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  “I can’t do that. They’re already on the way.”

  He looks at me and then down at the chair he just vacated. Before I fully register what’s happening, he’s grabbed the heavy metal chair and is swinging it in my direction. I instinctively raise my arms up over my face, and the chair crashes down on my left forearm. He’s between me and the door, so there’s nowhere for me to go. Ignoring the throbbing pain in my arm, I grab the chair so that he can’t hit me with it again.

  “I need assistance!” I yell, hoping I don’t sound as panicked as I feel. I can’t get around him to get out of the room. I can’t let go of the chair or he’ll hit me again, and this time he might have better luck getting my head. We’re locked in a desperate tug of war, and I’m terrified that one of us is going to get seriously hurt.

  “I need assistance!” I call out again. Justin just grunts with the effort of pulling the chair away from me. I try to maneuver our bodies so that I can get between him and the door, but he’s too strong for me. I can feel my hands sweating, and I’m afraid I’m going to lose my grip on the chair.

  “Hey—enough!” A pair of hands comes from behind Justin, grabbing him expertly, hugging both his arms against his chest until he lets go of the chair. Justin starts to struggle.

  “I said enough!” The voice is strong, authoritative, and unafraid. It’s the director of Justin’s group home, a big man with a soft spot for children, who obviously knows his way around restraining kids. He looks at me.

  “Are you all right?”

  I resist the urge to hold my aching arm. It hurts almost as much as my wounded pride.

  “Yes.”

  “You should always make sure you’re the one with the exit route,” he says as he backs Justin out of the room.

  I nod slightly and watch them both leave.

  I screwed everything up. My arm hurts like hell. And I’m still holding the stupid chair.

  I definitely need an exit route.

  Out of more than just this room.

  Chapter 26

  Aftershocks

  I take the girls out for supper on the way home from daycare. They’re both thrilled at the unexpected treat, and for a few minutes I forget my aching arm and how it got that way.

  An evening spent with baths and hair washes and bedtime stories helps my memory fog over a bit more, and by the time the moon has come out to dominate the sky, I’m starting to feel almost human again. I pick up the TV remote and flip through the channels to see if there’s anything on that will make the fog completely erase the day.

  I’m idly flipping through without actually registering anything when the doorbell rings. It startles me in that unpleasant, instant panic, phone-call-at-two-in-the-morning kind of way. I don’t get a lot of company. Our neighborhood isn’t one of the friendlier places on earth, especially since I became a single instead of a double. It’s not like we had neighborhood block parties before the divorce, but at least people seemed civil enough. But for some reason, no one really seems to notice me at all now that I’m just me.

  I head to the door, which is dead-bolted and chained. New additions purchased out of my anxiety at being here alone with two girls to protect.

  “Hello? It’s just me—Keith.” A man’s voice comes through the steel reinforced door panels.

  Keith? I have to think for a minute. Oh. Keith. Of course. My “down the street” neighbor, who also happens to teach seventh-grade at our school. We don’t talk much, at home or at work, so I can’t imagine why he would be here. I really don’t want to start talking to him today of all days. I’m not feeling very sociable. I open the door anyway because I’m pretty sure he knows I’m here.

  “Hello. Is everything all right?” That was a stupid question. I can’t imagine why he would come here if he had a problem.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing. I heard about the incident today at school. I was telling Mary about it, and she suggested I bring you these.” He kind of shoves a bouquet of lilacs wrapped in wet paper towels at me. The water drips down onto my feet.

  “Oh, thanks. Thank Mary also.” I don’t know who Mary is. I guess it’s his wife.

  “And this. Figured you could use it after what happened. I make it myself,” he smiles proudly as he hands over a bottle of what seems to be white wine.

  “Thanks again.” I stand for a moment, wondering what I’m supposed to do now. Closing the door in his face would seem rude to him. Standing here any longer seems rude to me.

  “So, how’s the arm? It’s your arm that you hurt, right?” A quick bolt of pain shoots through it as if my bruise can tell that someone is talking about it.

  “It’s fine. The doctor said it’s just a bruise.”

  “Well, I don’t know how you handle those nutbar kids. They all should be locked away in my opinion.” He looks at me as if expecting agreement. I can’t be bothered to argue with him. Besides, right now, I’m not sure he’s wrong.

  “Well, thanks again,” I repeat, gently starting to move the door closed in the universal signal for “please leave now.” He looks like he would like to stay and share some wine and do some kid bashing, but I move the door again, and he gets the idea.

  “Okay then. Just call if you need anything,” he says, then heads off home to Mary.

  I’m not much of a drinker, especially now that I’m home alone with the girls. Can’t risk being unable to drive if there’s some kind of crisis. But they’re both sound asleep, and my arm is still talking to me. I think it’s saying, “One drink won’t hurt.” Although, seeing as Keith made this himself, one drink might hurt.

  I dig through the drawer for several minutes trying to find a corkscrew before realizing that the top screws off. I’m looking for a wine glass when the phone interrupts me.“Hello?”

