Karen Rock – Under An Adirondack Sky (страница 6)

“Sorry about that, everyone. An urgent supply order mix-up.” He pocketed his phone. “Connor...” Aiden prompted, staring at his silent brother for a long, uncomfortable minute.

“Yes. Well,” Mr. Anderson interrupted, clicking his pen impatiently. “Clearly this is a waste of time, as Connor has no intentions of cooperating with us, the school or Ms. Day’s—shall we say—unique therapy approach.”

His pointed glance at the clock spoke volumes. He wanted swift judgment—as did many of the old guard teachers, who’d vocalized their frustration with her positive rather than punitive approach to behavior modification. She’d heard some had even vowed to request the superintendent not recommend her for tenure this year, a move that may have worked so far, though she had no proof that they’d gone through with it. Just whispers.

Why couldn’t they see that she gave kids chances, not free passes, and stop whispering about her inability to discipline and control students? After her own straitjacket of a childhood, she wouldn’t—couldn’t—be a negative force in their lives.

Her gaze slid to Connor. Surely she was right not to be tough on him...

She stopped chewing the tip of her pen and tucked back a strand of hair that’d escaped her bun. Her rewards-based system might take more time to show results, but the effects lasted longer and had the best chance of becoming permanent. Implementing the progressive program took patience, however, something the overtaxed staff seemed to have in short supply.

She had to change their opinions before they succeeded in convincing the board to deny her tenure. Success with Connor and other disruptive students would earn her the credibility needed to gain a permanent staff position. If she didn’t get tenure... Her brain halted the terrifying thought.

The prospect of failing and having to return to her old life where money, not people, counted, where prestigious jobs, rather than rewarding ones mattered most, loomed dark and ominous. If she moved back in with her aunt, she’d demand Rebecca “do something important” with her life, like open a private practice that served a more privileged clientele. Not that this group didn’t have real problems, too...it was just that kids in the public school system needed her more.

She downed more coffee, then drummed her fingers on the side of her mug. Somehow she had to make this work. Prove to the staff, once and for all, that she was an asset to the school and deserving of joining them permanently.

“When I arrived,” continued the educator, clearly relishing his dramatic tale, “I had to pull Connor off another student. Since he was still swinging, I took a punch to the shoulder. It didn’t look as though it mattered who he hit, even an adult.”

Connor’s shoulders rose and fell as an irritated breath escaped him.

“Do we know why this fight happened?” asked the guidance counselor. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. With graduation approaching, she must have spent long hours over break checking transcripts, Rebecca guessed.

“Look, I know Connor comes across rough around the edges, but he’s had a hard life.” Aiden leaned forward, his eyes earnest. Connor glanced at his brother and his mouth opened slightly. He tapped a stray paper clip on the table until the assistant principal yanked it away with a stern look.

“Growing up without a dad—and a mother who rarely recognizes him—hasn’t been easy. I’m not making any excuses. He was wrong and acted like a delinquent.” Aiden’s large hands splayed across the table. “But he hasn’t been given the structure and discipline he needs at this school. Lunch detention in Ms. Day’s office isn’t a real punishment, when Connor mentions playing video games and eating Skittles.”

An awkward hush fell and Rebecca’s cheeks warmed as the math teacher smirked. “We do those activities during my lunch groups, not lunch detention,” Rebecca clarified, striving to maintain a professional tone as she imagined throttling the clueless guardian. He’d know that if he actually listened to his brother. Attended one of her requested meetings.

Aiden’s chest rose and fell sharply. “And what is lunch detention, then? M&M’S? You’ve been enabling his behavior.”

“And how much time have you spent addressing his actions?” she challenged, her control slipping through her fingers like sand. Darn it. She was not some easy, soft touch the kids took advantage of. Her gaze roamed around the table, taking in the shuttered expressions of her colleagues.

Was she?

“That’s your job,” he said through gritted teeth. When his cell phone buzzed again, he yanked it out of his pocket and punched it off, his eyes never leaving Rebecca’s.

