I made a mental note to text Catherine. I was going to be late tonight. Then I’d have to get ready for the fight when I got home. “It’s not fair,” I said. “It’s just not fair.” I would have said it more, screamed it if I could.

“It’s not,” Janet said. “Clark, I’m so sorry. When I invited you to teach my class, I didn’t mean for this to happen!”

“We know,” Beouf said. “We know.” I could only nod my agreement. Words were hard just then.

The three circled around me. Hugging me. Hugging each other. Down the back of my neck, I swore I felt a teardrop. I’d just gotten everything I thought I’d wanted from a few days prior:

A hug from several trusted friends and confidants.

A sincere apology.

Maybe even an Amazon’s tears.

I’d gotten everything I’d said to myself I’d needed, and felt more scared and miserable than ever.

The hug broke off. “Come on, Boss,” Tarnia said. “Let’s hop to it. This might be a long night.”

I sat there in Oakshire Elementary’s clinic near the front desk, completely exhausted. Tarnia, Mrs Beouf and I had spent the entire previous night cleaning my room to beyond perfection. My room was already in very good condition. ‘Very good’ wasn’t going to cut it. Nothing short of perfection would be acceptable.

As soon as Janet reported the essay that little pissant wrote about me, there would be blood in the water we knew and Principal Brollish would look for any excuse that she could warp or exaggerate to her advantage. We weren’t going to give her anything to work with.

Mrs Brollish disinfected and scrubbed every surface until it was shining. I organized my closet space, graded logged and sorted papers for return; even the ones that by contract didn’t need to be graded, yet. The play space for the kids went from ‘well used but tidy’ to ‘display model’. We found a stray Pull-Up hidden behind the cubbies. Bullet dodged; especially since it was a boy Pull-Up. Amazons would read into anything.

Tarnia beat us both. She called in some favors and got a couple of Tweener custodians to come in and work over the entire floor with a carpet cleaner. I had to excuse myself to go cry. The tears were a mixture of complete fear and panic coupled up with absolute disbelief and gratitude.

The rest of the night was coaching on what to say and what not to say. “The games you play with Forrest and the others aren’t going to cut it here.” Mrs Beouf told me. “Don’t give Brollish an opening. If you go for the cheese you’re going to get your hand snapped.” If I hadn’t been so terrified, I might have been surprised that Beouf knew what I’d been up to all these years.

I got home late that night. Catherine had been up and we had a fight. Even now, I can’t remember the exact wording, but it all came down to us being worried. Catherine wasn’t stupid. She knew what that hurried text about me staying late had really meant. She wanted to bug out and run that night. I wanted to stay and fight it. Not just because I was right but because I wanted to- needed to- prove the shitheads wrong. It was stupid and I shouldn’t have wanted to do it…

We compromised. I let her ride on the back of the scooter to work the next morning and she drove back home with it. If I didn’t contact her by dinner; she’d be gone.