Chapter Ten
Ten
March 8, 2023
FROM: [email protected]
TO: All Staff
SUBJECT: Mandatory meeting after school for all employees
Colleagues,
There will be a mandatory meeting after school in the auditorium for all Baldwin High employees, immediately following the final bell. After-school tutorials and club meetings must be postponed. If you have afternoon duty, employees from Central Office will be here to cover.
—
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Mr. Williams whispered in the hall, his eyes wide.
“It’s Kendricks, isn’t it?” Ms. Brennan responded.
“It has to be,” said Williams. “They don’t announce mandatory meetings after school with just a few hours’ notice to give us raises and free supplies for our classrooms.”
“Do you think he’s gone?” Ms. Brennan asked. “Like for good?”
Mr. Williams paused to peer into his classroom to make sure his students were not committing any crimes, then turned his attention back to Ms. Brennan.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think they could just take him out like that. There has to be a process. A Kafkaesque process, to be sure. But still, a process.”
Now it was Ms. Brennan’s turn to check on her class, which was growing squirrelly.
“I believe I said we would be completing our metaphor charts, not playing on our phones and whispering with one another,” she called out to them in a firm, crisp voice. Her students were momentarily cowed. Focusing on Mr. Williams again, she said, “I have to get back in there. But this absolutely blows. This is only my first year here, but I’ve liked working for Kendricks. He’s smart. Not some district drone.”
Mr. Williams gave her a pointed look, and in a withering voice, he said, “Why do you think they’ve removed him?”
—
Jim Fitzsimmons: Denise, I’m not going to ask questions or pry about whatever district bullshit is going on now. Although I’ll take a moment to say I’m sure whatever it is, it IS bullshit! But I’m really reaching out as a friend. Whatever is happening, I am sure this is a lot of stress on you and that can be tough in early sobriety. I just want to make sure you have support. I’m here if you need anything. You have the right to draw boundaries and say no to protect your sobriety. It has to come first, always. One day at a time.
Denise Baker: Jim, I appreciate you. This all happened yesterday afternoon very fast and admin is still processing. Just got informed of much of it myself late last night and it’s a mess. I’ve already been in touch with my sponsor today and I’m seeing her at a meeting tonight no matter what. Your words about boundaries and protecting my sobriety mean a lot to me. Please continue to check in with me. It helps me stay accountable.
JF: It’s no trouble and I am happy to do it. I will text you this evening to check in. And you call me or your sponsor or someone if you feel like you’re going to pick up.
DB: I will, Jim. I promise. Thank you.
—
Kitty Garcia made her way to Principal Kendricks’s office, tucked into the back of a collection of rooms that was part of the main office. On her way there she passed other administrators, huddled in panicked, whispered conversations.
Mark’s door was closed, and she knew he wasn’t on the other side of it. Clutching some file folders to her chest, she paused briefly and thought back to the heady days of the fall semester, when she’d dropped by here with such regularity, drunk on a schoolgirl crush. She let her fingers graze the doorknob for a moment. Then she continued on to a nearby single-use women’s restroom, and she locked herself inside.
She’d given Mark the opportunity to blow up his life, and wisely, he hadn’t taken it. After the sting of rejection had worn off (God, the humiliation of that winter night in the parking lot after the play!), she had slowly come to realize that it had been for the best. Sure, the giddy banter between them had given her a much-needed ego boost and rush. And yes, she and Mark might have been a great couple in some parallel universe that didn’t actually exist. But in this universe, he was a married man, and until Mark Kendricks, Kitty Garcia had always thought of herself as the sort of decent person who wouldn’t cross such an ethical boundary. All told, in the end she was glad she hadn’t.
But after several weeks of awkwardly rebuilding a more professional relationship between them, now this. She could say with confidence that he was a good principal, one of the best school leaders she’d ever worked for. What would happen to Baldwin now? And to him?
Hidden in the bathroom, Kitty felt her chest grow tight, and she was overcome by a wave of deep sadness and loss. She gave herself a few moments to cry, running the faucet to mask the sounds.
She’d had a crush on him for a reason.
—
Ms. Fletcher ran into Ms. Jimenez in the third-floor lounge shortly after the final bell. As usual, the U.S. history teacher was wrestling with the copier.
“Heading to the meeting?” Ms. Fletcher asked, grabbing her reusable lunch kit from the refrigerator.
“Yeah, I guess,” Ms. Jimenez said with a sigh, not looking up from the machine. “Although what if I just didn’t go? I mean, what would they even do to me?”
Ms. Fletcher shrugged. “I suppose I want to hear what they’re going to say.”
