Page 9 of The Headmaster’s Rule

Placing my shoes and earrings beside my dress on the bed, I survey the ensemble with a deep sigh. It’s the outfit of a proper, serious teacher. It’s what I should wear.

Anyway, my outfit is the least of my problems. If I want him to take me seriously, I need to show up prepared.

I pull out my notebook from this morning’s faculty meeting, casting my gaze over my notes. They’re a good start, but I need more. I need details, vendors, proposed budgets. It occurs to me that I don’t actually know what the fundraiser is for, so I’ll have to research broadly at this stage.

My neon-yellow three-ring binder sits on my desk, full of old teaching plans, and I remove them and set them aside. This will be perfect to house my fundraiser notes, plus it’s covered in these fun and uplifting quotes that always make me smile. Then I grab my laptop, and spend the rest of the evening researching fundraiser ideas.

I’m going to prove to Headmaster Wright that I’m a valuable asset to this team.

CHAPTER 5

Theo

The ache in my lower back is the only reason I step away from my desk. Setting my glasses aside, I stand and stretch, trying to loosen the tension gathering between my shoulder blades, rising up my neck. I’ve been holed up in my office all day, looking over projected costs for the fall fundraiser. I need to keep a tight rein on the budget this year, especially with all eyes on me.

In fact… I glance at my watch, shocked to find it’s 3:54 p.m. I’ve got that meeting in a few minutes. As if on cue, Margaret knocks softly on my door, then pops her head in.

“Don’t forget you’re meeting Eleanor Hart in the conference room at four,” she reminds me.

“Thanks, Margaret. I’ll be right out.”

I step into the private bathroom attached to my office. After relieving myself, I wash my hands, thinking about the meeting. I still don’t know which cause I want to support, which cause will result in the least fallout. And I still don’t know if having the new hire on board will help.

As I examine my reflection in the mirror above the sink, I can’t help but notice the dark circles under my eyes. Sleep has eluded me for months, and it shows. I splash some water on my face, rake my fingers through my hair, and straighten my tie. With a sigh, I leave the bathroom. Can’t avoid this meeting forever.

Margaret has already taken my files and glasses across, so I slip my phone into my pocket, pull on my suit jacket, and head to the conference room. It’s an unpleasant space, lit by fluorescent bulbs and windows that don’t open, but it will suit us just fine.

Eleanor hasn’t arrived yet, so I settle in at the table, pouring a glass of water from the carafe Margaret put out. And in the silence, I find myself wondering about what Eleanor will be wearing today. I haven’t seen her since she crawled on her classroom floor, for reasons I still don’t quite grasp. After yesterday’s polka dots and sunflowers, along with the dress I saw in her file photo, I’m expecting her to enter the room in something colorful. The sort of thing you’d imagine the host of a children’s TV show to wear.

But when she walks in wearing a slim-fitting knee-length dress in a dull charcoal gray, I’m taken aback. No flowers, no birds. No rainbows in her hair, no colorful fruit dangling from her ears. Is it possible I completely misread her yesterday? The faint hint of disappointment I feel makes no sense.

I rise from the table to greet her. She’s taller than I remember. When she bumped into me in the hall yesterday, she barely brushed my shoulder, but now she’s closer to my chin. I can’t stop my gaze from dropping to her feet, where I find red heels. Seeing them makes something that feels strangely like relief flicker in my chest.

“Miss Hart,” I say, extending my hand.

She sets her bag down, overflowing with colored paper and what appear to be pipe cleaners, and lets my large hand engulf hers.

“Headmaster Wright,” she responds, not meeting my gaze. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, sir.” She seems to cringe at this, shaking her head, then regaining her composure.

I release her hand, motioning for her to sit opposite me, and she does so stiffly, as if she’s never sat at a table before and isn’t sure where to put her limbs. A sweet, floral scent wafts toward me, something fresh yet classic. Peonies and roses. I lean away.

“So—” I begin, reaching for the files I’ve prepared, but she cuts me off anxiously.

“I’d like to explain about yesterday.”

I pause, genuinely curious about what I witnessed, but we need to stay on track. “There’s no need for that.”

“Please,” she insists, studying the woodgrain in the table.

I bite my tongue, gesturing for her to continue.

She laughs sheepishly, two red circles dotting her cheeks. “I’d made a sort of obstacle course as an ice-breaker activity to get the students out of their seats and the energy flowing after I’d talked about class rules and expectations. Balance the serious stuff with something fun, you know?”

I don’t know, but I nod anyway.

“And, well, they all did great.” Eleanor pulls a strand of hair over one shoulder, fiddling with the end as she speaks. “But then Amy said that I should do it too.”

I lean forward, clasping my hands. “Why?”