The polished halls of Lamar High School are empty when Jay arrives, somewhere in the middle of third period. He’s spent surprisingly little time inside the school. In two years, Ellie hasn’t yet found her way into any clubs, sports teams, or school plays, spending most of her time with Lori King. Besides a couple of parent-teacher conferences, he’s mostly viewed his daughter’s high school years from a distance. Bernie worked a few fund-raising events early last year, even chaperoning the freshman fall dance, which Ellie didn’t attend. Jay was always working. He’s never met the principal, Ms. Hilliard, and feels somewhat embarrassed by his surprise at seeing a woman nearly a decade younger than he is. Somewhere in his mind he must have been carrying an image of his own principal, Mr. Cleveland Simms, at the colored high school in Lufkin, a thirty-minute bus ride from his boyhood home in Nigton. Debra Hilliard is in her late thirties, soft-spoken and no taller than her students. From behind her desk, she smiles at Jay. Ellie is sitting in the chair to his right. She looked at him once when he walked in and gave a small shrug.
He’s made himself a promise not to get upset until he hears her side of the story, whatever this is about. Innocent until proven guilty, and all that. He’s been in a hot seat before and believes his daughter deserves no less than what he got. This isn’t a courtroom, of course; Ellie is certainly not up against the kinds of serious charges he was in 1970, when he was, hard to believe, only four years older than she is now. Still, he feels a strict allegiance to his kid. He has very nearly tired of the pity thrown on his family, every tough conversation couched in professed understanding of the Porters’ difficult situation, the pain they must be in, all of it just a run-up to whatever criticism they were going to lob anyway.
Ms. Hilliard, as far as Jay is concerned, can skip the big speech.
“What’d she do?”
“I like Ellie,” she says.
“I do too.”
“She’s smart, incredibly conscientious with her peers, and dedicated, I would have said a week ago, to her schoolwork.” She shoots a glance at Ellie. “And I know it’s been a hell of a year for your family, excuse my language.”
“What did she do?”
“Okay, Mr. Porter,” she says drily. She’s a black woman with shoulder-length hair, dangly silver earrings peeking from behind the strands. She’s wearing a cotton button-down, rolled up at the sleeves, and blue slacks. She clasps her hands on the desktop. “I guess it’s more what she didn’t do.” She looks at Ellie again, giving her a chance to come clean. Ellie, her black Starter jacket across her lap, fiddles with the zipper.
“I skipped class,” she says softly.
“Classes. She’s skipped classes.”
“Elena?”
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
She has her head down, but Jay thinks he sees tears, actual tears, in her eyes. The skin on the back of her neck is flushed, her cheeks plum with shame. “Once last week, and two times this week,” Ms. Hilliard says. “The girls left the campus without permission. I’m afraid I’m going to have to put her on suspension. I’ll be speaking with Lori King’s mother as well.”
“You’re going to punish her for missing school by having her miss more school?” Jay says, squirming a little in his chair, angry, but not sure with which one of them. Debra Hilliard smiles tightly. She opens a top drawer, pulling out a blue pad of suspension slips. She scribbles a few words across the top, sliding the paper across the desk for Jay to sign. “I think the hope is that this gives the two of you a chance to talk. And you, as her parent, to find out what’s going on with Ellie.” Jay reaches across the desk and signs the principal’s order. “It should be two days,” she says, “but we’ll count today as a full one and leave it at that. She can come back on Tuesday.” She looks over at Ellie. “I’m rooting for you, Elena. It might not seem that way now, but I’m on your side.”
Jay stands. “You too, Mr. Porter,” the principal says.
“Let’s go, Ellie.”
He grabs her backpack from the floor, nodding once to the principal before escorting his daughter into the hall and down the main stairs. Outside, in the parking lot, Jay, on an impulse, holds out the car keys for Ellie. She stares at them, her eyes still damp. “Really?” She looks at her dad, incredulous at first, then breaking into something resembling a smile. She’s had a learner’s permit since she turned fifteen in September, and they’d made a deal to get on the road together at least once a week, which is not that easy with just the three of them in the house; Jay is not comfortable having Ben in the backseat while his sister learns to drive. But it’s a few hours before Ben’s out of school, and they might as well take the opportunity at hand. “Why not?” he says, letting her know he still trusts her, hoping she shows him the same in kind. He walks around to the passenger door, climbing into the Land Cruiser, and waits for her to get behind the wheel.
“You hungry?”
Ellie is busy adjusting the side mirrors, and doesn’t answer. She’s focused on getting the car started, so nervous that Jay has to remind her to put her foot on the brake. When the engine finally turns over, he tells her to pull out of the parking lot and make a right on Westheimer. Neither of them has had any lunch, and he offers to buy her a late breakfast at the 59 Diner, pancakes and eggs.
Ellie nods, her hands gripped at “ten and two” on the steering wheel.
“You’re doing fine,” Jay says. He leans forward, checking the side-view mirror. A pickup truck pulls up close to them, almost kissing the Land Cruiser’s bumper. Ellie hardly notices, stopping short at a yellow light. Jay braces himself against the dash. “What’s going on, El?” he says. “Why’d you skip school?”
“It was just a few times.”