  “Hi, sorry to bother you so late. It’s Daniel Norton.”

  Daniel? Why would he be calling? What disaster has struck now?

  “Oh. Hi.” My voice obviously sounds less than thrilled, and he laughs a little.

  “I just got my guys to bed and wanted to check in on you.”

  “Your guys?”

  “My sons. I think they’re close to the ages of your daughters.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know you had kids.” Which is not surprising seeing as I only recently started remembering his first name.

  “So, how’s your arm? Did you see a doctor?” he asks, changing the subject back to me.

  “Yes. Callahan insisted. Serious Incident Report and all that. The doctor said it’s a deep bruise, but nothing’s broken. He said I should ice it, take a painkiller, and consider changing jobs.” I try a little laugh, but it comes out like a cough.

  “I’m sorry this happened. I feel a bit responsible.”

  “Why? You didn’t hit me with a chair.”

  “No. But I should have fought harder to keep Justin out of your room. I knew he wasn’t a good fit.”

  “That’s one way to put it.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s not coming back anyway. His attack on you was very calculated and extremely dangerous. I spoke to both Superintendent Stewart and to the group-home staff and made it clear that he’s a danger to himself and others—outside of the acceptable level, even for your class.”

  “It’s my fault, too. I know better than to back myself into a corner.”

  “Doesn’t matter. His behavior was still extreme, regardless of where you decided to stand.”

  “So where does he go now?”

  “We are trying to get home schooling in place until he can be in a Section placement. This isn’t the first time he’s attacked staff members at school and the group home. Between the drug issues and the nature of his violent episodes, we should be able to make a case. He needs the help that Section can give him.”

  “Most of my guys do.” />
  “I guess that could make Justin the lucky one.”

  “That’s one way to look at it. A really strange way.” I shake my head, which has started to pound out harsh drumbeats of pain. A loud sigh escapes into the phone as I put my hand on my forehead and try to rub the day away.

  “Are you all right?” I know he isn’t talking about my arm this time. Or my head.

  “I don’t know. You told me to hang on to the moments. I didn’t even have a moment with this one. There was nothing. We did nothing at all.”

  “I know. It happens. Some kids are just too far away for us to help them at school. Justin needs something different.”

  “Why is he like this? What happened to him to make him this way?” I know there isn’t an answer. At least not a simple one. But I still feel like I have to ask.

  “He’s like many of them. A combination of who he is and what has happened to him. His dad’s in jail, mother’s an addict. He ended up in care. Which is kind of a funny word for it. He’s smart enough to understand that his life sucks and manipulative enough to try to control it, even when he can’t, which really, really pisses him off. And he’s probably just as hurt as your other guys but not able to show it and work it through without someone getting seriously hurt. Complicated.”

  “Nature and nurture. And a whole load of other crap mixed in.”

  “Pretty much. So, anyway. Justin isn’t coming back, and no one else will be filling in the space.”

  “Really? They figure I can’t handle it?” My defenses fly up into the phone.

  “No. With only a few weeks left in the year, there was an agreement that we need to wait until next year to add students. Once the classroom is moved, a proper time-out room in place, and proper staffing, the numbers will be looked at again.”

  “Proper staffing? You mean someone other than me?” For a second I feel something close to disappointment. They don’t want me back?

  Not that I necessarily want to come back. I mean, I don’t want to come back. This year has been too crazy. Nine months later and I still don’t really know what I’m doing most of the time. It’s just like having a baby. Except my girls were stuck with me. No proper staffing option there.

  “No. We’re looking at the possibility of an extra part-time assistant to help with integration. Everyone is assuming you will still be there. Will you be?”

  “That’s a good question. I don’t have a good answer though. It’s been a hard year. And it’s not even over. We still have to survive June. That’s hard even in a regular class.” Whine, whine…

  Wine! I need to get this top off and pour a glass of wine.

  “Well, I hope you give it some thought. You’ve done a great job with the boys who are still here. They’ve all come a long way.”

  “Even Mike?” Who still scares the crap out of me sometimes. Although he’s never tried to beat me with a chair. I guess it’s all relative.

  “Absolutely. He participated in track and field without killing anyone. He stayed out of the whole Justin mess. It’s progress. You just have to look closely.”

  “I’ll have to start carrying a magnifying glass. You can call me Sherlock. Searching for clues that I’ve done something useful.” I have to stop whining and start drinking.

  “I have to go. You relax and take care of your arm. Will you stay home tomorrow?”

  “No way. I don’t need another disaster. They’ll be better off with me there.”

  “I completely agree.” I imagine he smiles as he traps me into ending on a positive note.

  I pour some wine into my glass. It looks like real wine. I take a sip. It doesn’t taste like any wine I’ve ever had, but I drink it anyway. Maybe it will help me make a decision about next year. If I decide I don’t want to take the class again, I will have to tell Callahan soon. I don’t imagine it will be all that easy to find someone else who’s actually willing and able to do this job.

