Aeron’s eyes widen, the whites flashing in the dark.
Shadow looms over us, greasy around its edges—
And panting so loud—
Floor rushing up. Bright behind my eyeballs.
Red air.
THREE YEARS AGO
Aeron
Aged 29
Carl Sagan Preparatory School, NYC
No matter what was going on inside my head, I was always good at fitting in. It’s not hard to appear normal; that’s why some of the most awkward people are also some of the cleverest. Thus I never had time for people who worried their kids weren’t normal—it was narcissistic, projected bullshit.
Then I inherited Ash, and all knowledge of what was normal flew out of the window. Let me tell you something about kids, grasshoppers: they’re weird little bastards. Every single one of them. There is no ‘normal’—only an established hierarchy, their place within it, and how malleable they perceive the food chain to be.
Exhibit A: we just arrived at Ash’s new prep school, and he’s excited. Look at the tiny pansy: he’s barely up to my knee, and he’s chosen to wear a t-shirt that says My Other Car is Called Lightening McQueen. He should be fucking terrified—these pipsqueaks are going to eat him alive.
Principal Nadir, who is dressed in a smart skirt suit but still manages to seem like she should be teaching some hippy yoga retreat, appears amid the white walls and green ferns that adorn the reception area. Ash swings out from behind my legs to greet her.
“Mr. Lore.” She holds her hand out to shake mine. “It’s wonderful to see you again. And your…” She glances over my shoulder through the plate glass windows, where a blister of paparazzi threatens to pop. Her hand tightens, just slightly. “Entourage.”
“That wasn’t intentional.” Of course it’s intentional. “My apologies. I hope they won’t disturb the children.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had…interest.” She smiles tightly before bending at the waist. “Good morning, Asher. How are you feeling about starting school?”
“AMAZING!” he shrieks.
She doesn’t even flinch. “Wow. Now that’s the kind of response I like to see. Would you like a tour, or do you want to go straight to your class?”
“Straight to class.” He jerks around to stare up at me with pleading eyes. “Please, Aeron? Please?”
I beam at Principal Nadir. “Whatever makes him feel comfortable.”
“Well, I guess you saw the place during your induction morning, right?”
Ash nods vigorously. “I saw the play tables, and the cafeteria, and the swimming pool where you had sharks you could actually swim with—”
“Inflatable sharks,” she corrects in a gentle voice.
“And the play dough,” he babbles, taking her hand, “and the books—like Belle’s library, like Beauty and the Beast…”
While I follow Ash and the Principal down a brightly-lit corridor, the white walls adorned with the scrawled artwork of fetuses—sorry, kindergarteners—I appraise Nadir’s ass. It’s not bad for a woman in her late thirties, not bad at all; a little more definition around the top of her buttocks and she could achieve the heart-shaped Holy Grail. Nice pins too, though Tuija would weep a river at the sight of those clumpy court shoes. Surely sharp high heels are a must for anyone who works with kids? How else can you legally conceal a weapon…?
“Miss Klonsky is our first grade teacher,” Nadir explains as we trot through a concourse full of book cases. The sun spills through the glass ceiling. “She’s expecting you. You’ll be just in time for morning recess.”
“Ethan says recess is where you go outside and play games with the other kids,” Ash informs me in this sage voice, as if he’s the one giving the tour. Besides the induction, this is his first experience in a school full stop; Ethan takes him to groups and classes, but until now, I didn’t feel comfortable exposing him to the rest of the world. It felt like exposing myself.