by Susan Finlay
“What did he look like?”
“An average Joe. Middle-aged, wavy dark-blond hair, clean-cut, dressed in jeans and a lightweight jacket.”
Her head was spinning with possibilities. Did the people who wanted her dead already find her? Should she call Brad?
“Thank you for telling me. I’ll keep a lookout for him. If you see him again, will you call me, please?” She took a piece of paper and a pen out of her handbag which was strapped over her shoulder and scribbled her phone number.
Angie took the paper and said, “Of course.”
Claire thanked her for her help and walked Marcus up to the door, unlocked it, and took him inside, where she swept through the flat to make sure no one was hiding inside. Nothing unusual, no sign of an intruder. She went back to her car and gathered the rest of the groceries, then closed the garage door and walked back toward her condo, looking around for the watcher as she walked.
When she was safely inside, she locked the door and did another ritual check of windows and back door. After that, she dialed Brad’s number. He answered on the second ring and she told him what her neighbor had said.
“Okay, don’t panic. Be careful, and keep me apprised of the situation. Like I said before, my bosses don’t want to move you unless it’s absolutely necessary. And to be honest with you, Claire, this, coming, right after they told us their stance, will make them think you’re making it up unless you give us some proof there’s a problem.”
“You’re not helping me,” she said. “Why have you changed so much? I used to be able to count on you for support.”
“It’s complicated. Let me know if you get any proof that you’re in danger.”
CLAIRE WALKED TO the faculty lounge a few minutes before her second faculty meeting, this time armed and ready for battle. She set down a box with a huge assortment of donuts on a table where everyone could see them.
Claire planted herself in the corner of the room, a corner that gave her the best view of her employees, and watched as teachers straggled in, poured themselves coffee, picked through the donuts ‘til they found the one they wanted, and finally sat down. She still didn’t know whether Ron would help, but he’d told her he would think about it. Hopefully his decision would be favorable or her planning would be useless.
Glancing around the room at sullen faces, she said, “I’ve had a bit of time to familiarize myself with this school and see many things that need to change, starting at the top and filtering downward.”
One of them stood up, walked by the table, and sneezed on the remaining donuts. Claire tried to hide her shudder as she wondered if it had been a deliberate sabotage. Several other teachers stood up to pour themselves coffee refills, and three teachers moved from the front, to a back corner, and began whispering together. They’re already bored? She’d only said one sentence. Was it any wonder the students ignored their teachers when they had these people as role models?
“I did not meet Carl Robinson so I don’t know his philosophy about being a principal,” Claire said. “I can tell you mine though. A school isn’t a school and can’t function without teachers or without students. It can function without a principal and assistant principal though.” Ron gave her a funny ‘what gives’ look, and she smiled. “Maybe not very well,” she added, “but it could function.” The people who were actually listening, laughed, including Ron.
Claire continued. “A principal and assistant principal don’t make a school. Our roles are important, but in a different way. We’re here to lead, support, organize, plan, and deal with problems. We’re here to help you—the teachers, counselors, and the students. You are the school. We’re the support and the framework that holds the school together.”
She paused and looked around the room. Maybe half of them looked somewhat more attentive. She gave Ron a questioning look, and he nodded. “Let’s make this school a better place for you teachers and your students. Ron and I have some ideas on what to do, which we will share with you. We need your input. We need your help and want to hear your suggestions.”
Teachers looked at each other and then looked back to Claire. No one commented. Some fidgeted, others played with their cell phones or other electronic devices. Were they texting each other? She couldn’t tell for sure.
Finally, someone said, “Sounds like platitudes, if you ask me. I’ve worked for principals who talk big. It’s always the same. They sit behind their desks, collect fat paychecks, while we do all the work with no support and no recognition.”
“I understand. I’ve been a teacher. I know how it is, how hard it can be. I’m telling you I don’t function like that. What I am saying is that this school is currently broken. I want to fix it. So does Ron. And neither of us want to be the kind of leadership you have apparently been subjected to. That’s not how we want to lead.” Claire paused. “Midland High School can be a place where teachers want to spend their days, where they don’t dread coming to work and where students respect you and themselves. Ron and I want to help. But it will take all of us together to make it happen. This school and your lives will continue the way it is unless we fix it. Please give us and your students a chance.”
Several teachers folded their arms, clearly dismissing her, except for one man, Ed Logan, a science teacher. He said, “Boy, that’s something I never thought I’d hear coming from a principal.”
Whispering buzzed through the room, and Claire wished for super-hearing.
“You can’t fix this hellish place,” one teacher said. “It’s too late.”
“It’s never too late. I’ve researched other urban schools around the country. Many have succeeded. With your help, we can too. It won’t be easy. I’m not naïve. But if we pull together and work as a team, I know we can do it.”
The buzzing increased.
“What’s in it for you?” Nancy Palmer, the English teacher Claire had met in the Admin office on her first day of work, asked. She was sitting near the back of the room. “A raise, a promotion, maybe a transfer to one of the good schools? Assuming you can pull this off, of course.”
