by Erin Wright
“Sarah,” he growled, his temper dangerously close to snapping, “you’ll be paid in full just as soon as—”
“If your child support payment is 21 days and two minutes overdue, I’ll sic the sheriff on ya,” she cut in, and then hung up.
Elijah slammed his hand down on the table, scaring Brooklyn’s pet hamster into scurryin’ into the corner of his cage and hiding.
“Dammit!” Elijah roared at the world. He’d been so sure he’d outsmarted Sarah for once, but here she was with the upper hand again. After he’d been hired at the school district, he’d sat down and calculated pay periods, and had known then that he was up shit creek without a paddle. He was gonna hafta rely on Sarah’s goodwill not to get into trouble over this.
And relying on Sarah’s goodwill weren’t never a good idea.
He was stupid, too stupid. He was never gonna be like his brother Aaron. He weren’t the golden child. He weren’t the educated child. He weren’t the pillar of the community. No matter how hard he tried or what he did, he was a failure in everyone’s eyes, including his own.
He shouldn’t have tried to beat Sarah at her own game. That were a huge mistake right there. She were the one with the smarts, who could out-think everyone else and force ‘em to do what she was wantin’ ‘em to do. Their 10-year marriage were proof of that. Beatin’ Sarah at her own game was a fool’s dream.
And in this, he was certainly the fool.
Chapter 4
Hannah
Amelia, Hannah’s aide, circulated around the classroom, helping keep an eye on the students as they started in on their bell work for the day. It was three weeks into the school year and the students were just beginning to settle in, having spent the last three weeks testing Hannah’s boundaries, Amelia’s boundaries, and the principal’s boundaries, just to see where they were at.
Hannah had known to expect it, of course – it was just the way fifth graders operated. Old enough to test boundaries; young enough to respect them once they found them. It was one of the reasons why Hannah loved this age so much. Too young, and they’d want her to wipe their nose for them. Too old, and they’d be too cool to listen to a teacher.
Yeah, fifth graders were just about right.
Hannah had finished another elaborate coloring page last night, this one of a frog drawn in mid-jump, and she was taking advantage of the quiet, focused nature of the students to hang the finished product up above their in-class terrarium. She stepped down from the chair and looked up at the high-quality coloring page with a pleased smile.
It’d taken her two weeks to get both the shading of the water and the sun on the frog’s skin just right. She couldn’t draw a stick figure to save her life, but she sure could color. She didn’t brag, of course, but if forced into a corner, she’d name coloring and teaching as being her (only) two talents in life.
Luckily for her, the two talents went hand-in-hand. The cinder block walls of her classroom had long ago been painted a dull tan that had since turned a nasty dull gray, and without any decorations to brighten things up, she would end up in the insane asylum by the end of the school year, no doubt about it. In an attempt to make her classroom appear less like a federal prison and more like an elementary classroom, she’d begun decorating it with coloring pages depicting every animal and flower and scenic view a soul could imagine, using the bright colors and beauty to bring a liveliness to her room that would otherwise be lacking.
She even had a student’s corner where students could bring in pages they’d colored, to show off to their classmates, and that board tended to be one of the most popular in the classroom. Even the shyest and introverted of students could brag on that board, something Hannah was especially proud of. Too many school activities only rewarded the outgoing, athletic students. What about the Hannahs of the world? Making a difference to those students was what kept her going every day.
Newest coloring page hung up, Hannah turned and began scanning the room automatically, checking for problems or students wanting help. Everything looked fine – that was, until she spotted Brooklyn raising her head from her paper to look around furtively.
Yet another reason to love fifth graders: They were too young and innocent to be good at being sneaky. Brooklyn was about to do something she wasn’t supposed to, no doubt about it.
And sure enough, having not spotted Hannah directly behind her at the back of the room, Brooklyn took the opportunity to lash out with her foot, square into the leg of Dayton sitting in the next row over. She was lightning fast, and if Hannah hadn’t been looking straight at them when it happened, she never would’ve seen it.
