woes this summer. Most important, success would make her tenure nearly undeniable. “As for supervision, a psychologist from each of the participating schools will attend, as well as trained staff at the camp and a few parent chaperones.”
“Where is it?” asked the guidance counselor. She pushed her slipping glasses back in place, suddenly looking interested.
“Tupper Lake. There’s a hundred-year-old farmhouse on the 230-acre property, which includes the west branch of the Ausable River, forested land and open fields, all owned and donated for this use by the Sikes family. We’ll use it as our base camp and all activities will be conducted around it.” Rebecca warmed to her topic, despite Aiden’s chilly expression.
“And how is that supposed to be a punishment?” grumbled Mr. Anderson.
“Connor needs to be accountable for his actions, not taken on vacation,” interjected Aiden. He drummed his fingers on the table.
“It’s not a punishment or a vacation,” Rebecca said evenly, after counting backward from ten. And taking a sip of coffee. And unnecessarily shuffling through her papers.
Control. Patience. Understanding. The tenets of her profession. “It’s behavior modification.” She pressed on, ignoring the subtle looks being exchanged between the study hall and math teachers. “Moving to the wilderness is a significant life change. It removes adolescents from their emotional comfort zone and requires different skills for self-care.”
“Making s’mores?” scoffed Mr. Anderson.
“Learning to make their own food is a part of it.” Rebecca had planned to present the program during a faculty-wide meeting, sell the skeptical teachers on it before recommending students. Now, she had to speak on the spot. Never her strong suit.
She pretended to sip her coffee again, even though there was nothing in her mug. At last, she set it down and took a deep breath. “The simplicity of the wilderness environment helps teenagers to recognize the results of their behavioral choices and encourages them to employ different coping strategies,” she continued, reciting the words she’d written in the grant proposal. “The challenges and activities we provide, in conjunction with group and individual therapy sessions, help students to address personal issues, increase self-esteem, achieve success in a safe environment, engage in healthy relationships and develop leadership potential.”
Connor stopped chewing his nails and stared at her.
“Leadership,” guffawed Mr. LaValley, until the guidance counselor tapped the table in front of him with her pen.
Mr. Williams leaned over the table, his crisp red tie dipping into a puddle of spilled coffee. “I’m liking the sound of this, Ms. Day. What efficacy statistics can you share?”
Rebecca released a small breath at his encouraging smile. “Studies show that outdoor behavioral health care results in clinically significant reductions in severity of behavioral and emotional symptoms. In similar programs, 83 percent of participants made a clinically significant improvement, with the most progress shown in the thirteen-to fourteen-year-old range, like Connor.”
“This is ridiculous!” Mr. Anderson declared. “So kids just go camping when they act out? Put on some ridiculous—” he squinted down at the paperwork “—talent show at the end?”
Connor’s eyes slid the man’s way, then back to her before dropping again. He looked interested. For once. Her hunch was right. This retreat could be good for him.
“It’s a showcase that allows the students to demonstrate their growth through personal and creative expression. While it looks like fun and games, trust me, it’s work,” Rebecca insisted. “Physically, mentally and emotionally. Connor deserves this last chance.” She glanced around the table, noting the softening expressions of her peers and a small, upward curve on Connor’s mouth. Aiden, however, looked ready to walk.
A muttering broke out and Rebecca’s stomach clenched. What if they turned this down? It was her last chance to prove her worth to the district.
“All in favor of him attending, please raise your hand.”
Four of the nine hands rose and then, with a shoulder shrug, the study hall teacher raised his palm, adding to the tally.
“This is outrageous.” Mr. Anderson half rose in his chair. “Can we at least have some oversight? Proof this has worked beyond Ms. Day’s report? Given her lack of tenure, I believe she should be held more accountable.”
Rebecca flushed, recalling that his wife served on the school board. Hadn’t she been elected president this year? No wonder he thought he could throw his weight around when it came to Rebecca. Her colleagues had been careful not to mention the board’s delay on her employment status after January, February, March, and then April meetings rolled past without her name on the agenda. To have it thrown in her face so publically was humiliating.
“We always do an Adirondack hiking trip in the summer, don’t we, Jim?” interjected the assistant principal. “We could stop by for the talent show—I mean the showcase—and see how everything’s going. Add our observations to Ms. Day’s report.”
Rebecca’s heart sank. Of course she didn’t have any intention of lying on her report about the success of the trip and her students, but now she’d have the superintendent himself looking over her shoulder. What if the kids didn’t perform well in the showcase? Demonstrate enough improvement to satisfy him? It took a professional eye, like hers, to see the value in even small gains. So much rode on the showcase now, when it’d been intended to be a low-pressure summative expression of their experience.
The superintendent rubbed the bald patch on his head. “Sounds like a good compromise. I agree then, that Connor will attend this retreat and—” he peered at the slouched teen until the boy met his eye “—we’ll revisit the expulsion decision based on Ms. Day’s report of your behavior while away, as well as my firsthand—” he raised an eyebrow at a frowning Mr. Anderson “—observation of student behavior and performance at the showcase. In the meantime, Connor will finish the school year at our off-site facility, where we expect exemplary behavior and attendance. Understood, young man?”
Connor jerked his chin in the barest of nods, then closed his eyes as though going to sleep.
“And when does this program start, Ms. Day?” The assistant principal tapped on her tablet drawing up a monthly schedule screen.
“We’d planned on the end of June.”
Mrs. Williams leaned close to Rebecca and whispered, “FYI, board members and staff—” her eyes swerved to Mr. Anderson “—are raising doubts about your tenure decision and plan to hold off on voting about it until the summer. If you don’t impress the superintendent, there’s a chance you might get denied and be let go.”
Something like a cold headache jabbed Rebecca between the eyebrows as she heard her suspicions confirmed.
“So we have to meet again during the summer,” Mr. LaValley noted, cheeks puffing. “Will we be paid for the extra hours?”
“Noncalendar hours are always compensated,” affirmed the superintendent, his tone abrupt, his expression impatient.
“And you agree with this plan, Mr. Walsh?” trumpeted the red-faced math teacher, Mr. Anderson.
Aiden nodded slowly,
