3. Theo
Theo
If there’s one thing about the school day that calms me, it’s the bell. Nothing signals structure and routine like that sound ringing across campus, sending students scattering to class, restoring order to the school grounds.
A solution that eludes me.
Slipping off my suit jacket, I hang it on the coat stand by the door, then cross to the window and gaze out to sea.
No matter what’s going on within the school, I never tire of this view.
The rolling sand of the dunes, the endless stretch of the Atlantic.
A view that was here long before Wetherly, and will be here long after the school crumbles into dust.
When I turn from the window, I see a steaming cup of black coffee waiting on my desk, courtesy of Margaret. She’s the only person I trust to be in my office unsupervised.
I sink into my leather desk chair, casting my gaze around my office as I sip the bitter liquid.
The dark wood-paneled walls are lined with built-in bookshelves and cabinets.
My heavy walnut desk takes center stage in the room, and against the far wall there’s a stone fireplace, opposite two over-sized leather chairs.
When I’m alone in the office after hours, I like to play classical music softly from the turntable on the sideboard, but I haven’t done that for a long time.
Lately, I’m too tense to even consider it.
Like now.
A knock sounds at the door, and I force a sigh through my nose. There’s no escaping today.
“Come in,” I call warily.
Margaret steps inside with a brisk smile. “Good morning. I’ve got the final budgets for the P.E. Department that you wanted.” She places a folder on my desk. “And I’ll email Nora to set up your meeting.”
I frown. “Who?”
“Eleanor Hart, the new third grade teacher? She seemed excited to help with the fall fundraiser.” When I don’t respond, Margaret adds, “You wanted to meet with the volunteers before they started planning? It’s only her.”
I exhale slowly. I’d noticed her this morning, the only one in polka dots. The only one who volunteered. Hell, the only one smiling. Even Juliana looked unhappy about something. I’ll have to talk to her about that later.
But Eleanor… Nora? In all honesty, I’m not sure what to make of our newest hire. She’s young, with a quirky dress sense and what appears to be a lot of enthusiasm, but that’s not always a good thing.
“Margaret,” I ask, in a confidential tone, “what do you make of her?”
Deep in thought, my assistant taps a pen to her lips. Whatever she says, she’ll be straight with me.
“She seems bright. Eager. Perhaps a little naive.”
I nod in silent agreement. My concerns exactly. “Thanks, Margaret. Let me mull it over.”
She nods, then exits the room, closing the door behind her.
I sip my coffee, thinking about the young woman from the faculty meeting.
The way her hand shot up to volunteer. The timid smile she sent me across the table.
How she mumbled a quick, nervous Sorry when she bumped into me leaving the conference room. Despite myself, curiosity tugs at me.
It only takes a few clicks on my computer to bring up her staff file.
In the top corner is her photo, a headshot, likely taken by Danny during onboarding.
She looks younger in this picture than her twenty-seven years, younger than she did in the faculty meeting this morning.
Reading on, I find her history interesting; a couple years in a pre-law program, a transfer into education, teaching for two years at a New York inner city school.
I drain my coffee, glancing at her picture again.
She’s smiling broadly, her peaches and cream complexion flushed, hazel eyes sparkling as if she’s thrilled to be working here.
Much like when she volunteered during the meeting.
The neckline of her dress is just visible in the photo, black with vibrant yellow sunflowers.
It reminds me of the flower barrette in her hair this morning. The woman loves sunflowers.
I catch myself and click out of her file. Why the hell did I notice her damn barrette? Shaking off the thought, I open the P.E. budget, preparing to go through each item line-by-line, but before I can start, there’s another knock at the door, this time Danny.
Daniel Fells—or “Danny” to most of the faculty and, much to my disapproval, a few of the senior students—has been the assistant head here for five years.
It took me a while to warm to him, but I’m grateful to have him on the team.
Danny’s a social guy, a natural with the faculty and parents.
He handles the front-facing work: the outreach, the public charm, the hiring and firing.
“Hey, man.” Danny grins as he saunters into my office. “Straight back into it, huh?” He motions to the papers on my desk. “You haven’t even told me about your summer. Let’s take a break.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I can’t take a break if I haven’t done anything yet.”
He nods, then, because he knows me well, tries a different tack. “True, but maybe we should walk around campus, make sure everyone is settled into their classes. No stragglers.”
And because I know Danny well, I know he won’t let up until I agree. “Fine.” Blowing out a breath, I take my glasses off and set them aside, pushing away from my desk. It will be good to stretch my legs. Save for the faculty meeting, I’ve been in my office since dawn.
