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1. My son is NOT permitted on social media for homework. I encourage an atmosphere free of distractions, so I demand work where this is not required. No argument.
2. I will be notified BEFORE anything less than an A for an assignment is entered into his final grades.
3. The rubrics for the presentation grades don’t make sense. The presentations happen in school and are not something I can see, assess, or help him with. Performance assignments should not be graded.
4. Observing more experienced professionals in your field may yield a better understanding of student learning. If you’d like, I’d be happy to suggest to Principal Shaw that you shadow more adept teachers.
I trust that we will not have any other problems and you’ll prepare accordingly. My son will NOT be bringing his phone to class in the future. If you have any concerns, please contact my office anytime for an appointment.
Sincerely,
Tyler Marek
Silvery shots of pain ran through my jaw, and I realized I was clenching my teeth and not breathing.
I closed my eyes, drawing in a long, hot breath.
Son of a bitch.
I dropped my head back. “Ugh!” I growled, slamming my fists down on my thighs.
“Whoa,” I heard Jack say to my left. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head, seething. “A burden on families,” I bit out, barely unlocking my teeth. “This asshole is a millionaire, and social networking is free! What the hell is he talking about?” I shouted at my brother. “Son of a…!”
“What the hell happened, Easton?” he demanded again, this time louder as he swerved and then righted the steering wheel. A streetcar passed us on the left, its bell dinging.
I ignored him and looked down, scrolling through my phone. I’d programmed in parents’ home and work numbers the first week, so I clicked on Marek’s and found his cell phone number.
It was a Saturday, so I was guessing he wasn’t at work. I refused to e-mail back. I wanted this dealt with now.
“Easton, what are you doing?” I could see my brother working the wheel nervously and glancing at me.
I shook my head, laughing to myself. “Shadow more adept teachers,” I mocked, repeating his e-mail in a fake masculine voice as I looked to my brother with the phone ringing in my ear.
“I have to take time out of my hectic day to notify him personally every time his little prince gets a B?” I continued, complaining. “And why? So he can threaten me into not entering the grade?”
“Did a parent e-mail you?” he asked, slowly putting the pieces together.
I nodded. “Yeah. He expects and demands that I make changes, because he has a hang-up about my methods. Arrogant, entitled —” I stopped myself before my temper got away from me.
When there was no answer, I pulled the phone away from my ear and ended the call, clicking on his work number next. For men like him, the office never really closed. Perhaps he had a receptionist who could make an appointment.
The phone rang twice, and then I heard a click as someone answered.
“Good morning. Tyler Marek’s office,” a woman’s pleasant voice chirped. “How can I help you?”
My heart pounded in my ears, and I could feel the pulse in my neck throb. I held back, almost wishing he wasn’t in his office after all.
I needed time to calm down.
But I swallowed and pushed forward anyway. “Yes, hello,” I rushed out.
“Easton, keep your cool,” I heard my brother warn from my side.
I bit my lip to keep the anger out of my voice. “I’m Easton Bradbury calling for Mr. Marek,” I told her. “I’m sure he’s not in today, but —”
“Just a moment, please,” she interrupted, and disappeared.
I sucked in a breath, realizing that he was in after all.
“Marek?” my brother asked. “Tyler Marek?”
I glanced at him, arching an eyebrow in annoyance.
“Easton, get off the call,” Jack ordered.
His arm shot out, trying to grab the phone, but I slapped his hand away.
“Watch the road!” I barked, pointing at the street ahead.
“Easton, I’m serious,” he growled. “Tyler Marek has a workforce of more than ten thousand people. He may be a senator, for crying out loud. It isn’t your place to argue with him.”
I shot him a look. My place?
My brother was worried about his career, but I didn’t care who Marek was. He was still a man.
Nothing but a man.
“Ms. Bradbury.”
I turned my head away from my brother, suddenly hearing Marek’s voice in my ear.
Thick anticipation filled my chest, and I dropped my eyes, disappointed that I was actually excited.
“Mr. Marek,” I replied curtly, remembering why I had called. “I received your e-mail, and I’d love to…” I trailed off, wiping the sweat off my hairline. “I’d love to schedule a meeting to sit down and work out a plan for Christian.”
“We’ve already met,” he pointed out, his voice clipped. “And it was not a productive use of my time, Ms. Bradbury.”
I tried reasoning. “Mr. Marek, we both want what’s best for your son. If we work together —”
“Ms. Bradbury.” He cut me off, and I could hear people talking in the background. “Apparently I wasn’t clear enough in my e-mail, so let me save us both some time. My son has no problems with any other teacher, so it goes without saying that you’re the problem.” His stern voice cut me, and I felt like shrinking. “You suffer from an overindulged sense of entitlement, and you forget that your job is on a yearly contract.”
