PRINCIPAL HAMILTON’S ROMAN blinds are closed because not far from his office the media are camped at the entrance to Grace O’Malley secondary school. A staff member had tipped them off that today would be my first day back. They had pushed cameras up against the darkened glass of Dad’s Jeep so hard that I thought they’d crack the panes. Dad had to crawl through them; he could barely see where he was driving. Inside, I felt terrified, claustrophobic, suffocated by so many eyes on me, wondering how my merely sitting there would be twisted and analyzed. Juniper had stared straight ahead, not flinching, not moving, as though she hadn’t even noticed. And by the looks of it, they’ve also been making Principal Hamilton’s life a living hell. His face has broken into a rash, running down his wobbly neck into his shirt. Broken capillaries are even more exaggerated on his bulbous nose.
I had never had a conversation with Principal Hamilton before, had never had any cause to, but today a meeting has been called to discuss me. Present are my mathematics teacher, Ms. Dockery, and my civics teacher, Mr. Browne. Ms. Dockery gives me a nervous smile when I sit down. Mr. Browne doesn’t even look at me. I fight the urge to pounce on them and shout in a strange animal noise, pretending to put a Flawed curse on them all. That would really scare them.
Mr. Hamilton looks hassled as he tries to organize himself for the meeting and the phone rings yet again.
“Susan, I said hold the calls, please.” He listens. “No, I will not be holding a press conference. No, I have already discussed this with the Parents Association and the board.” He sighs. “I will not make a statement, either.” He hangs up.
“Mr. Hamilton,” my dad begins. “I understand you are under a great deal of pressure. We all are, and we want this to run as smoothly as possible for everybody involved. I believe there is another entrance to the school that Celestine could use. One that would allow her to come and go without receiving the treatment she received this morning. She is no longer in Highland Castle. The ruling is over. She shouldn’t be subjected to this in her own school.”
“I hear you, Mr. North, and, personally, I agree.”
Mr. Browne objects, and Mr. Hamilton throws him a look. “I take the view that all students should be treated equally, and that is the philosophy I have handed down to all the teachers here.”
Mr. Browne objects again, but Mr. Hamilton interrupts him.
“We’ll get to that,” Mr. Hamilton goes on. “Using the other entrance is also an idea I suggested myself, but I have a document here from a”—he checks the cover letter—“Mary May, your Whistleblower, which informs me of what I can and cannot do in my own school.” He seems annoyed about this. “And, unfortunately, allowing Celestine to use another entrance to help ease her arrival and departure would be seen as aiding.”
“She is one of your students, goddammit!” Dad thumps the table in anger.
Mr. Hamilton allows a moment for Dad to calm himself. “And I agree. However, I have been instructed, and I can’t put my teachers, or my school, in any further turmoil.”
“We can’t drive and collect Celestine to and from school every day, Mr. Hamilton,” Dad says more calmly. “She is in an unusual position in that she can’t even take the bus herself. She’s too exposed if she cycles, and she doesn’t have her full driver’s license yet. I’m nervous about her traveling alone; the way these photographers drive is dangerous. Special dispensation must be made for her situation. It is dangerous for her.”
This shouldn’t be a surprise to me, but it is. To hear Dad say it makes my silent fears real.
“I understand. Believe me.” Mr. Hamilton looks at me nervously. “Perhaps we should discuss this further when Celestine has gone to class.”
“It’s about me. I want to hear,” I say simply. That’s not true. I don’t want to hear it, I need to hear it.
“Very well. I wanted to raise the issue of homeschooling.”
“What?” Dad asks, sounding disgusted.
“Celestine only has a few months left of school before final exams. It is not long. She is almost there. I am aware she is one of our top students, gradewise. I don’t want to see her results suffer. There has been a lot of talk with the Parents Association. Some, not all, are concerned that having a Flawed at the school will have a negative effect on the reputation of the school.”
“You can’t discriminate against my daughter because she is Flawed. She has a right to be in this school.”
“I know that. But already our enrollment numbers for September are down after this … outcome. Parents are worried. Students are worried that in bringing down the good name of the school, it will tarnish their reputations for college and job applications. I am just telling you what it is being discussed, Mr. North,” he says before Dad explodes again. “I have the reputation of the school to consider.”
“You have the goodwill of your students to consider.”
“The unfortunate thing is that a number of teachers, represented here by Mr. Browne, have said they are not in favor of teaching Celestine any longer. Though that is their decision, not mine, I still have to support my teachers and put the facts to you,” he says gruffly. “I’m sure you’ll agree that homeschooling is better than expulsion.”
This makes me feel sick, and I think about Carrick, not for the first time, but as I do every time I’m faced with the new reality of being a Flawed. I wonder how he is surviving. I don’t know if not hearing from him is a good sign for him or bad.