Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
PETRA
“I’m so sorry,” I say to my team on our video call before glancing back down at my phone where it flashes the name and number of Stella’s school across the screen, “I have to take this call.”
I mute my microphone and my speakers on the laptop before answering. I haven’t told them anything, just that I’m staying in New York “with a friend.”
“Is this Petra Volkova?” a woman’s voice asks when I answer my phone.
Momentary panic grips my digestive system and I feel like I’m going to throw up. “Yes. Is everything okay with Stella?”
“Stella is fine. But the boy she knocked down on purpose is not. We need you to come in and meet with the principal. She’s being sent home for the day.”
Oh shit. Just the other night, Stella had complained about Jason being mean to her again.
He’d started pulling her hair when he was behind her, and flipping her skirt any time she walked by him.
I’d told her she needed to defend herself if he put his hands on her, which means this is probably my fault.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I explain to my team that an emergency has come up and I have to go. I haven’t told them about Aleksandr and Stella or why I’m still in New York. The less they know, the better—for now.
But as much as my life has changed over the past few days of Aleksandr being gone, my work days have been fairly normal because Stella has been in school. I didn’t anticipate that there might be interruptions like this.
The school is only a few blocks from the apartment, so I’m walking through the doors less than ten minutes later. The secretary ushers me toward the door marked “Principal” and I feel like I’m about to get in trouble.
The man sitting behind the desk has on a pink collared shirt and a patterned bow tie.
He’s on the phone, but gestures for me to come sit in the chair next to Stella facing his desk.
She grabs my hand the minute I sit down, and I give it three little squeezes which has her face lighting up.
She gives me three little squeezes back.
I. Love. You. She just taught me that last night—it was something she used to do with her mother, and I’m hoping that I can handle this situation in a way that would make Colette and Nikolai proud if they were still here.
While the principal finishes his conversation, I mouth Jason? at Stella and she nods, then looks down at the ground. “Hey,” I whisper, “chin up.” In my eyes, she’s done nothing wrong here.
But as the seconds tick by, I realize I’m so wildly out of my element, and my panic grows like it’s a seed in my stomach sending roots throughout my body. My intestines make such a loud rumbling sound that Stella laughs quietly. The principal hangs up a moment later and turns toward us.
“Ms. Volkova,” he starts. “We have a zero tolerance policy for violence at our school. We teach the children to work out their differences with their words, rather than their actions.”
Stella’s grip on my hand tightens. “And what do you do when words don’t stop certain behaviors?” I interrupt.
“When children can’t work out their differences on their own, our faculty members are trained to help them,” he tells me. He strokes his goatee and then tilts his chin, and I’m afraid he’s about to start a long diatribe on the benefits of mediation.
“Did you ever ask for help?” I ask Stella.
“I told my teacher the things Jason was doing, lots of times, but he never does them when she’s looking, so he never gets in trouble.”
“What happened this time?” I ask. The question isn’t addressed to anyone in particular, and Stella jumps in to answer first.
“He tripped me at recess and I fell down and skinned my knee.” She points to the bloody scrape above her knee socks. “So when I got up, I pushed him and he fell down.”
I look up at the principal. “So she’s told her teacher multiple times that this kid is being mean to her, and each time nothing happens because the teacher didn’t see him do anything. And then he trips her, and she gets hurt, and she’s in trouble for defending herself?”
“She’s in trouble because we have a zero tolerance policy for physical violence.”
“But you don’t,” I say.
“Yes,” he replies, heat creeping into his face behind that ginger goatee, “we do.”
“If that were true, then there would have been consequences each time he’d hurt Stella. But there haven’t been.”
“I can’t comment on previous instances that I’m not aware of.”
“There have been plenty of other instances of him pulling her hair, poking her between the ribs, flipping up her skirt,” I recite the instances Stella has told me about and he looks surprised that I know the specifics.
“And when she’s told her teacher about it, nothing has happened.
Whatever training your teachers have had on how to help your students work out their differences, it’s failed in this case.
She’s asked adults for help in navigating the situation and they haven’t helped her.
So tell me,” I say as I lean back in the chair and fold my hands demurely in my lap.
