Love and Sorrow (Small Town Secrets Book 5), стр. 3
Meanwhile, I continued stifling the urge to lose my breakfast.
Mr. Cooper at least closed the door before crossing to his leather swivel chair by the window. “I appreciate you coming here today.”
I had to swallow again before speaking. “What did she do now?”
The way he folded his hands together on top of his desk made another shot of adrenaline rush through my veins, but I managed to maintain eye contact as he spoke. “As you know, Sarah seems to be having some difficulties adjusting.”
Talk about overstating the obvious. All at once, I felt woefully inadequate. Here was this man—well dressed, well spoken—and here I was, a single mother, looking like hell, wearing a work uniform consisting of a white t-shirt, khaki pants, and white sneakers, topped with a jean jacket, my brown hair pulled up in a ponytail. And I wondered if my appearance was part of why he seemed to be patronizing me. So I simply replied, “Yes, I know.” Of course, I knew. How the fuck could I not?
Then I felt guilty as his expression softened—as if to tell me, hey, I’m not the bad guy here. “This isn’t entirely uncommon, Mrs. Miller.” While I could have interrupted him to correct him—I was not a missus—I kept my trap shut. “Many kids are already having difficulties. Their bodies are changing, sometimes on a daily basis. Then throw on top of that a new school environment, different expectations, more kids. We’re used to dealing with our students having those sorts of struggles.” As if to emphasize his next words, he leaned forward, pressing his hands together. “But what’s been going on with Sarah is extreme and, as you know, I also have the duty of protecting the other students who attend school here.”
What the hell was he saying? Like my daughter was a threat? And, if that were the case, why the fuck was he pussyfooting around the issues?
As I started to respond, I realized I was digging the fingernails of one hand into the other, and I practically had to pry them apart, all while maintaining eye contact with the principal. “What did she do today?” Altercating with another student between classes? Writing school sucks on the whiteboard? Calling a teacher stupid?
“Mrs. Miller, Sarah set a fire in the trashcan in one of the girls’ bathrooms just after lunch period.”
Of all the potential responses, I had not expected that one—and as much as I hated to admit it to myself, this was most definitely escalated behavior. “But where did she get a lighter or matches?” Not that it mattered. I tried wracking my brain, wondering if I was missing a lighter or cash—but before I could dig too deep, Mr. Cooper started speaking again.
“I don’t think we need to worry about that right now. What we need to be concerned about is the behavior she’s been displaying. She’s been aggressive up until now, but this is violent and dangerous. It’s an indication of something deeper that perhaps we’re just not aware of.”
“What do you mean exactly?”
“I’m saying I think there’s something else going on that we don’t know about.” He paused, tapping his finger on the desk, making me feel all the more nervous. “Has she been hanging out with any new friends lately, friends she didn’t have in elementary school?”
Hmm. Sarah had had sleepovers in the past, had talked for hours on end with friends on my cell until I’d remind her she’d been on long enough—and, of course, she’d tell me stories almost daily about what she and her friends had done in school. But, hell, that hadn’t happened in a long time. In fact, I couldn’t remember Sarah talking on the phone or spending the night with a friend—or having a friend over—since before Christmas of last year. What the hell did that even mean? “Now that you mention it, I really don’t know. She…she hasn’t been as close to her friends lately. I’ve asked her several times if she’s made new friends now that she’s in middle school, and she gives me blow-off answers. I don’t know any of her new friends.” I was ashamed to admit it, but I’d been preoccupied in all my own shit to really focus on my daughter, other than when these events had occurred. Once more, my fingernails were digging into my hands, so I straightened out my hands on my lap. “Do you think she’s in with the wrong crowd?”
“If she is, it’s not while she’s here in school. How long is she gone from home in the evenings?” How could he be so sure things weren’t happening in his building? I was on the defensive, and that wouldn’t be helpful, so I tried to be rational.
“She and her brother walk to my neighbor’s house after school. I usually get home between four and five o’clock, and she’s always there. My neighbor is also their babysitter—if Sarah was late getting there, she would have told me.”
“What about before school?”
“I drive them to school myself before work.”
“I’m grasping at straws. Her behavior is…not typical. In fact, I think it’s safe to say what she’s doing now is extreme. She just may be having a harder time adjusting than most other children, and we’re not helping her in a way that’s conducive to her needs.”
“I’ve tried everything I can think of—talking to her, reminding her that I love her and I’m here for her, trying to give her special days and things. I don’t know what to do anymore.” Oh, fuck. Overcome with emotion. Just what I needed. Tears were threatening to spill from the corners of my eyes, so I fought hard to will them back.
“Have you thought of therapy? Maybe she needs someone to talk to, to vocalize it with, someone other than family.” Leaning forward slightly, he lowered his voice. “Are you and your husband having problems?”
Shit.