“Oooowwwwwwww!” Dayton howled, doubling over and clutching at his leg. “What’d you do that for?” he demanded, staring up at Brooklyn.
The classroom broke out in an excited babble, all concentration on their work completely gone. Meanwhile, Brooklyn was batting her eyes innocently at Dayton and was just opening up her mouth to claim ignorance when Hannah was on her, pulling her out of her chair and towards the door before Brooklyn could add lying to her list of crimes.
“Amelia, I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder. “Students, get back to work.” And then she shut the door to the classroom behind her and stared down at Brooklyn, her arms folded across her chest. Brooklyn stared defiantly back up at her, her gray-green eyes an exact copy of her father’s. She was a miniature, female version of Elijah Morland.
A little creepy, that.
“Okay, Brooklyn, why’d you do it?” Hannah asked, her tone strict. She might be a wallflower in a room full of adults, but she was large and in charge with her students.
But Brooklyn didn’t break. She just stared back up at her defiantly, not saying a word.
“Brooklyn, I saw you do it,” Hannah said, exasperated. “I’d just finished hanging up a picture on the wall when you looked around for me, you didn’t spot me at the back of the room, and so you leaned right over and kicked Dayton, clear as day.”
Brooklyn’s eyes widened at that; it was a look of respect for the fact that Hannah had actually been able to tell what she’d been trying to do.
And then it disappeared and she was back to glaring up at her teacher, her angry bravado shielding her.
Hannah swallowed her groan. This class had already been more of a struggle to get settled into a routine than past classes had been. She really didn’t want to add an openly defiant troublemaker to the mix. Mr. Pettengill’s warning about keeping her thumb on Brooklyn from the very beginning flashed through her mind, but she pushed the thought away. Whatever the answer was with Brooklyn, treating her like a hardened criminal wasn’t it.
“C’mon, let’s go back inside the classroom,” Hannah said, her frustration bleeding through her self control and right into her voice. “Move your stuff to the desk in the back. I think some time away from everyone else is a good idea.”
Brooklyn shrugged nonchalantly, her dirty blonde hair swinging as she turned back towards the classroom door.
As Hannah followed Brooklyn back into the classroom, she realized just how dirty Brooklyn’s dirty blonde hair really was. It wasn’t just a darker blonde color, it was quite literally dirty. Her scalp looked like she hadn’t washed it for a week.
Automatically, her eyes scanned down the back of Brooklyn, noticing how short and tight her jeans were, like they were her jeans from last school year. Had Brooklyn been wearing new school clothes previous to today? Most students were still wearing their new back-to-school clothes, not yet covered in grime or ripped to pieces and definitely not too small for them. That was something that would change soon enough, of course, but not usually by this point in the school year.
Brooklyn morosely picked up her stuff from her desk and moved to the back, shooting a dark look at Dayton as she walked past him. Something was going on between those two, and Hannah was going to figure out what it was. Dayton didn’t tend to hang out with or interact with girls all that much – Hannah wasn’t sure if he’d so
much as said hello to a girl since the beginning of school, preferring to hang out with his buddies instead.
So when did Brooklyn have the chance to get that angry with him?
Hoping for some answers, Hannah pulled him out into the hallway to chat with him but at least according to him, he had no idea what had caused Brooklyn to lash out.
Some days, the drama between ten year olds was just too much to bear.
While Amelia took the class to first recess, Hannah tried calling Brooklyn’s mother, Sarah, but got no answer. Frustrated, she waited to call again after school, and this time, she hit pay dirt.
“Yeah?” Sarah answered the phone, the word sounding slightly…slurred?
That couldn’t be right. Hannah glanced over at the clock on the wall. It was 3:22 in the afternoon. Sarah wasn’t actually drunk.
Right?
“Hi, Ms. Morland,” she said formally, gripping the phone with all her might, “this is Hannah Lambert from the school. We had a bit of an incident today in class. Brooklyn…well, she kicked another student this morning pretty hard. She refuses to tell me why or what caused it. I—”
“Whysa hell is dat your business?” the woman snarl-slurred.
