"Yes, the form has been signed."
"Ms. Mercer, I can't tell you how to live your life, but I do want to warn you that Sterling's bike club are not the kind of people you want to associate with. Look at Cheyenne Grady and Jeremy Whelan – both of their dads are part of that gang – neither of them have much of a future. Those people go around having kids they don't discipline, nor do they care about. It's none of my business what you do in your off-time, and I apologize for stepping over the bounds, but I like you, Holly. I don't want to see you get hurt or mixed up in their criminal enterprise."
I'm silent for a few moments too long, and Mr. Beck starts talking again. He's never been shy about his disapproval of the club and its members, and that’s fine. But it’s not Jeremy Whelan’s fault that he was given the short end of the stick, and it certainly isn’t Cheyenne’s fault, either. They’re just kids, and I don’t really care what Dick thinks of the club. He’s taking it out on a couple of kids, and that’s not fair.
In the weeks since my visit to the Grady residence, I’ve discovered that there are three other students in this school with worse attendance records, poorer grades, and more difficult temperaments than either Cheyenne or Jeremy have exhibited. Despite the fact that I’ve brought those students to Mr. Beck’s attention, he’s shown little interest in pursuing expulsion for them. I suppose Mr. Beck lets them slide because two of them are athletes and the other one is the child of a local business owner. I’m willing to bet none of their parents have a criminal record, and that’s what this vendetta is really about. Either way, it ends here.
“Is there a reason you won’t issue Jeremy Whelan a work permit, but you allow Edwin Nielson to continue playing football despite the fact that his GPA is two points below Jeremy’s and he has four more unexcused absences as well?”
“It’s at my discretion to determine whom I may and may not make exceptions for. Jeremy has exhibited no desire to better himself. Edwin Nielson has been struggling with recovering from his football injury during a practice at defense camp over the summer.”
“So, because Jeremy doesn’t play football he doesn’t deserve a chance to graduate high school?” I ask. My jaw locks at the end of my sentence and I have to force it loose. Everything I feared about having this conversation with Mr. Beck is coming to fruition. Our football team isn’t even that good, and we haven’t made state in the last decade, but Edwin Nielson is popular and his dad isn’t an outlaw, so I suppose that’s enough for Mr. Beck to show him a little grace.
“I’m glad you got Mr. Grady to sign the counseling form. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a busy schedule,” Mr. Beck says by means of dismissal. I exit the room and shut the door behind me as quickly and quietly as possible. I didn’t know it could happen, but my head now feels even worse than it did before I entered Mr. Beck’s office. Now that he’s shown how utterly unfair of a human being he is, I can’t help but rack my brain trying to figure out if there’s anything I can do to help Jeremy, and by extension, help the club. Grady doesn’t need to know that I still feel immense guilt over possibly causing Cheyenne anymore grief. Maybe I can ease some of that if I can help Jeremy.
I’m barely in my seat when Margot turns around and says, “Tell ya what, just take an extended lunch. I’ll eat something here. Go grab something for your head at the store, take a walk. Do something. Just get out of here for a little bit.”
“You’re right.” I should get out of here for a bit. It’s past the time I normally take lunch, and I’ve been cooped up at my desk for weeks now. Actually, I’ve kept myself cooped up at home as well. After leaving the Grady residence I started noticing that someone was following me. At first I figured I was just plain paranoid, but the chances of seeing the same exact person following a few car lengths behind me every single day is probably pretty small. It wasn’t until I saw him in a beige sedan parked in the school parking lot when I came out of work one day last week that I knew for sure that the club had somebody watching me. I can only hope the guy hasn’t told Grady that I know he’s following me because I let my temper get the better of me and I gave him a one-finger wave. It was not one of my finer moments, I’ll admit.
I’m leaving the office when I spot my favorite student leaning against a row of lockers. She’s got her back to me and her head tilted up as she listens to Jeremy Whelan grouching about Mr. Beck no doubt.