Read Online The Great Perhaps by Joe Meno - Free Book Online

end?”
    “No, you need to go now,” Madeline says.
    “Okay. Do I need to talk to her principal, too?”
    “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you.”
    “Okay. I’m getting dressed. I should probably wear a sweater or something nice, don’t you think?”
    “Jonathan?”
    “Yes?”
    “You have to figure it out by yourself, okay? I have to go.”
    “Okay.”
    Madeline hangs up the phone and hurries back to the lab.
     
     
    A NSWERING IMAGINARY QUESTIONS from the imaginary principal, Jonathan puts on a black sweater, then changes his mind, puts on a brown shirt that is much too small, then goes back to the black sweater. As a matter of fact, yes, we are quite proud of her political interests. We only wish she would exercise some restraint, maybe learn to listen more? Yes, that’s exactly what we think. Jonathan brushes his teeth, still talking. Maybe she does need to get involved in other activities. Lacrosse sounds great. We didn’t even know lacrosse was an option. We love lacrosse. Yes, we’re great admirers of people who play lacrosse.
     
     
    A S USUAL, HIS CAR, a rusted red Peugeot from his college days, will not start. He has to coax it, talking to it like an unresponsive friend, Okay, pal, okay, buddy, come on, now, pal , until it turns over. At his daughter’s high school, Jonathan circles around for a parking spot, finds one, then stumbles out, searching for the principal’s office. He sees his reflection in a trophy case and is astonished that his hair looks the way it does, blond, uncombed, standing up straight along his neck. When he finds Amelia in the principal’s office, sitting in a powder-blue chair, her chin resting in her hands, he begins to feel angry. She starts to stand and Jonathan sees she has been crying. Are they real tears? Yes, they are. His anger immediately turns to something else as he pats her shoulder gently.
    “What happened?” he asks.
    “I got in trouble for writing something.”
    “Writing what?”
    “I said that the school is racist because all the cafeteria workers are black.”
    “Oh.” Jonathan looks around the tiny office, sizing it up. “Well, are they?”
    “Yeah. Except Maribel. She’s Bolivian.”
    “I see.” He wonders what other questions he should be asking. He shrugs his shoulders and asks, “How long are you suspended for?”
    “Like a week, I think.”
    “Okay, wait here. I think I have to talk to your principal or something.”
    “Please don’t make this worse, Dad.”
    “I’ll do my best.”
    Jonathan nods, itching his beard. He introduces himself to the red-haired receptionist who nervously picks up the phone and whispers, “Mr. Hearst is here.” Jonathan gives her a dirty look, squinting hard. The receptionist blushes, hangs up the phone, and says, “He’ll be right with you.” Jonathan glances back at his daughter, trying to figure it all out. Amelia has always been the smart one, the mature one, the one who knows the answer to the question before you’ve even had a chance to finish asking it. Maybe she is a little too bossy. Maybe she is a little too quick to tell you what your problem is. Maybe she is a little too proud, a little too superior. Looking at her sitting there, Jonathan knows that she’s going to end up being somebody great. Maybe she ought to keep her mouth shut a little more often. But look at this place, this awful dreary office, this awful dreary school, with its little wood-veneered desk and coffee machine and fax and absentee reports. It would drive me nuts, too , Jonathan thinks. Maybe it’s better that she’s testing her limits than just following the same, simple-minded rules. Maybe it’s better she make a few big mistakes than to never try and do anything big at all. Jonathan begins to nod to himself as the principal, Mr. Stuart, steps out of his office, extending his hairy hand.
    “I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Mr. Stuart.”
    “Jonathan Casper, Amelia’s dad. Thanks for calling