Drenched in Light (41 page)

“Joujou,” Mom scolded, as if the dog were the one making all the racket. “Hush!”

Sneezing, Joujou gave her an offended look.

I took advantage of the break in the melee. “Everyone calm down, all right?”

“I’m calm,” Dad protested. “I’m as calm as I can be. How dare that principal put you in such a position? I’d like to wrap my hands around his neck.”

“And with all the extra time you’ve put into that job,” Mom chimed in with a fire I hadn’t seen in her eyes since Bett and I sneaked out of the house and went to a forbidden party back in junior high. “I have half a mind to call our lawyer. They can’t fire you just because you won’t agree to lie. After all the years of volunteer work I put into that school, they ought to have more respect.” In her arms, Joujou growled in agreement.

Bett bit her lip apologetically, and behind her, Jason widened his eyes and clamped both hands into his hair, no doubt wondering what kind of a lunatic fringe he was marrying into.

By the time we’d grabbed a quick sandwich, and I’d gone through all the details, everyone was calming down somewhat, and the protests on my behalf had ebbed to a dull roar. I tried to convince them that there was no need for the whole family to attend the school board meeting, but it was hopeless. With the exception of Jason, who was fairly neutral, everyone was determined to stand beside me in my hour of need. We left the house at five forty-five in a disorganized caravan—me in the front with Bett riding in my car because she was determined to help me write my speech, Jason following in his car, in case Bett got tired later and needed to go home before the meeting was over, and my parents bringing up the rear, fully committed to staying at the school board powwow until the bitter end.

By six thirty, we’d arrived at the Board of Education Building, signed in on the agenda, and were stationed, at my mother’s insistence, in the front row, where
“everyone will know we have nothing to hide.”
We looked like the Hatfields ready to take on the McCoys.

As the clock on the back wall struck six thirty, school board members began filing through the doorway behind the board table. I looked around for Stafford in the faculty section, but he was nowhere in evidence. The board members walked to their seats strangely empty-handed—no briefcases, no files, no agenda items. The reason soon became apparent. After calling the meeting to order and waiting for a trio of Girl Scouts to lead the Pledge of Allegiance, the board quickly called an executive session to discuss personnel matters, and adjourned to executive chambers. No doubt Stafford was back there with them. Discussing my future.

Keiler came in and took the last empty seat in the Hatfield row—down at the end beside my mother. Apologizing for being late, he introduced himself to my parents and shook my father’s hand. He’d dressed up for the occasion, donning a shirt with actual buttons and a tie printed with beakers, test tubes, and chemistry equations. I never would have guessed that he even owned such a tie, or any tie, for that matter. He’d dampened his hair and combed it back slick. He looked clean-cut and serious, in spite of the cast on his foot.

My mother seemed thoroughly charmed. She politely explained to him that we were waiting for the board to come out of executive session; then she moved on to asking about his broken foot. He told the ski lift story, and for a moment, the entire affair took on the air of a carnival or a family trip to the theater. Then someone in the aisle tapped me on the shoulder.

I
turned to find Mr. Verhaden squatted down beside me, his expression grave. “Stafford’s planning to have everything discussed during executive session, before you have a chance to address the board in the public forum,” he told me quietly. “I’m sorry, Julia.”

I wondered how Verhaden knew what was going on in the confidential executive session, but then, he was adept at keeping an ear to the Harrington wind.

“I didn’t suppose my addressing the board would do any good,” I admitted. “Stafford made it pretty clear I was out, but before I go, I intend to say what needs to be said.”

Verhaden let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Julia, why didn’t you tell me all of this was going on?”

“Why didn’t
you
tell
me?”
I searched his sad, empty face. “You know exactly what these kids are into. There’s no way you could be totally unaware of it, as much time as you spend with them. How can you just sit here and play this”—I waved a hand toward the room, now filled with parents and the obligatory reporter or two in the back row, all chatting pleasantly and glancing occasionally toward the door behind the empty board table—“this game?” I hated to parrot Stafford’s words, but the description fit. It was a game. A ridiculous, pompous game with life-altering implications and deadly consequences.

Mr. Verhaden drew back defensively. “I help the ones I can. You see enough kids with enough problems, after a while you realize you have to focus your energies where you can do some good.”

“Oh, come on—what happened to
‘save the whales, save the rain forest, feed the starving kids in Africa’?”
Did he even remember who he used to be, or had this place lobotomized him to the point that the spark was completely gone? “Come on, Verhaden, you were the biggest dreamer of all. What happened?”

Shaking his head, he looked away. “I realized that you can’t solve anything by getting yourself fired from your job. It may feel good, but it’s just a grandstand. It’s useless. In the end, you have to work within the existing parameters to make a difference.” His sincere conviction shifted the ground under my feet. Perhaps I was making the wrong choice. Maybe I was acting out of pride and stubbornness rather than logic. There was still time to reverse my position—ask to speak to the executive session, tell them this was all a mistake, I wanted to keep my job, and I’d seen the light. Except that there was no light. “You can’t make a difference working within these parameters—not the way things are now.” At the front of the room, the door opened and board members filed to their places at the table. Verhaden went back to his seat, and I turned around in mine. Nearby, Keiler was talking to Karen and James, who had moved into the row behind us. Karen gave me the high sign, a hopeful show of support. I wondered if she thought I should do whatever it took to keep my job, so I could be there for Dell.