That surprised Claire. She’d thought Nancy was nicer than that. Disappointed though still determined, she said, “I get the same thing you do—a better environment and to feel safe. This is the scariest place I’ve ever worked in.”
Several heads bobbed in agreement.
“Look, if we can pull this off, as Nancy said, there would be no need to transfer to a good school. This will be a good school. That’s the point.” Claire paused, waiting for their reactions, but when they came, she sighed.
“You can’t fix this place,” a teacher who was leaning against the back wall shouted. “These kids are incorrigible. Don’t you know the kind of homes they come from? Go drive through the neighborhoods. You’ll see you’re wasting your time and ours.” Heads nodded and then half the teachers rose and walked out.
Claire took a deep breath and let it out. The body language of some of the remaining teachers gave the impression they’d stayed because they hadn’t the courage to walk out. Oh well. At least they’re here.
“Thank you for staying. We’ll create a mission statement and goals for the school,” Claire said, “But we’d like your input, so please think about it and get back to Ron or me.”
She turned to her secretary, Kim. “Would you please make a list of the teachers here?”
Kim nodded and began writing on the notepad she’d brought with her.
After the meeting adjourned, Claire went back to her office and closed the door behind her. Obviously, she wasn’t cut out to inspire people with speeches. How was she supposed to reach the students when she couldn’t even connect with more than a handful of faculty members at best?
TUESDAY MORNING, CLAIRE arrived at work early to practice the speech she would be giving later that day. She’d spent most of Monday creating the framework of a game plan for school improvement, including a building-wide discipline system, then spent a couple more hours generating her proposal sp
eech. Now, she sat at her desk with her door closed for an hour, speaking it aloud, scribbling minor changes on a piece of paper. A knock of the door startled her and interrupted her verbal practice. The door opened and Frank poked his head around the corner. Claire smiled and motioned for him to enter.
“Good morning,” Frank said. “Is this a bad time to talk?”
“No, not at all. I’m preparing for an assembly.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of assembly?”
“First, to introduce myself to the whole school and, second, to let the students know about changes we’ll be making and about our new expectations.”
“Sounds interesting. I’d like to attend, if you don’t mind.”
Could she really say no without alienating him? Although she wasn’t sure she wanted him there to witness her flailing around, she tried not to show it in her face. She smiled, smoothed her hair, and said, “Of course you can attend.”
“Super. When is it?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“Okay. I have another stop to make this morning, so I’ll take off now and come back at ten.” Frank stood up, but hesitated, waiting for her response.
“See you then.” She stood, too, and they walked to the door together.
“Oh, you know, I might bring Steve Jensen along if he’s available.”
She struggled to keep her mouth closed so he wouldn’t see her sudden anxiety. She liked Steve, but she had enough pressure to succeed without having to worry about what he thought of her performance. She nodded, then looked away quickly.
Later, shortly after school began, Ron gave his daily announcements over the intercom and announced the mandatory assembly schedule. “Everyone will gather in the auditorium at ten o’clock.”
Ten minutes before the assembly, Claire stood up, preparing to go to the auditorium. Just breathe. You can do this. Pretend you’re in a lecture hall giving a talk to your freshman college students.
She glanced at her watch. Guess it’s show time. She walked out of her office and bumped into Ron.
“Nervous?” he asked.
Claire gave a half smile. “Ron, you have no idea.” Although Ron’s disposition toward her had warmed slightly since yesterday morning’s meeting, she had discovered his general manner was a bit formal, distant with most people. Knowing that was who he was had changed her perspective, and made her a bit more comfortable with him now than previously.
Entering the auditorium, Claire resisted the urge to cover her ears. The noise inside was deafening, reminding her of the tube station back home in England and the train station in Boston at the height of rush hour. Students were supposed to be seated but half were wandering around, cavorting with classmates, or throwing things at each other. Paper airplanes floated through the air, reminding Claire of kids in a daycare, only much bigger. Despite their childlike behavior, these particular children were far from innocent.
As students began noticing Claire and Ron, they nudged each other and gradually quieted. Ron took a seat up front as curious eyes watched her walk up onto the stage alone.
Claire attached a lavaliere microphone to her jacket lapel and stood in front of a podium that had been set on the stage. She took a deep breath and let it out, looking around the crowded room.
“Good Morning. Most of you don’t know me yet, so I will start out today by first introducing myself and telling you a little about me.” Of course, it was the brief story made up by Brad and his superiors.
Surveying the massive room, she spotted Frank Lawrence and Steve Jensen standing with a group of teachers, not far from the stage. The expression on their faces was one of intent interest. Both men were observing the students, as well.
“Now that you know a bit more about me, I want to talk to you today about our new plan for this school. We, the faculty and administrators of Midland High School, are making some changes to make this a much better school, to improve the environment and educational opportunity for all. We are going to make that our primary goal for this year. We need all of you to work with us to reach that goal. We need—”
Boos and profanity rang out and drowned out Claire’s voice. About twenty students stood up and wandered around the auditorium, some shoving each other and taunting students who were still seated.
