the landscape guy mowing the school’s lawn was bordering pathetic.
Micah motioned for Ben to move his wheelchair forward, accidentally bumping the
Transformers
book bag that hung from its handles. A loose paper fluttered to his feet. “What’s this?” He stooped to pick the wrinkled paper up and unfolded it, revealing a drawing inside.
“That’s mine!” Ben attempted to snatch it with his right arm. “Give it back. It’s mine.”
A flicker of something passed across Micah’s eyes, and his jaw hardened. “What the hell is this?”
“Dad!
Pleease,
” Ben begged. “It’s trash.”
Kat looked between them, and then took the paper that Micah handed her. It was a penciled sketch of a boy in a wheelchair with various mean words circling the stick-figure boy.
Geek. Nerd. Loser. Dumb.
“Who gave this to you, Ben?” she asked.
Ben looked like he was on the verge of tears. “No one.
I
drew it.”
“Ben,” Micah warned. “That’s not your handiwork. Who gave it to you?” he asked more forcefully.
Ben looked away, his mouth tightly shut. He wasn’t going to talk.
Kat crouched down, resting her hands on the arms of Ben’s wheelchair, and lowered her voice. “Whoever drew it, they’re wrong.” She waited for him to meet her eyes. “None of those things are true. You know that, right?”
Sniffling, he nodded. “I’m definitely not dumb. I’m much smarter than your average third grader.”
This made her smile. “And you’re not a nerd, or a geek, or a loser. If you don’t want to tell us who drew that picture, you don’t have to.”
“Now wait one minute,” Micah said behind her, his voice hard-edged like it’d been earlier in the week.
Kat didn’t turn back. Instead, she continued talking to Ben. “But if you change your mind, I’d really like to talk to the person who drew that picture. A kid has to feel really bad about themselves to want to tear someone else down.”
Ben blinked. “I didn’t think about that.”
She lifted a shoulder and stood, ironing her hands over her skirt. “My office door is always open. I’m a good listener, and I happen to know that you’re a good talker.”
Ben’s contagious smile was back. “Okay.” His gaze moved to his father.
Kat hesitated before looking at Micah, too, already suspecting what she’d see in his expression—something similar to what she’d seen after she’d walked Ben to class on the first day of school—unmasked disapproval.
Not looking at her, Micah reached for the drawing in her hand and gave it another quick glance, growling under his breath. “We’ll talk at home,” he said to Ben.
It was obvious he didn’t like the way she’d handled the situation. Would he rather that she bully the answer out of his son, though?
“Have a nice weekend,” he said tightly, walking with Ben toward his Jeep Cherokee in the parking lot.
“ ’Bye, Principal Chandler,” Ben called, not looking back.
“ ’Bye. See you Monday!” And with that, the first week of school was over. Kat blew out a breath. Not too bad. Everyone had survived, and next week would be even better—as long as she kept her hard and fast attraction toward a certain parent in check, and proved to him that she had his son’s best interests at heart. Because she did. Ben was a great kid, and she was going to make sure that he, and every other student at SES, was successful this year.
—
Micah stared at Ben across the dinner table that night. He’d made salads on purpose. Ben hated salads and, for the life of him, he didn’t know how to punish the kid. Ben needed to tell on his bully, so that the brat could be tossed in that Friendship Club the school was constructing for mean kids.
“You don’t protect the people who hurt you,” he said, studying Ben’s forlorn features.
“You protect Mom,” Ben countered.
Micah started to argue, stopping short when the doorbell rang. He pointed a finger. “Not the same, but hold that thought.”
He
Micah motioned for Ben to move his wheelchair forward, accidentally bumping the
Transformers
book bag that hung from its handles. A loose paper fluttered to his feet. “What’s this?” He stooped to pick the wrinkled paper up and unfolded it, revealing a drawing inside.
“That’s mine!” Ben attempted to snatch it with his right arm. “Give it back. It’s mine.”
A flicker of something passed across Micah’s eyes, and his jaw hardened. “What the hell is this?”
“Dad!
Pleease,
” Ben begged. “It’s trash.”
Kat looked between them, and then took the paper that Micah handed her. It was a penciled sketch of a boy in a wheelchair with various mean words circling the stick-figure boy.
Geek. Nerd. Loser. Dumb.
“Who gave this to you, Ben?” she asked.
Ben looked like he was on the verge of tears. “No one.
I
drew it.”
“Ben,” Micah warned. “That’s not your handiwork. Who gave it to you?” he asked more forcefully.
Ben looked away, his mouth tightly shut. He wasn’t going to talk.
Kat crouched down, resting her hands on the arms of Ben’s wheelchair, and lowered her voice. “Whoever drew it, they’re wrong.” She waited for him to meet her eyes. “None of those things are true. You know that, right?”
Sniffling, he nodded. “I’m definitely not dumb. I’m much smarter than your average third grader.”
This made her smile. “And you’re not a nerd, or a geek, or a loser. If you don’t want to tell us who drew that picture, you don’t have to.”
“Now wait one minute,” Micah said behind her, his voice hard-edged like it’d been earlier in the week.
Kat didn’t turn back. Instead, she continued talking to Ben. “But if you change your mind, I’d really like to talk to the person who drew that picture. A kid has to feel really bad about themselves to want to tear someone else down.”
Ben blinked. “I didn’t think about that.”
She lifted a shoulder and stood, ironing her hands over her skirt. “My office door is always open. I’m a good listener, and I happen to know that you’re a good talker.”
Ben’s contagious smile was back. “Okay.” His gaze moved to his father.
Kat hesitated before looking at Micah, too, already suspecting what she’d see in his expression—something similar to what she’d seen after she’d walked Ben to class on the first day of school—unmasked disapproval.
Not looking at her, Micah reached for the drawing in her hand and gave it another quick glance, growling under his breath. “We’ll talk at home,” he said to Ben.
It was obvious he didn’t like the way she’d handled the situation. Would he rather that she bully the answer out of his son, though?
“Have a nice weekend,” he said tightly, walking with Ben toward his Jeep Cherokee in the parking lot.
“ ’Bye, Principal Chandler,” Ben called, not looking back.
“ ’Bye. See you Monday!” And with that, the first week of school was over. Kat blew out a breath. Not too bad. Everyone had survived, and next week would be even better—as long as she kept her hard and fast attraction toward a certain parent in check, and proved to him that she had his son’s best interests at heart. Because she did. Ben was a great kid, and she was going to make sure that he, and every other student at SES, was successful this year.
—
Micah stared at Ben across the dinner table that night. He’d made salads on purpose. Ben hated salads and, for the life of him, he didn’t know how to punish the kid. Ben needed to tell on his bully, so that the brat could be tossed in that Friendship Club the school was constructing for mean kids.
“You don’t protect the people who hurt you,” he said, studying Ben’s forlorn features.
“You protect Mom,” Ben countered.
Micah started to argue, stopping short when the doorbell rang. He pointed a finger. “Not the same, but hold that thought.”
He
Similar Books
