Right at three o’clock, I was pulling out of my work parking lot, singing out of tune with the radio, and trying to hype myself up about my waitressing shift that night.
My schedule was insane but consistent. Monday through Friday, I worked for Evaline from eight in the morning until three in the afternoon. Friday night through Sunday night, I worked at a restaurant in town known for its chicken wings and beer. My shifts there started around four in the evening and ended whenever we closed, usually around midnight or one in the morning.
The hour in-between shifts gave me just enough time to grab Jamie from school, drop him off at my parents’ house, and change clothes before heading right back out.
On Sunday mornings, I worked another six-hour shift at a shipping company for a man named Ken, inputting driver timesheets and processing the week’s payroll. All of it added up to over sixty hours. That wasn’t taking into account any guard shifts I might occasionally pick up as well.
I was still a few minutes away from the school when my phone rang with an incoming call. I glanced down at the screen to see the caller ID showing Jamie’s school. Shit.
I pulled into the lot, edging my Jeep into a tight parking space. The call had been the secretary, asking me to come into the office to get Jamie rather than the car rider line. Thinking he’d been hurt, my stomach had dropped, sending a nauseating sensation up my chest and into my throat.
She’d assured me he was fine, and that Mrs. Brueger just needed to speak with me. Considering Mrs. Brueger was the principal, I couldn’t say it made me feel a whole lot better. I yanked the tie out of my hair, re-working it into a tighter, more presentable bun, and peeked at myself in the mirror. Go figure it’d be the day I didn’t wear any makeup.
I glanced at the clock, frustrated. If I didn’t hurry, I would be late for work for the second time in the same day. Slipping my heels back on, I made my way into the school, the click of my shoes on the linoleum echoing out like the inevitable countdown of a bomb.
My meetings with the principal never ended how they started. We’d begin by swapping tight smiles and each sit, clenching a metaphorical item in our hands—me, a matchstick, and her, a lighter. Then she’d lean forward, slowly, politely, and set it aflame, smiling at me all the while. I’d begin to sweat, watching the minuscule flame eat closer and closer to my skin. And just when I’d think I’d lucked out and it began to die off, she’d throw fucking gasoline on it.
Mrs. Brueger may have allowed Jamie to attend the school, but only because she had no actual reason to deny him. My money was as good as anybody else’s, and she despised both it and me. She hadn’t always. She’d frowned on Jamie’s first day when I’d explained I was his mother, but that was it.
Then one day, I made the mistake of forgetting to deposit my month’s worth of tips into my bank account, and I’d had to pay Jamie’s tuition in mostly ones and fives. If I’d brought in a dead body, she wouldn’t have shown as much horror and disgust as she did when she saw that cash.
She’d assumed the worst and hated me ever since.
The secretary ushered me into Mrs. Brueger’s office, telling me she was going to retrieve Jamie from his classroom and have him wait for me.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Hartland.” I looked at the dark-haired woman sitting at the desk, not missing the way she stressed the Ms.
I took a seat across from her, giving her the usual practiced smile and sat back, crossing my legs. The office was small and always made me feel trapped. “Good afternoon.”
“I’ll make this quick. Something with Jamie has been brought to my attention, and I feel it is prudent we discuss it.”
“Okay.” I intertwined my hands in my lap, already wanting to throttle her by her tone alone.
“His teacher, Mrs. Rener, said Jamie hasn’t been completing assignments and has been lying about—”
“My son doesn’t lie.”
“—it, saying he turned them in.”
“If Jamie says he turned something in, he did. He sits at our table several nights a week and works on assignments.”
Ignoring me completely, she kept on going, rolling a pen back and forth between her thumb and pointer. “Mrs. Rener also said he regularly ignores her lectures and reads books under his desk.”
“Then he’s bored.”
She opened her mouth, but I continued. “Look, I’m not saying it’s okay for him to ignore the lesson, it’s not, and I’ll talk to him about it. But he has an A in every subject, so he understands what’s being taught, he’s just not handling it in a great way.”
She set her pen down, leaning forward onto her elbows and resting her chin against her steepled fingers. “Is there anything going on in his life that might account for his sudden disinterest in school? Any changes?”
I deserved an award for containing my eye roll. She was blatantly disregarding everything I was saying. “We moved out of our apartment and into a new home a few weeks ago.”
“Ah,” she said, as if that explained everything. “That’s probably it. Suddenly having a new bed and new people around is a lot for a child his age.”
My hands clenched each other so hard, a few knuckles popped. “We didn’t move in with anyone. It’s still only us, and he sleeps on the same bed he always has.”
“Are there male figures coming in and out of his life?”
“Excuse me?” My face grew hot, my ears raging infernos on either side of my head. Was she fucking serious?
“I’m just trying to find out if there’s anything going on that might be causing him anxiety and to feel like he has to escape into a fictional world, Ms. Hartland.”
“I do not have men coming in and out of my home, Mrs. Brueger, and I do not appreciate the insinuation that I do.”
“My apologies. I suppose it was presumptuous of me to accuse you of allowing your dates to meet him.” She didn’t sound apologetic at all. She sounded like she was so full of shit that it was packed all the way up to her tonsils.
“I don’t date.”
“Is his father—”
I stood abruptly, the chair scraping across the floor like nails on a chalkboard. “If that’s all, Mrs. Brueger, I need to go. I’d rather not be any later to work than I need to be. I will email Mrs. Rener to apologize and to discuss providing Jamie with higher level work. I will also speak with him tonight about his behavior in class.”
Her mouth hung open, like she was genuinely shocked I’d cut her off and would leave. “Yes. Please do.”
I was fuming, practically foaming at the mouth when I re-entered the main office. Jamie jumped off his seat, eyes wide and white knuckling his bag. I didn’t acknowledge the secretary as I stormed out. I couldn’t. I was ten seconds away from exploding.
Jogging to keep up with my pace, Jamie didn’t say a word as he buckled into his seat, but I could feel his eyes on me. I ripped off my heels, throwing them on the passenger seat and watching them bounce off onto the floorboard. I curled my hands around the steering wheel in an iron grip, blinking rapidly and trying to clear my vision enough to get us home.
“Mom? Are you mad at me?”
Awesome. Superb parenting, Madison. Meet with your child’s principal and then leave pissed and not say a word to him. That won’t give him the wrong idea at all.
My head dropped forward to rest my forehead against the wheel. The burn in my eyes finally easing as the tears won the battle and slid down my cheeks.
“No, bud. I’m not mad at you.” I applauded myself on how smooth the words came out even while my soul was splintering on the inside.
“Am I in trouble?”
Leaning back, I futilely swiped at my eyes and forced myself to put the Jeep into reverse and leave Satan’s playground. “Your teacher is frustrated with your lack of interest in class. She said you’re ignoring lessons and reading books. I agree with her that the behavior is disrespectful. You know better. But no, you’re not in trouble as long as you promise to stop.”
“Then why are you sad?”