Now that Hannah had heard her speak an entire sentence, she was sure of it – Sarah Morland was completely snookered at three o’clock in the afternoon.
Dear God above, save me.
“It’s my business because it’s my classro—”
And that’s when the phone line went dead.
The woman had hung up on Hannah. She’d actually hung up on her.
Hannah buried her head in her hands with a groan, listlessly letting the phone drop back into the cradle. Mr. Pettengill had said that Brooklyn was going to be a lot of trouble.
Hannah was starting to think that he’d named off the wrong Morland.
She slowly opened her eyes and looked wearily at the piles of papers stacked on every conceivable spot across her worn wooden desk, waiting to be graded or sorted or put away or thrown away or…
She stood up and grabbed her purse, forcing herself not to stuff a sheaf of papers into it to take home. She was going to go home and after a nice long ride on Wildflower, she was going to pull out one of her coloring books and relax a little. Do nothing more strenuous than decide which color to use next. She normally visited Dad every other Tuesday, but…she just didn’t have it in her tonight. She could take one week off, right?
After today, she darn well deserved it.
Chapter 5
Elijah
The lunch bell rang, and like magic, every classroom door opened and kids came spillin’ out into the hallway, all headin’ towards the downstairs cafeteria in a stream of excited noise. Elijah leaned the handle of his mop against the painted dull gray cinder block of the hallway, humming to himself, excited to see Brooksy and hear about her day so far. He didn’t actually need to be in this hallway right now, but hell, that was one of the few good things about bein’ a janitor – he was in charge of the whole school, and as long as he got his work done, he was a-okay to take his lunch break when and where he wanted.
And when and where he wanted to, was with his daughter.
Brooksy looked both ways in the crowded hallway, tryin’ to spot him, and when she did, her face lighted up and she hurried his way, her blonde hair swingin’ with every step. She was his mini-me in every way. When he was a kid, he had blond hair that got darker by the year, until it ended up a dark brown without no blond at all. He’d told Brooksy this a year or so ago, and ever since, she’d wondered out loud more than once when was it that her hair was gonna “go brown like Daddy’s.”
No, it weren’t hard to love Brooksy at all.
“Hi, Daddy!” she exclaimed, slipping her tiny hand into his calloused one. “Where are we gonna eat today?”
“I didn’t pack a lunch, so I thought we could eat on down in the cafeteria—”
“Mr. Morland!”
His head jerked up, and he saw Hannah bearing down on him, her blue eyes flashin’ behind her thick coke-bottle glasses. “I need to meet with you after school,” she informed him crisply. “Are you available?”
Elijah was just sure his jaw were scrapin’ the floor. He had the vaguest of memories of Hannah Lambert in high school – she’d been a senior when he was a freshman, so they weren’t exactly best friends or somethin’. All he could remember ‘bout her back then was that she were as quiet as a mouse; as flashy and memorable as a wall that were painted white.
At the beginning of the school year, when he’d checked in with each teacher in their classrooms, she hadn’t appeared to have changed one bit. The times that he’d cleaned her classroom since then and she’d been working away at her desk, she hadn’t said more than two words to him.
Total.
But now…
Instinctively, Elijah looked down at his daughter, who looked as guilty as hell and were tryin’ to hide behind his leg. She was ten. She was way too old to fit behind his leg, and she damn well knew it.
But she was clinging to it with all her might anyway.
He looked back up at Hannah, who was still waitin’ for a reply, and who still looked way more…confrontational than he’d known she could be.
Shit on a stick, what did Brooksy do?
“I’ll come on by your classroom after school is out,” he promised, and then began shufflin’ off the best he could down the hallway, his daughter apparently attached to him permanent-like now. Most of the children had disappeared, leavin’ the hallways quieter than they’d been just minutes before. There were a few bangs and shouts from lingering children, but they was otherwise alone.