As the copier continued to hum, Ms. Jimenez turned to look at Ms. Fletcher.
“I know what they’re going to say,” she replied. “They’re going to offer up a bunch of doublespeak to defend their ridiculousness.” She checked the status of her job and made sure her copies were collating properly. “Fuck it,” she continued, “I’m going home. If I get in trouble, I get in trouble. Last time I looked out the front door of this place, there wasn’t exactly a long line of people out there applying for my job.”
Ms. Fletcher couldn’t help but admire her colleague’s cavalier attitude, although she didn’t share it. Ms. Fletcher was on time to every mandatory meeting.
“I can fill you in tomorrow if you want,” she offered.
“Sure, thanks,” said Ms. Jimenez.
Ms. Fletcher started to head out, but paused by the lounge door.
“You know, I feel like this is the moment when you should crack a joke and make me feel better,” she said, her voice small and hopeful. Ms. Jimenez and Ms. Fletcher were not friends, and they did not spend time together outside of school. They knew almost nothing about each other’s personal lives. But Ms. Jimenez’s sense of humor had lightened Ms. Fletcher’s mood at work for nearly twenty years.
“Amanda,” replied Ms. Jimenez, her voice filled with sadness, “I wish I could.”
—
Hannah Sanderson: This meeting is absurd. I cannot believe we are being forced to sit in this auditorium right now and listen to this district talking head blather on about transparency and due diligence and blah blah. Jake, I’m so mad.
Jake Rayfield: It totally fucking sucks. When I went in to talk to Kendricks the other week about my decision to not come back next year, he was nothing but supportive and understanding. He’s a cool guy and he did nothing wrong.
HS: God, I feel so bad for Ms. Baker up there trying to calm us all down. Trying to answer questions when she doesn’t have the answers. And that district asshole not really helping her.
JR: So he’s on “temporary reassignment” while they “complete a thorough investigation” and we just have to wait it out? I don’t trust this.
HS: I don’t think we should trust it at all. I hope he comes back. If he doesn’t, who knows who they might put in as our new principal? God, I’m sad right now.
JR: Wanna come over to my place tonight? I can make you dinner. And think of ways to cheer you up.
HS: Yes please. Although it feels weird to flirt during this depressing meeting.
JR: Yeah. But I think it’s finally coming to an end at least.
HS: Not soon enough.
—
About two hours after the torturous all-staff meeting, Ms. Jackson finally managed to leave her office and head for home. On the way out to the faculty parking lot, she crossed paths with Nurse Honeycutt. The two women had very different roles at Baldwin, and they did not have frequent opportunities to interact, but they respected each other as hardworking professionals. They had both seen so much during their decades of service.
“Let’s walk out together,” said Nurse Honeycutt.
“Please,” said Ms. Jackson.
On their way down the long main hall, Nurse Honeycutt asked Ms. Jackson how many principals she thought they had seen during their shared tenure.
“Of course, you were here for a few years before I got here,” added the nurse.
“Yes,” said Ms. Jackson. “I started under Mr. John Graham. He was the first principal of Baldwin to hire Black employees, as I understand it.”
“After Graham we had Donovan, then Kaplan,” recited Nurse Honeycutt.
“Oh Lord, don’t mention Kaplan,” said Ms. Jackson, shaking her head. At this, Nurse Honeycutt laughed.
“Well, we survived at least,” said Honeycutt. The two women exited the building into the parking lot, still trying to finish the list.
“After Kaplan they brought in Martha Page,” said Ms. Jackson. “Baldwin’s first female principal. She was smart, but she didn’t stay long. They moved her up the pipeline to Central Office, of course.”
“Then there was Vickie Torres and that guy Sawyer,” replied Nurse Honeycutt. “I can’t recall his first name now, all of a sudden.”
“It was Frank,” said Ms. Jackson. “After him Juan Martinez and, finally, Mr. Kendricks.” She sighed. “Poor Mr. Kendricks.”
The two women were now standing together near their respective cars. March was usually quite pleasant in Houston, but if a person stood still long enough, they could sometimes sense just a touch of the humid summer months that would soon engulf them.
“I really thought I’d retire under Mark,” said Nurse Honeycutt. “I like him.”
“I do, too,” said Ms. Jackson. “And I’m worried for him.”
“We can only hope for the best,” replied Nurse Honeycutt. “And expect the worst.”
“Sometimes I wonder if that’s how we’ve survived so long in this business,” answered Ms. Jackson, her voice almost mournful. Nurse Honeycutt responded with a rueful laugh. Then, after wishing each other a good evening, both veterans got into their vehicles and drove home, leaving Baldwin High School—now nearly empty—sitting quietly in a growing darkness.