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But I stopped, hearing the intercom beep.
“Ms. Bradbury?” Principal Shaw’s voice called.
“Yes?” I answered.
“Would you please come to my office?” he asked, the fake nicety in his voice turning me off. “And bring your lesson plans, as well.”
I raised my eyebrows, my legs going a little weak.
“Uh,” I breathed out. “Of course.”
It didn’t matter if you were fourteen or twenty-three, a student, a teacher, or a parent – you still got nauseous when the principal called you down.
And he wanted my lesson plans? Why? They were online. He could see them anytime he wanted to.
I groaned, slipping off my jacket and tossing it over my chair – which left me in my slim-fitting black pants and long-sleeved gray blouse. I grabbed the hard-copy plans we were instructed to keep on our desk in case of an impromptu observation.
Thankfully, I had second period free, so I wouldn’t have students for close to another hour.
I walked down the hall and through the front office, past the students either waiting for the nurse or waiting to be disciplined. My heels fell silent as soon as they hit the carpet in the hallway.
I tucked the binder under my arm and knocked twice on Mr. Shaw’s door.
“Come in,” he called.
I took in a deep breath, turned the knob, and entered, nodding at Mr. Shaw with a small smile as he stood up from behind his desk.
Turning to close the door, I immediately halted, spotting Tyler Marek standing in the back of the office.
I looked away, closed the door, and turned back to my superior, tensing against my racing heart.
What the hell did he want?
“Ms. Bradbury.” Mr. Shaw held out his hand, gesturing to Christian’s father. “This is Tyler Marek, Christian’s —”
“Yes, we’ve met.” I cut him off in a stiff voice, stepping forward to stand behind one of the two chairs Shaw had in front of his desk.
Marek stayed behind, hovering like a dark shadow in the corner, and I knew what I was supposed to do. Shake hands, greet him, smile… No, no, and no.
Shaw looked uncomfortable, and it was my fault, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t like what was going to happen.
He regained his composure and cleared his throat, gesturing. “Please sit down,” he suggested, looking to both of us.
I rounded the chair and took a seat, but Christian’s father continued to stand instead of taking the seat next to me.
“Mr. Marek has some concerns regarding Christian,” Shaw told me, “and his performance in your class. Can you enlighten me as to what problems you’re having?”
I blinked, sensing Marek stepping forward and approaching my back.
Suddenly I felt as if all of our roles were reversed. Shaw was the concerned, neutral parent, Marek was the displeased teacher, and I was the student being put under the microscope. How dare he treat me as if I didn’t know my job?
“Sir, I…” I tried to rein in my temper before I said something I’d regret. “Sir, this is the first I’ve heard that Mr. Marek has concerns. I’d like to know what they are as well.”
I couldn’t hide the discomfort from my voice. I was far from friendly, but at least I hadn’t sounded curt.
Christian was having problems, but it was still early in the year, and I was still trying to create a relationship with him. I’d sent home – even mailed on one occasion – reminders about the social media groups and highlighted copies of the syllabus with important dates. I may not have called, but it wasn’t as if I hadn’t done anything.
Shaw looked up, offering Marek an uncomfortable smile. “Mr. Marek, your support of this school has gone above and beyond, and we are so grateful to have your son here. Please, tell me your concerns and how we can help.”
I let my eyes drop as I waited, his presence making my back tingle with awareness.
He stepped up to my side and lowered himself into the seat next to me, unbuttoning his suit jacket and relaxing into the chair, looking confident.
“On the first day of school,” he started, looking only at Shaw, “my son came home and informed me that he had to have his phone in Ms. Bradbury’s class. Now, I purchased an expensive laptop, like many of the parents in this school, because we knew what tools were needed for a school of this caliber. Those expectations are very reasonable,” he pointed out, and I braced myself, knowing where this was going.
“However,” he continued, “my son is fourteen, and I’m not comfortable with him on social media. I’ve gone into this Facebook group the students frequent, and I don’t particularly like where some of these discussions venture. Christian is expected to maintain three different social media accounts, and he’s conversing with people I don’t know,” he stated. “Not only is his safety and those who influence him of greater concern now, but also the amount of distraction he contends with. He’ll be doing his math homework, and his phone will be going off due to notifications for Ms. Bradbury’s groups.”
I bit my tongue, both figuratively and literally, not because his concerns weren’t valid, but because this had all been addressed if he’d cared to take interest weeks ago.
I cleared my throat, turning to look at him. “Mr. Marek —”
“Call me Tyler,” he instructed, and I shot up my eyes, seeing the devious amusement behind his gaze.
I shook my head, annoyed that he kept working that into our conversations.
“Mr. Marek,” I continued, standing my ground, “on the first day of school, I sent home a document explaining all of this, because I foresaw these concerns.”