  I wander upstairs and check on the girls, wine glass in hand like some kind of mother you’d see on TV. They’re both sound asleep, snoring softly in that ridiculously sweet way that only children can.

  Three more weeks until summer and then I get to be a full-time mom. I can’t wait! Except for two weeks in July when they’re going to have their first vacation with their dad. Without their mom.

  Am I going to be able to handle watching my babies drive away for two-week vacations alone with their dad? Will they miss me? Will he remember to brush their hair and floss their teeth and read them a bedtime story? Was he paying attention when he was still here? Does he know what foods they like and what allergies they have? Does he know them?

  Will they be all right away from me? Will I be all right away from them—two weeks sitting here all alone without even work to occupy me? I don’t think I want to build another doll house, although the one I gave them for Christmas was a huge hit and still sits proudly in the middle of the living room floor.

  I look around their semi-dark rooms. Haven’t decorated in here for a couple of years. Maybe I should take the two weeks and completely redo their rooms as a surprise. A little paint and a little wallpaper, some new posters and maybe new bed covers—this would make a completely new world for both of them. I can be as wild and crazy as I want with no one here to tell me to do it differently.

  This is going to be great!

  I run downstairs, grab a pencil and paper, and sit down at the kitchen table. I start by listing ideas and materials, even trying a sketch or two, ignoring the reality that I am pretty close to the world’s worst artist even when my arm isn’t battered and bruised. Although right now it isn’t hurting as much as it did earlier. It’s actually feeling much better.

  My forgotten wineglass sits there watching me.

  It’s still half full.

  Chapter 27

  Climbing downhill

  Once June hits, most teachers see the rest of the year as a downhill slide straight into summer. Students definitely see it that way, so keeping control of a classroom can be a challenge at the best of times. We teachers plan all kinds of trips and special activities, both to pass the time and to use as either bribes or threats, depending on how you choose to look at it.

  Bribes and threats don’t work very well with my students. They live in the moment, in the truest sense, with virtually no thought given to any potential consequences of either words or deeds. You can promise them the world on the condition of one good day, and it won’t really make much of a difference to how that day is going to turn out. They just don’t have enough control over their internal or external lives to be influenced by the whole delayed-reinforcement deal—positive or negative.

  What seems to work best is to try to get inside their moment-to-moment lives with them and try to help them deal with each individual triumph or defeat before moving forward. It’s been hard to find the triumphs over the last couple of weeks. The boys are all totally on edge. They’re basically taking turns freaking out over what looks like nothing much to Sean or me. It’s starting to feel like the whole year has just disappeared, and we’ve completely circled back to day one.

  We aren’t slipping and sliding down any hill. We’re clawing our way, climbing backwards, right to where we all began.

  Even Kevin ended up paying his first visit to the time-out room, sobbing hysterically because we called him Kevin instead of Rainbow Rooster, or something equally odd. The fact that none of us even knew that he had transformed into a rooster overnight didn’t seem to matter.

  Chris managed to break his leg one weekend and came into school with a cast that reaches from his ankle right up to the top of his thigh. Of course, there was a plausible explanation that we couldn’t challenge. Much as we felt sorry for him, we secretly agreed that, if he had to break his leg, this was the best time. It would slow him down enough that at least for the rest of this year
we wouldn’t have to worry about him running away.

  Two days later, he decides that no cast is going to stop him.

  “I hate math. It’s too hard. I hate this place. I’m done!” He struggles to his feet and limps awkwardly to the door. Sean saunters over to him, knowing there isn’t really any urgency to trying to stop him. After all, what’s he going to do?

  “Come on, bud. Let’s sit down and talk about this,” Sean says reasonably, as he and Chris reach the door simultaneously.

  “Fuck you!” Chris shouts, and takes off down the hall, trying his very best to run.

  “Seriously, dude?” Sean calls after him, shaking his head and trying not to laugh. He beckons to me to come over to the door. I walk over, followed closely by the other three boys. We all crowd the doorway, watching in fascination as Chris does a strange, weighed-down hop, skip, and run down the hall.

  “He’s pretty fast,” Donny says, laughing.

  “He’s an idiot,” Mike says, shaking his head.

  “Fast idiot,” agrees Kevin, which makes even Mike laugh. We watch him for a few more seconds, giving him a reasonable head start before Sean makes his way down the hall to bring him back to us again.

  And so it goes. The panic bubble in the pit of my stomach is back as I come in each day wondering who is going to blow his top first. It’s just nuts, and I can’t seem to get it under control. I feel like calling Daniel and asking his advice, but he’ll just tell me to live in the moment. Which I’m already doing. But most of our moments these days are hard ones.

  This isn’t making my decision about next year any easier. I’m flipping back and forth constantly, which isn’t helpful to me or to Mrs. Callahan, who has been remarkably patient.

  I can’t think about next year when I can’t even find my way out of this one without everyone around me exploding into tiny little pieces of themselves. There won’t be anyone left to make up a class next year at this rate.

  We might have to put that volcano back up on the wall. The whole peaceful underwater theme doesn’t really apply at the moment.