Cheyenne Grady is a senior at Fort Bragg High School, where I am a secretary. We don’t have any permanent guidance counselors—rather, we rely on administrative personnel such as myself to aide the student body as best we can. When we can’t, the county’s traveling counselor will come in and help out. Unfortunately, after Cheyenne’s last meeting with the guidance counselor went south, he refused to schedule another meeting and instructed me to, “Figure it out.”
Up until last spring, Cheyenne was a solid B student. For reasons I haven’t been able to ascertain, her grades plummeted, she started cutting class, and her attitude has gone from mildly sour to just plain spiteful. And of course, Mr. Beck, our principal, saw fit to assign me Cheyenne Grady— his least experienced staff member with, in his opinion, his second-biggest problem student. Thankfully, my supervisor gets the honor of taking on Jeremy Whelan, the real thorn in Mr. Beck’s side.
I should have known something was up when he asked me if I knew Cheyenne’s dad. I said I didn’t, and Mr. Beck smiled so wide I thought his face was going to split in two. Like I said, I should have known then.
Since taking on Cheyenne’s case, I’ve followed protocol to the best of my understanding and thus have contacted Mr. Grady seven times over the last several months. Twice his voice mail was full, so I sent letters to the residence listed. Once he hung up on me before I could even get halfway through introducing myself. The rest of the times I’ve left messages that he hasn’t returned. To his credit, he did return one of my calls where the only words he spoke were to ask if Cheyenne was safe. When I said she was, he hung up and didn’t answer when I tried to call him back.
Now, after five meetings with Cheyenne since last spring, and with zero improvement in her grades, I’m forced to contact Mr. Grady again. I’ve called twice and he hasn’t answered. According to Mr. Beck, it’s imperative that I get his signature to allow Cheyenne entry into the counseling program, which allows students to make up assignments and missed classes during Saturday school. If he doesn’t sign the form and things don’t change soon, she’ll be forced to attend the local continuation school outside of town that has an eleven percent graduation rate. When I first met her, she talked about going to culinary school at length, but these last several months she’s mentioned it maybe twice. Without a high school diploma or a GED, she won’t be able to enter a vocational program – and I don’t want that for her. No matter how big of a pain in the ass she is, I kind of adore the kid. She’s smart and funny, and when she’s in a good mood, she’s really kind. I can’t help but think that something’s going on at home that leads her to such self-destructive behavior.
A sharp knock rattles on my desk. Lifting my head, I force a smile as I face Mr. Beck’s red, aging face.
“Holly,” he says by way of greeting. “How goes the Grady case?”
“Not well,” I admit. “Mr. Grady is obstinate in his refusal to communicate with me. I just don’t understand how a parent can be so absent from his child’s education.”
“Mr. Grady is a particular individual,” he says with a look on his face that I don’t understand. Every time we talk about Cheyenne or her mysterious father, Mr. Beck gets a wary look on his face that tells me that there’s a reason he gave Cheyenne’s case to me and isn’t handling it himself.
“Yes, well, he’s particularly an ass,” I withhold the rest of my comment, but just barely. “How important is it, really, to get his signature? Can’t we get her into academic counseling without his help? I can’t even get the guy on the phone to tell him why I’m calling, let alone to talk about his daughter’s future with him.”
“Two choices, Holly. Either get Mr. Grady’s signature acknowledging that his daughter will enter academic counseling or petition for her expulsion. We’ve waited long enough.”
“I don’t want her expelled, Mr. Beck. Something’s going on here. Cheyenne is a good kid. We can turn this around.”
Mr. Beck sighs and shakes his head slightly. “You meet Mr. Grady and you’ll understand a few things better. Cheyenne was a good kid once – they all were. But she’s on the fast track to the trailer park off highway twenty. Do yourself a favor and stop expending so much energy on this kid.” With that, Mr. Beck taps my desk again and walks away. Once I’m sure he’s out of earshot, I mutter a few choice words about his particular brand of leadership and refocus my attention to the problem at hand.
Leaning forward, I grab Cheyenne’s student profile and find her father’s phone number under the emergency contacts section. I practically have the number burned into my brain with how many times I’ve had to call. Mr. Beck may be convinced that Cheyenne is a lost cause, but I’m not. I hate the idea of giving up on kids, especially ones with such obviously screwed up parents.