Alan turned on his heel, stepped into the office, and went toward the smaller reception area off to the left. There was a table and chairs set out that looked as if no one ever used them, and a wall full of college brochures, broken down by in-state, out of state, and international opportunities. One office door was shut with the lights off, but the other was open and I could hear someone typing away.
Alan peeked into that room. “Mr. McCabe?”
“Mr. Hansen.”
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Come in” was the gruff response.
Alan looked over his shoulder at me before stepping inside.
I followed and stopped in the doorway, waving with my free hand. “Good morning. My name’s Bowen Merlin—”
“Band director, I know.” McCabe stood from his desk. He cut an imposing figure, as tall as me but with bulk I’d never obtain even in my wildest dreams. “Ross McCabe. Are you here with Mr. Hansen?”
“Ah, yes. He asked that I stop by and chat with you about enrolling him in my music composition course for the remainder of the year.”
“No.”
I opened my mouth and then paused. I looked at Alan sitting in a chair, staring up at me hopefully. “Okay. But I’m giving him permission to join my class. In fact, I want him to join. I’ve seen, albeit briefly, a piece of his composition, and I feel that Alan would greatly benefit from this class and the opportunity to explore—”
“Sophomores who have below a C average in any one class,” McCabe began, sitting once more, “cannot take unnecessary extracurricular courses. Band satisfies his art credit required to graduate. He will remain in study hall.”
“What’s your grade in math class?” I asked Alan.
“Sixty-eight,” he muttered.
“Oh.”
“Oh, is correct,” McCabe said.
Wow. What a cock. And that wasn’t a compliment.
I set my violin case down. “Is there anything we can do?”
McCabe stared at me. “Hansen can pass his math course and join next year.”
“But study hall is a waste of time,” Alan insisted, sounding desperate. “Studying by myself when I’m struggling to understand algebra doesn’t help.”
“What about a tutor?” I suggested.
“Our school doesn’t provide tutors,” McCabe replied. “Perhaps Hansen could find a student who would like to help him.”
I glanced down at Alan and watched him deflate. He seemed like a quiet kid who didn’t go out of his way to make friends, especially one who would also volunteer their free time to teach him a complex subject.
“What about a tutor outside of school?” I asked.
McCabe let out a heavy breath, nostrils flaring. “Are you really going to argue with me this early in the morning, Merlin?”
I didn’t immediately respond and instead gave McCabe a smile. I couldn’t afford to make an enemy on my first week, especially if I planned to be teaching here for the long haul. And if I screwed myself with McCabe now, who knew how he’d use it against me with future students.
“I’m not trying to argue, sir,” I answered. “I agree with you that Alan needs to do better in his math class.”
Alan looked at me, frowning.
“But,” I continued, “maybe a dedicated tutor after school would be better for him. He can join my class at the same time, and if by next progress report, Alan isn’t maintaining a minimum of aC, then per your guidelines, he will drop my comp class.”
McCabe crossed his arms. “You’re creating more work for yourself,” he stated.