Scanning past her and upward, I took in the faces in the room—teachers and parents, most of whom were probably unaware of the issue being discussed in executive session. To them, this was just another board meeting—a time to talk about field trips, budget issues, repaving sidewalks, and textbook adoptions for next year. In the corner, Mrs. Morris sat perched with the librarian, the two of them surveying the crowd like a couple of vultures ready to devour the weak and the wounded. Morris tapped the woman in front of her, an expensive-looking blonde with sunglasses on her head, and motioned that the board was ready to begin. I watched the blonde a moment longer, trying to decide if she could be Cameron’s mother. Hard to say. I’d never met Cameron’s parents one on one. I knew his father by sight only because he was on the school board. That seemed incredibly wrong, considering where we were now. I should have done something differently, handled things in a better way.

I watched as Cameron’s father took his seat behind the board table, calmly separating various papers into tidy stacks. Just before the board president called the meeting back to order, a group of faculty members slipped in the side door and took their seats in a reserved section near the board table. Mr. Stafford was among them, dressed in a freshly pressed suit, carrying an armload of files, and carefully ignoring my presence.

The meeting resumed with no indication of what had been discussed in executive session, and moved quickly through the consent agenda. The board members looked tense and uncomfortable as the routine business came to an end and the public forum loomed ahead. No doubt, they had seen my name on the agenda.

Stafford cast a hooded glance my way, probably hoping some catastrophic act of nature would make me disappear. My pulse accelerated as the board president concluded the consent items and took his time filling his water glass from a pitcher, then pointing out that the forum was, of course, open to anyone who wished to address the board and had signed up on the list, but we should be aware that each person’s time was limited to four minutes, and the board would not be expected to respond—merely to listen and take notes. Any items requiring action would be put on the board agenda in the future. . . .

Tuning out momentarily, I tried to recall my speech and came up blank. Bett and I had practiced it a dozen times in the car. Now I couldn’t think of a single word. I glanced over at Bett, who was rubbing her forehead with her thumb and forefinger.

“He’s giving me a headache,” she whispered, then secretly made a fist in her lap. The meaning—
knock ’em dead
.

“You don’t have to stay,” I said quietly.

Bett responded with an offended chin bobble. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this. If you need muscle, I’m here.”

I smiled into the eyes of my sweet, tough, steadfast little sister. “Thanks, Bett.” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and I felt a rush of sympathy for her. She’d been on the run all day with wedding plans, and moving preparations, and solving unexpected problems at her former job. She looked dead on her feet, yet here she was when I needed her. “I’m sorry it’s taking so long.”

The meeting had already dragged on for over ninety minutes, and the Hatfield row was starting to look weary. Beside Bethany, Jason was covertly tapping something into his Palm Pilot, hidden behind his knee. My father, next to him, was staring blankly at the wall over the school board president’s head, and my mother was scanning the board table with narrowed eyes, daring any of them to say one unkind word about her daughter. Keiler had given his seat to an elderly woman who arrived late, and he was standing against the wall with his arms crossed. Unfolding one hand, he gave me the thumbs up as the board president reluctantly opened the public forum. With a last admonition that each of us would be timed and asked to step down at the end of four minutes, he read my name from his agenda, and glanced at his watch.

Bett squeezed my arm, her fingers trembling against my skin. It was hard to say which of us was more nervous. Standing up, I gazed down the row at my family, my supporters, my compass pointing true north. Their faces held not the slightest measure of doubt that I could, and would, do what needed to be done. I felt not like one person, but five—an emissary with a tiny but steadfast army behind me. If I’d ever been ungrateful for my family before, I was now fully attuned to how lucky I was to have them.

My heels clicked against the tile floor as I walked to the podium in what seemed like an impossible silence. I didn’t know if the rustle of bodies and the hum of voices had stopped, or if I had merely ceased to hear everything but my own thoughts and the rapid drumbeat of blood in my ears.

Gripping the podium, I stared down at the wood, gathering my thoughts. An eternity seemed to pass, and for a moment, I thought surely the board president would say my four minutes were up.

Somewhere behind me, a man cleared his throat, and I jerked at the sound.

What had I planned to say? How did the speech begin? What were the words?

Chair legs screeched against the floor, and my mind whirled into action. I looked at the board president, who was sitting with his hands folded in his lap, watching me with detachment.

“I’ll make this brief.” My voice was raspy, and I paused to cough into my hand, then began again. “Excuse me. I’ll make this brief, as I know the board has a full agenda tonight.” Nearby, Stafford was hunched over his notepad as if he’d rather be anywhere than here. “Because there is some doubt as to whether I will be returning to Harrington’s middle school as guidance counselor, I would like to begin by telling the parents here tonight that it has been a pleasure, even for this short time, to have returned to Harrington and worked with so many extraordinary and talented kids. They show the fruits of not only inborn talent, but also the many years of encouragement, chauffeur service, lessons, belief, and love their parents have provided. I’ve tried to be equally willing to invest in our students—not just the chosen few, but all of them.

“It is my concern for the kids that has prompted me to speak here tonight. These kids, these bright, talented kids, deserve a school that looks not only to their performance skills and their academics, but also to their physical and emotional health as they grow into adults. They deserve a school that communicates honestly with parents, that does not and
will not
sweep problems under the rug in order to keep things smooth on the surface. They deserve an educational environment that, in particular, is free of drugs and substance abuse, or as close to that goal as is humanly possible. I don’t believe they have that.” A murmur went around the room, and the school board president sat back in his chair, eyes wide. Stafford’s face was flame red. He seemed ready to explode out of his seat.