as she chewed and talked.
“Wow, I don’t know what his problem is, but today Mr. Sanchez was a total—” She grinned at her mother’s raised eyebrow. They’d agreed years ago that she could express honest opinions of her teachers but not use profanity or obscenities to do so. “Jerk. He was a jerk today. He was in some kind of snit because nobody, like nobody, passed his stupid quiz. Of course it’s our fault. Did it occur to him that maybe he failed to successfully teach a concept? I mean, duh.” Another enthusiastic crunch. “So he tried again, and I still don’t get it. Who needs advanced algebra anyway?”
“Engineers, I’d guess. Mathematicians, computer geeks, scientists.”
“You know this for a fact.”
Molly laughed. “Well, no. I confess I got an A in second-year algebra and can no longer remember a single thing I learned. I thank God on my knees daily that you haven’t needed my help.”
“About that.” Cait reached for the zipper of her backpack. “See, there’s this thing I don’t get…” She giggled at her mother’s expression. “I’ll figure it out myself, thank you.”
She rambled on for several minutes. Molly would have basked in the pleasure of having Cait talking to her, really talking, if she didn’t know that soon—any minute—she herself would have to drop a bomb on the mood. Obviously, Cait and Trevor had not spoken since he’d slunk out at his father’s side without finishing the day.
She would have waited until after dinner if it weren’t for the possibility of the phone ringing any minute. Unless Richard Ward had suspended his son’s phone privileges? Yeah, sure.
Cait