“What was she supposed to do? Continue to take his abuse while her requests for help go unanswered?”
“Are you suggesting that she should be allowed to hurt people?”
“Not at all. In fact, we’ve talked about many different ways she can handle the situation. She’s tried avoidance and redirection, and clearly those have not worked. Neither has asking her teacher to step in. So what other options did this first grader have when he tripped her and hurt her?”
His jaw hangs open for a minute. “I’m sorry, it sounds like you’ve been working with Stella on this issue for a while. Didn’t you just start as her nanny this week?”
Stella and I look at each other and burst out laughing, which clearly makes him uncomfortable.
“She’s not my nanny, Dr. Leonard,” Stella says as she bites back a smile, and my shoulders tremble with a cold shiver as I consider how different this meeting and its aftermath would be if that horrible witch Irina were here instead of me. “She’s my uncle’s best friend.”
“Best friend from childhood. Just in town for a couple weeks,” I say, as much to set Stella’s expectations as to explain this to her principal. “I’m helping out because Miss Stella here is in between nannies and Aleksandr is in Philadelphia for the first two playoff games.”
“When he came in the other morning with you and added you to the emergency contact form, replacing Stella’s previous nanny, we naturally assumed you were her new nanny.”
“Naturally. Now, about that question I asked,” I say, keeping my voice friendly while hopefully letting him know he’s not getting off the hook that easily.
“I really would like to know how the school would like Stella to handle these physical attacks in the future. Because obviously allowing her to be abused at school like this isn’t an acceptable option for us. ”
He tugs at his bow tie. “I will make sure Stella’s teacher is aware of what’s going on so she can take swift action if there’s another incident.”
“Which I’m sure there won’t be once you get done talking to the boy in question, right? With his parent too?”
The tiniest bit of spit flies off his tongue when he says, “We will handle it.”
“Excellent.” I stand and take Stella’s hand.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“I was told Stella is being sent home for the day. I’m taking her out to celebrate being a strong young woman who does not let boys push her around.”
“But . . .” His mouth hangs open just enough that I’m tempted to reach across the desk and push it closed it for him.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want the honor of asking us to leave?” My voice is all sweetness but we both know it’s an act. “By all means, go ahead if it will make you feel better.”
He just shakes his head and flicks his hand to shoo us out of his office.
“When I get older, I want to be brave just like you,” Stella tells me as we walk down the hall hand in hand.
“You already are the bravest six-year-old I know,” I tell her.
It doesn’t matter that she’s the only six-year-old I know.
I could know a hundred other kids her age and I think she’d still be the bravest because of everything she’s been through.
Most people have no idea how much courage it takes just to keep living after losing a parent and she’s lost two.
She squeezes my hand three times, and I squeeze back.
“Stella?” We both turn toward the voice behind us, and a woman I’ve never seen in my life stands in the hall. “What’s going on?” she asks.
“Hi, Auntie Sofia,” Stella says.
Ah, Colette’s best friend. “Oh, hi, I’m Petra,” I say as I stick out my hand to shake hers.
She takes my hand in hers and smiles. “Yeah, I figured. I’m so glad Alex connected us via text the other night, or I would have been so freaked out to see Stella walking out of school with a stranger.”
“Petra’s not a stranger,” Stella says in her innocent little voice. “She’s Dyadya’s best friend.”
“I think it’s more accurate to say we were best friends when we were younger,” I tell Sofia.
“Aren’t you still best friends?” Stella asks.
“Well, you know how we didn’t see each other for years and years? It’s hard to stay best friends with someone you never see. But we’re old friends, anyway.” I shrug. I doubt the distinction matters to Stella, but it will to Sofia, I’m sure.
“Why’s Stella leaving early today?” Sofia asks me.
“We just had a little meeting with the principal about an incident that happened at recess . . .”
“I’m being sent home for the day,” Stella interrupts.
She sounds proud of herself and while I don’t condone violence, especially among little kids, I’m really fucking proud of her too.
It is hard to learn to stand up for yourself, especially around someone who is bigger and stronger.
“Because I pushed Jason down after he tripped me, and he cried like a baby, so I got in trouble.”