AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER 1
Jo Beth Ellis had never been a quitter and she wouldn’t start today.
“This morning’s events were unfortunate. I’m sorry this happened to you.”
Jo, her bottom lip bleeding, stood by a window in the principal’s office of Stone Hill High School, ignoring the somber drawl of the man behind her and the silent vibrations of the cell phone ringing in her pocket (one she never had time to answer—even during her planning period) and stared out at the parking lot that bordered the front of the school. A cool September breeze rustled the thorny hedges along the cracked sidewalks, and the Kentucky sun struggled to nourish life, glinting off the metal hoods and rearview mirrors of parked cars, barely piercing the shadows covering sparse tufts of grass hidden between the brick wings of the school.
For a place that was intended to be a safe, nurturing environment, the landscape lacked warmth or welcome. Inside, the atmosphere was worse: hallways reeked of bleach and floor wax, profanities echoed against cinder blocks behind locked classroom doors, and voices of harried administrators crackled through static-laden two-way radios clipped to the hips of patrolling campus security officers.
The place had become more of a prison than a high school.
Heart pounding, Jo closed her eyes and tried to remember her first day as a teacher, six years ago when she’d been an energetic twenty-one-year-old college graduate. The day she’d marched up that sidewalk and into Stone Hill High School, head high and smile wide, eager to make a difference in the lives of students she loved, to help them improve their futures and achieve security.
But the realities of teaching were far different from the ones she’d been led to envision in college, and thoughts of quitting—along with the realization that she’d thrown away what amounted to a decade of her life—were stronger than ever.
Only, there was no way she could walk away and abandon the same student body to whom she’d committed herself faithfully years ago. How many other adults had abandoned these children when they had been needed the most? And hadn’t she told her students to stick with it countless times over the years? To keep trying? To not give up? She couldn’t let them down—especially not now. . . not when she’d sacrificed her relationship with what was left of her own family for them.
Earl. She thought of her grandfather, whom she’d left behind for her career, mucking stalls, grooming horses, and carrying the full weight of their family horse farm, Lone Oaks Crossing, alone. She thought of him, exhausted, ending each day in an empty house, a shot of bourbon and a view of dark pastures his only comforts.
An ache spread through her, stealing her breath.
“Perhaps,” her principal, Dr. McKenzie, continued, “employing a more effective de-escalation technique would have deterred Natasha from striking out at you. Next time—”
“Next time?” Jo winced as the act of speaking split the wound in her bottom lip more deeply. She touched her tongue to it, tasting blood, and faced him. “Twice wasn’t enough? Natasha has attacked other students and teachers like this before—all through elementary, middle, and now high school. And what else was I supposed to do? Ask her mid-swing to have a seat, give her a talking stick, then tell her to share her feelings? And what about the other thirty-two teens in the class, sitting there, with nowhere to go, having to watch that play out?”
She spread her hands, searching for words.
“Our kids are exposed to violence every day in this building,” she continued. “Not to mention the amount of quality instruction incidents like this cost their education. The interventions you’ve dictated to us aren’t working. The entire schoolwide behavior plan hasn’t been working for years. I have no voice, no autonomy—not even in my own classroom. Our kids—especially Natasha—need more help than we’re giving them. As it is—”
“As it is”—McKenzie leaned forward in his seat and rested his elbows on his wide desk—“Natasha’s mother is threatening to sue the district and you, personally.”
“For what? Natasha attacked a female student half her size from behind—unprovoked—in my classroom.” Voice catching at the images the memory conjured, Jo inhaled a shaky breath. “She was slamming the other child’s head into a cinder block wall. If I hadn’t stepped in, that child might’ve walked away with more than just a bleeding forehead and bruised eye.”
He picked up a pen. Twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. “I instructed you, as well as the entire faculty and staff, at the start of the year not to intervene in fights.”
“I pulled Natasha off the student, stepped in front of her to protect the other child, and Natasha took a swing at me.” Oh, dear God, her lip throbbed. “That’s what happened, from beginning to end. The other child’s blood is still on the wall. Check the classroom camera, it’s all there.”
He frowned. “We already have, but that’s not the point. You’re not allowed to restrain students. Stepping in is someone else’s job. Our administration is dedicated to ensuring a safe environ—”
“Then where was the safety officer? Where were you? I hit the emergency call button.” She shook her head. “If a shooter enters the building, I’m expected to step in front of a bullet to save a child, but if that same child is attacked by a peer, I’m supposed to simply stand there and watch the child be beaten to death? If I fail to act in the first scenario, I’m crucified. In the second scenario, if I do act, I’m in danger of being sued. Do I need to ask for permission before I’m even allowed to protect myself?” A mirthless chuckle broke free of her chest. “And when, in the midst of all of this, am I supposed to be able to teach?”
Sighing, he put down the pen. “You’re a great teacher, Ms. Ellis. One of our best. Admittedly, today was a bad day. But one bad day shouldn’t make or break an entire career.”
“But it’s not just one bad day,” she said softly.
There had been so many, and increasingly more every year. More violence, more anger, more arguments, more blame, more politics, more chaos, more confusion, more criticism . . . but always less time and support, fewer resources. The more she spoke up about the toxic school culture and working conditions and the more she asked for help, the more she paid for voicing her concerns—personally as well as professionally. Every day inside these walls, students’ and teachers’ safety, well-being, and futures were gambled. And today, a typical Monday at Stone Hill High School, had been no exception.
Something wet plopped onto her collarbone. She looked down and a second drop of blood fell from her lip to join the first, rolled over her skin, then settled against the collar of her blouse. The white cotton absorbed it, the stain spreading.
Oh, dear God. Here she stood, bleeding in her boss’s office, as he blamed her for being physically assaulted on the job. This was no way to make a living . . . and certainly no way to live.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered.
“Then do it for the kids,” he said quietly.
McKenzie stood, tugged a tissue from a tissue box on his desk, and handed it to Jo. “As punishment, I’ve suspended Natasha from school for the rest of the week, but she’d like to speak to you before she leaves today.” He crossed the room and opened the closed door of his office. “Natasha, please come in.”
There were hushed voices and footsteps outside the door along the corridor of the school’s main office, then a tall, blond girl sauntered in and crossed her arms over her chest. Another blonde, who appeared to be in her late thirties, propped her fists on her hips, and stood on the threshold of the room, glaring at Jo.