“Quiet! Sit down,” she shouted. No one paid attention. Could they even hear her over the noise?
Ron came to her side and shouted into another microphone, his voice louder and stronger than hers, but instead of helping, it seemed to add fuel to the ruckus. About fifty more students jumped up from their seats and threw hats, water bottles, and shoes into the crowd.
Claire moved, intending to get off the stage and try to intervene. Ron grabbed her shirt sleeve and shook his head.
Teachers rushed toward the students and herded them out of the auditorium, leaving Claire and Ron standing onstage helpless. Claire looked toward Frank and Steve. To her dismay, they were looking at her and whispering, and then they turned and walked out without stopping to talk to her.
Claire’s cheeks burned as she left the stage and weaved through the crowd on her way back to her office. It was bad enough to lose every shred of credibility in front of the whole school, but in front of her supervisor, too?
She sat at her desk and held her head in her hands. For all her education and supposed intelligence, she apparently hadn’t a clue how to proceed.
Claire dealt with minor problems most of the next day and was preparing for the next assembly to be held on Thursday. Her phone rang and she immediately recognized Steve Jensen’s voice.
“The reason I’m calling is to let you know I think you’re efforts at the school are commendable. Sorry we rushed out without speaking with you.”
“Thanks. Sometimes I have doubts whether it’s do-able. I guess it’s still early in the process. This is a big task and I guess setbacks are to be expected.”
“It’s good to be realistic. But don’t let minor setbacks like yesterday deter you. Frank might attend your next assembly. Unfortunately, my work schedule is still so insanely busy I probably won’t make it. Anyway, the reason I called was to see if you’d have dinner with me Friday night.”
Claire hesitated for a moment. “Uh, I—I don’t know. Is that a good idea?”
“Well, I didn’t bore you too much the last time we had dinner, did I?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“We can discuss it Friday night, okay?”
“I—uh, I guess so. Meet at the same restaurant?”
“Sounds like a plan. See you there at six.”
She hung up the phone. All right, the first dinner with him might not have been a date, but this one? Oh God. What was she doing? And more importantly, what was she going to wear this time?
When Claire arrived at home that evening, Nanny Kate picked up her handbag and college text books. Instead of leaving, Kate hesitated near the front door, looking as if she wanted to say something. Claire gave her a quizzical look and asked, “Something wrong?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, on Monday you asked me to tell you if I saw anyone acting peculiar, or watching us. And, well, there was a guy at the park this afternoon. Today was one of the few days this week when it was warm enough to go, you know, so we left here after lunch and walked there.” She paused.
Claire nodded, hoping that would encourage the girl to continue.
“This guy was standing around, watching the kids play on the equipment. I guess there were about a dozen kids and half a dozen moms, and a couple of nannies. I wasn’t the only one who noticed the man. Some of the moms were sitting at a picnic table chatting and then started whispering and pointing to the man. I walked over to them and asked if they’d ever seen him before. No one had.”
Claire felt a wave of nausea. “What did he look like?”
“He was old, like late thirties if I had to guess. He had dirty blonde hair, I think. After a few minutes, the moms got up and rounded up their kids. They left while I was tying M
arcus’s shoe that had come untied. Soon as I finished, I realized the man was standing less than three feet away from us. He asked me who I was and who the little boy was. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, that takes a lot of nerve, doesn’t it?”
Claire’s heart was racing, but she tried to remain composed. “What did you do?”
“I remembered what you’d said about strangers, and then I picked up Marcus and ran.”
“Did he follow you?”
“I don’t think so. Should I have called the police? And should I avoid the park?”
Claire glanced over at Marcus who was watching TV. “I don’t know if we need to call the police. Not yet, anyway. If you see him again, please call me right away. I think it’s definitely a good idea to avoid the park for now.”
After Kate left, Claire dialed Brad’s number, but he didn’t answer. She left a message.
On Thursday morning, after spending the night lying awake and worrying about the watcher, Claire decided to cancel the assembly. She called Frank and let him know about the cancellation. Then, since she hadn’t heard back from Brad, she called him and left another.
She didn’t have time to go shopping for another dress. When Friday night came, she wore the black dress again, adding a red necklace and matching earrings and styling her hair differently, this time letting it curl naturally and then pushing the hair on the left side behind her ear. With the dress, she wore a red cashmere sweater that she’d bought when she first arrived in Denver.
At the restaurant with Steve, Claire struggled to find a safe topic to discuss. She didn’t really want him asking questions about work. Nothing good had happened. She also didn’t want to talk about her cancelled assembly, or explain her reasons for cancelling.
After they ordered their meals, she asked, “You told me that you and Frank grew up together and went to school together.”
Steve smiled. “Yeah, we’ve known each other since we were in kindergarten. That’s a long time. I won’t tell you how long. Trust me. It’s been decades.”
Claire laughed. “Have you always worked together, too?”