“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked the barnacle on his leg. She shook her head. She still weren’t making eye contact. “I can’t talk to Miss Lambert ‘bout you real well if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” She shook her head. They was nearin’ the top of the staircase, about to go on down to the cafeteria. “I can’t walk down these stairs if you don’t let go of my leg.” She hesitated for a moment at that, and then heaving a sigh, finally let go. He looked down at the top of her head. “You can talk to me, Brooksy,” he said softly. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
Jerkily, she shook her head and then raced down the stairs ahead of him, disappearing through the doors of the cafeteria before he was even halfway down.
Yup, she was his mini-me all right. When he was in trouble, or even thought he was gonna get in trouble, he shut down. Brick walls talked more than he did when he saw problems brewing on the horizon.
With a sigh of his own, he headed into the cafeteria after his daughter. The meeting with Hannah after school was gonna be about as much fun as a tar-and-featherin’ would be, and with his daughter refusin’ to say a word, he was going into it with his hands tied behind his back.
For the thousandth time, he wondered how it was that he could be a father and yet be so stupid. As a kid, he’d thought his parents knew everything. Now, he realized that they just made shit up as they went along, hopin’ for the best. He’d butted heads with his father more times than he could count growin’ up, and they didn’t see eye to eye on most anything even now, but he was startin’ to empathize with the man anyway.
Which were a hell of a thing to realize.
Chapter 6
Hannah
She heard a light rap on the door frame and even before she could look up to see who it was, she knew it was Mr. Morland. The sparks of electricity shooting through her…
Yeah, it was him.
But still, when she looked up and saw his dark-haired form coming towards her, she swallowed. Hard. Where did this attraction come from? She hadn’t felt this way in high school. She hadn’t felt this way the times she’d seen him around town since then.
Did it really have to appear right now? This year? Right when she’s supposed to be his daughter’s teacher?
She stood up and skirted her desk so she could shake his hand in greeting. She hon
estly would’ve rather swallowed live snakes than leave the safety and comfort of her desk behind, but good manners dictated that she did so, and she always had good manners.
His stormy gray-green eyes glared down at her as they shook hands, and even before she could open her mouth to thank him for coming, he practically snarled, “So, what is it? I don’t have all day.”
She jerked her head and her hand back, and stared up at him as she crossed her arms in front of herself, rubbing the chills away that his touch had sent racing up her arms. She didn’t want to feel chills up her arms around Mr. Morland, but she especially didn’t if he was going to be a douchebag.
She bit back the retort dancing on the end of her tongue – what, you have a lot of trash cans you need to hurry up and empty? – and instead said evenly, “I wanted to talk to you because Brooklyn kicked a classmate yesterday as hard as she possibly could.”
At which point, what happened was what always happened – the parent jumped to the child’s defense. She could practically feel the arguments boiling up inside of him: He must’ve kicked her first. Or maybe Mr. Morland would start with the theory that the classmate must’ve deserved it. Oh, and then there was always the tried-and-true – Brooklyn didn’t actually kick anyone and Hannah was mistaken.
Yada, yada, yada.
As a veteran teacher, Hannah had heard it all. She hurried on before Mr. Morland could spout off any of his misguided, this-is-my-baby-girl-and-I-must-stand-up-for-her-at-all-cost theories that would paint Brooklyn as the innocent victim.
“I was watching from the back of the classroom.” She pointed to where she’d been standing, right in front of the terrarium. “Brooklyn sits there,” she pointed at a desk only three rows from the back of the room, “and I watched as she looked around, trying to see if I was watching, but because I was directly behind her, she didn’t spot me. So she kicked out her foot as hard as she could, right into the shin of Dayton who sits in that desk in the next aisle over.” Hannah focused on only delivering the facts; facts that even the most ardent and loving parent couldn’t refute. “The classroom had been quiet; the students had all been on task and working hard. I’ve never so much as seen Dayton and Brooklyn talking to each other before this. He’s your typical boy – girls are icky and have germs, so he doesn’t interact with them unless forced to. He wasn’t even looking at her when it happened. But she refuses to talk to me and tell me what’s going on.”