“No. It’s—”

“A village.” Mrs. Carpenter interrupted Rebecca smoothly. “It takes a village to raise a child. We all need to work together. It’s why we’re here today. For you, Connor.” She reached over to pat the boy’s hand and he yanked it away, knotting his fingers on his lap.

“And Connor goes to Ms. Day’s when he acts out because, as a behavioral therapist, she’s the best person to defuse his outbursts,” she finished.

Rebecca subsided back against her chair, fuming, though grateful for her principal’s support. Guardians like Aiden drove her crazy. They pushed her near the line she could not cross. She bit the inside of her cheek and focused on the sting instead of what she really wanted to say to the jerk who’d fooled her last night into thinking he was a nice guy. That he cared. Wanted to hear about her problems.

Oh no. Had she really complained about her control-top panty hose?

“Right,” Aiden said, after a beat of silence, not looking as though he agreed at all. “The facts are that, according to Connor, Marshall started the fight by picking on our youngest brother, Daniel, when he arrived to walk home with his brother, and I believe Connor. Please readmit him and reassign him to his old therapist. He knew how to be tough on my brother.” Aiden ran his hand through his thick, short waves. His eyes met Rebecca’s, then slid away, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw.

“Hear, hear,” murmured a few of the other teachers.

“And his failure to help Connor was the reason he was transferred to me,” Rebecca insisted. “Although we’ve only been working together a short time, I believe I’m making progress with him.”

“Some progress...is boxing one of your methods?” chimed in another teacher, Mr. LaValley. “I agree with Mr. Walsh, Connor should be sent back to his original therapist.”

Connor’s head snapped up and Rebecca sent him a reassuring look. No. That wouldn’t happen. A guardian requesting a transfer from her caseload looked bad for her tenure prospects. More importantly, Connor, who struggled to build rapport with adults, would have to work with someone he already disliked. It’d taken almost three weeks of patience, good humor and losing badly to him at card games for him to open up to her...a bit.

“Well, we certainly know who ended the fight.” Mr. Anderson scowled. “I didn’t see Marshall picking on Connor’s younger brother or hitting back. And I certainly didn’t deserve the violence I received.”

“I say we vote,” chimed in Mr. LaValley. He looked down the table at Connor, who was unraveling the metal spiral binding from his notebook. “Connor, you’re in my study hall five minutes, tops, before you’re causing problems and I don’t see that changing. Do you?”

The youth ripped out a length of the wire without acknowledging the teacher, and Rebecca winced. She hated that Connor was required to be present in order to hear these remarks. Superintendents’ hearings deliberately included students so they could understand how their behavior affected the staff and school. Yet it rarely motivated students to make lasting changes, in Rebecca’s opinion.

Murmurs of agreement circled the table and the teacher continued. “Other kids can’t work with that kind of troublemaking going on. We’ve given Connor too many chances, let him off easy. Let’s vote.”

Rebecca scratched her ear, trying not to squirm at the man’s condemning stare or the labeling they heaped on Connor. He’d slid so low in his chair he looked ready to fall under the table. Poor kid. How could he ever see himself positively when so many adults told him otherwise? Someday, if—when?—she had tenure, she’d fight to change the way these hearings were conducted.

Rebecca cleared her throat. “I’d like to propose a third alternative to readmitting Connor or expelling him.” The meeting and the teen’s fate were spiraling in the wrong direction. If she didn’t act fast, she wouldn’t be able to help him or disprove her detractors. If he succeeded, so did she, and they’d both be permanent school members.

She met Aiden’s speculative stare dead-on. Imagine. Blaming her for Connor’s poor choices—which were really just a cry for attention, a pattern of behavior he’d fallen into after being overlooked at home. Aiden might have inherited a lot of responsibility ten years ago when he’d been—she glanced at the file—just twenty-one, but that didn’t excuse a lack of caring. He needed to be a brother to Connor, not just a provider. Show up for more of Connor’s life than just the bad parts.