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“Well, he wasn’t very happy with my answer, so he threw his lesson plan, and it ended up in the garbage.”
Justin’s soda came spewing out his mouth, her father tried to stifle a laugh, and her mother looked on with horror.
“That man has a terrible temper!” she exclaimed.
Melanie refrained from an “I told you so,” but she went on to mention their punishment assignment because the class laughed at the lesson plan disaster. Her mother was on the verge of throwing her own temper tantrum. “That’s enough bullying as far as I’m concerned. Peter, you and I are going to have a meeting with the principal. Someone who is easily unhinged should not be teaching children.”
Children. That word again, but if it got rid of Mr. Leonard, she didn’t mind what she was called.
“You’re right, Dorothy. I’ll call Mr. Rigley in the morning.” He huffed. “There’s already enough violence in the world. We don’t need it in the classroom.” Mr. Drake couldn’t possibly know the kind of devastating events that lay ahead.
“Maybe you’ll get him fired,” Justin wisecracked.
Melanie wondered if that would make her a hero to her classmates. Not that she needed the adoration, but it would be kinda cool.
The next morning, rather than wasting a phone call, the Drakes decided to go straight to the principal’s office. They waited a reasonable amount of time for the man to get settled into his routine before they pitched a fit. In a courteous but firm manner, of course.
They arrived wearing business attire. “Good morning, Mrs. Chesterfield. May we have a few moments with Mr. Rigley?”
Mrs. Chesterfield had been the school secretary since Dorothy (Gleason) Drake went to Hamilton Elementary School. It was over twenty-five years ago, and Mrs. Chesterfield was ancient back then! Funny how one’s perception of “older people” changes as you become one of them. Dorothy Drake wondered if the pink glasses and pink pearl eyeglass holder were the same ones the secretary had sported years ago. She still had the pink hair, too. Mrs. Chesterfield hadn’t changed a bit.
“May I ask what this is about?” The secretary peered over her spectacles. She had a cherub’s face. It was a wonder she’d survived all these years dealing with the kids. And their parents.
“It’s somewhat of a private matter, Mrs. Chesterfield.” Mr. Drake glanced over at the two students sitting in the waiting area.
She got the message. It wasn’t a matter for eavesdropping kids. She picked up the phone and buzzed her boss’s office. “Mr. Rigley, Mr. and Mrs. Drake are here to see you.” She paused and looked up as if she had to count. “Yes, both of them.” She nodded. “I will. Thank you.” She hung up and told the Drakes to take a seat. Mr. Rigley would be out shortly. “He has a matter he needs to attend to.” She tilted her pen in the direction of the two youths, who were slouched in their seats.
Mr. Drake indicated he understood and shuttled his wife to the two chairs opposite the teens, whose expressions showed signs of indifference.
Several minutes later, Mr. Rigley came out. “Ross? Henry? In my office.” He turned to the Drakes. “I’ll just be a minute.” He followed the boys and then closed the door behind him.
Mrs. Chesterfield leaned in and whispered loudly enough for them to hear. “Those two are a bucket of trouble. They’re in here at least once a week.”
Dorothy didn’t want to ask why, and she didn’t have to. Mrs. Chesterfield relished the opportunity to gossip. She also believed that if she was speaking the truth, then it wasn’t really gossip.
“They keep getting caught smoking marijuana. Imagine that? Eleven and twelve years old! They don’t realize they stink of it when they come back from their hidey-hole.” She shook her head. “I overheard some kids talking in the hallway, saying they are selling it to other students, but nobody’s been able to prove it. One has to wonder where their parents are and how they’re getting their hands on the stuff.” She clicked her tongue.
Dorothy squeezed her husband’s hand. She knew Melanie would never touch marijuana, but Justin might. He was in junior high school, at a very impressionable age, and a much bigger risk-taker than his sister. At least for now.
As if he knew what was on his wife’s mind, Peter said, “Justin is a smart kid.” He paused. “Besides, if he was smoking weed, we would smell it on his clothes, his hair, and his breath. I have to agree with you, Mrs. Chesterfield. One has to wonder. Unless they change their clothes before they get home and do their own laundry, that smell stays with you.”
Mrs. Chesterfield laughed out loud. “That’ll be the day when either of those two see the inside of a washing machine. They probably slip a few dollars to the maid. They both have them, ya know. Full time. Plus they have nannies or some kind of sitter. Parents are political big shots and are never around. I was dead serious when I said, ‘one has to wonder.’ Spoiled rotten, I say.” She grunted. “Times have surely changed since you went to school here, Mrs. Drake. Funny, calling you Mrs. Drake now.”
“Dorothy is fine. Really.” She smiled at the spry senior.
Their conversation came to an end when the principal’s office door opened. The two boys shuffled out. No smiles on anyone’s faces. “Mrs. Chesterfield, please notify their parents and have whoever is supposed to be in charge of them pick them up. They’re suspended for two weeks. I just hope it won’t be treated as a vacation.” He was careful with his words. They lived in an upper-middle-class community, and the parents had delusions of entitlement. Mr. Rigley stared the two boys down. He was well aware these two youths were unsupervised a good portion of the time. With the exception of the live-in housekeepers, no one was keeping an eye on them.
Ross had a cocky grin on his face. He knew Mr. Rigley couldn’t bring in the police without proof, so they were suspended for unruly behavior. Big deal.
Ross began to sulk.
“Here is what’s going to happen. You go home and think about where you could end up if you don’t follow the rules. We’ll give you the paperwork to bring home to your parents. They will have to monitor your homework and keep a log.”
Both boys groaned; then Ross chimed in with sarcasm. “My parents are invisible.”
Rigley knew that was the crux of the problem. No parental guidance or supervision. Who would teach these boys morality? Integrity? Honesty? He thought about the 1978 documentary, Scared Straight. Delinquents spent three hours in prison with hardened criminals. He imagined the uproar if someone suggested it now.
“They’re going to be so pissed,” Henry whined. He could not picture his mother sitting down to supervise homework. It would interfere with her evening racquetball lessons. At least that’s what she told his father she was doing at the club.
