7
It’s three forty-four, and I’m packing up to leave. It’s been another nonstop, jam-packed day of last-minute schedule changes, withdrawals, and IEP meetings. Aiden’s dismissal bell rings at 3:45, and he has to be at the football field by four, and there’s always a five- or ten-minute wait in the pickup line…
I’m rushing.
I log out of my system, put the computer to sleep, arrange the stacks of papers I need to go through tomorrow into priority piles, unplug my phone and toss it into my purse, check my desk one last time, and then exit my office, shutting off the light and preparing to lock the door behind me.
And there, in front of me, is a student with mascara-laced tear tracks running down her face. Tina Brokaw, four-point-oh student, president of the mock UN, debate team captain, head cheerleader, shoo-in for prom queen…Clayton High School’s premier It Girl. She’s always put together and perfect—blond hair, brown eyes, fashion sense far beyond the understanding of the residents of this little town.
“Tina,” I say, shocked to see her here, and to see her crying like this. “What’s the matter?”
She sniffles, trying to stifle the flood of tears, but she can’t get words out. “I—I…”
I suppress a sigh as I flip my light back on and set my purse back down. “Come in, honey. Sit.” I hand her a box of Kleenex and close my door. “Take a minute, and then tell me what’s going on.”
“Everything!” she wails. “Everything’s wrong!”
“Well, can you break that down a little for me?”
She dabs at her eyes, sniffling again. “I don’t know where to start.” She sucks in a breath, holds it, and lets it out shakily.
I slide my phone from my purse. “Okay, well, why don’t you think about where to start while I let the elementary school know I’ll be late picking up Aiden, that way we’ll have plenty of time to talk.”
I call the elementary office and let Peggy know Aiden will have to stay with the latchkey kids until I’m done here. When I hang up the phone and set it aside once more, Tina has herself more composed.
“First, Jake dumped me.”
I wince. “Wow, that’s unexpected. You guys have been dating for a while, right?”
“Since the summer before ninth grade! He’s going to college in Arizona and doesn’t want to do a long-distance relationship. But whynow? Why not just break up after the school year? It’s three weeks to homecoming, and what about prom? We were going to be prom king and queen! Who am I supposed to go to prom with? Rob? Like, no!” She takes a steadying breath. “I don’t get it. I just don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry, Tina. That’s rough. Sometimes guys just do weird, inexplicable things.”
“No kidding. I didn’t realistically expect us to keep dating past high school, since he’s going to Arizona State and I’m going to Brown, but…I just thought we’d finish high school as a couple, you know?”
I offer a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Tina. I wish I knew what to say besides that.” I sigh. “You’ll meet someone in college, though, right? High school sweethearts are great, but maybe this is for the best, you know?”
“Nice try, Mrs. Thomas. The problem is that his timing just sucks,” she says, half laughing, half crying.
“So. That can’t be the only reason you’re in here crying, can it? You’d go to your girlfriends to cry about a breakup, not some old lady.”
Tina rolls her eyes at me. “You’re not old, Mrs. Thomas. I have an older sister who’s almost the same age as you.”
I roll my eyes back at her. “Leslie, yes, I know. We went to school here together, you realize.”
“I got a C on a test in Mr. Lakoda’s independent study.” She says this with utter shock, and no small amount of despair.
I wait for the rest. “And?”
“A C! I don’tgetCs, Mrs. Thomas! I’m notallowedto get Cs. I might as well have just gotten a zero!”
“Tina, honey, it’s one C. It won’t affect your overall GPA. And I’m sure if you talk to him, Mr. Lakoda will let you get some extra credit to make up some of the difference. He taught Leslie too, so he’s well aware of the expectations your parents have.”
“That doesn’t matter. I’ve already talked to him and I’m staying to help him grade freshmen algebra tests all next week for extra credit. That’s just not the point. Mom and Dad don’t accept Cs, not on homework, not on quizzes, not on tests. And he won’t let me retake it!”
I sigh. “It’s a pretest, Tina. Mr. Lakoda doesn’t weighthose very much at all. It will be okay.”
“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” she wails. “If it’s not an A-plus ineverything, it’s a failure. I’ve been accepted at Brown already, but me being able to go at all rides on maintaining perfect grades through graduation. Anything less than perfect, and they’ll just send me to Penn State or something. Ihaveto get out of here, Mrs. Thomas. I know you understand.”