Danny trots jovially out into the hall, triumphant at having lured me away from my desk. I catch him sharing a smile with Margaret, and can’t help but think she might have engineered this.
“So, dish,” he jokes. “How was your summer? Do anything fun?”
I slip my hands into the pockets of my slacks as I follow him, heading down the grand marble staircase.
This building has stood here since 1893, with the K-5 classrooms on the first floor, grades 6-12 on the second, and the administrative wing on the third.
Over the years it’s been joined by a small auditorium, library, gym, and an arts wing which was built mid-twentieth century.
“Summer was…” I trail off.
The truth is, my summer wasn’t especially relaxing.
Usually I love the time alone, but I noticed the silence more this year.
Tried to spend a week at the family cabin, but I ended up coming home early.
Most days I kept busy with early morning runs through the campus, more out of habit than anything, and when I wasn’t doing that, I was reviewing budgets, researching security upgrades, and revising the staff handbook.
What else? I polished my car, reorganized my office, and helped my daughter move into the old librarian’s cottage on the edge of campus.
Which reminds me, that bulb on her front porch still needs replacing.
I should follow up with the groundskeeper.
“Uneventful,” I say at last. We step onto the second floor of the building, strolling past the bank of lockers, the faculty lounge, the copy room. I stop to pick up a crumpled piece of paper with a frown, tossing it into a trash can.
“Dude,” Danny says, looking disappointed. “You must have done something.”
I shrug, glancing into Juliana’s classroom as we pass. Her students are already working silently at their desks, and pride blooms in my chest. That’s the kind of academic rigor we value at Wetherly.
“What about you?” I ask, more to deflect than out of interest.
“I hiked part of the Appalachian Trail and saw a black bear. It was freaking terrifying.”
I nod, only half-listening, as we descend the smaller stairwell at the end of the hall onto the first floor. A student bustles past, uniform askew, headphones clamped to his ears. He grins at Danny, who high-fives him, chuckling to himself.
I glare at him. That kind of laid-back attitude is the opposite of what this school stands for.
“Relax,” Danny teases, catching my expression. “He has a hall pass, and is going to see the guidance counselor.”
“And the headphones?” I say dryly. We both know they’re not permitted during school hours.
“He has sensory sensitivity. They help with the noise.”
I glance around the quiet corridor, wondering what noise, exactly, would be bothering him, then decide to let it slide. I’ve got bigger issues to deal with.
We walk in companionable silence for a while, when a loud cheer catches my attention. I follow the sound to find it coming from the new teacher’s classroom.
Eleanor Hart.
Peering through the door, the first thing I notice is the plethora of decorations adorning her walls.
Motivational posters, a maple-leaf garland glowing with fairy lights, colorful beanbags and pillows clustered in the corner.
And are those pumpkins on the windowsill? Halloween is still over a month away.
But that’s nothing compared to what I spot next: Miss Hart crawling along the floor through what appears to be some sort of obstacle course, students chanting as she clambers over a chair, ducks under a table, then reaches what I can only assume is the finish line.
Straightening, she turns to notice me amid the cheers of her students, her cheeks streaking pink.
She smooths her hair, gesturing for the class to quiet down.
“What the hell was that?” I mutter, more to myself than to anyone else.
“She’s great, isn’t she?” Danny asks, glancing past me. He waves to Eleanor, who responds with a sheepish wave of her own.
“What inspired you to hire someone so…” I roll my hand, searching for the most professional way to phrase it.
“Hands on?” Danny offers, but the twinkle in his eye tells me he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Figured we could use a fresh perspective here. Her references raved about her teaching, and the kids already love her.”
I glance back at Eleanor, watching as she settles the rowdy group into quiet reading time. Whether she was already planning to do that, or has changed her plans because we’re watching, I’m not sure. Either way, Danny isn’t wrong. The kids do seem to respond well to her.
“She’s the only one who volunteered for the fundraiser,” I say, even though Danny knows this as well as I do.
He shrugs. “So?”
I look at him incredulously. “So… I’m not sure it’s such a good idea, are you? After the mistake I made last year…”
His expression softens. “You need to stop beating yourself up, Theo. It’s not your fault.”
I grind my molars, brushing off his words. If I’d been more vigilant, I would have caught it. I should have caught it.
“So, what would you do?” I ask.
Danny motions to Eleanor. “Give her a shot. She seems like the kind of person who’ll come up with something great. You should try trusting someone again.”
His casual dismissal of the situation makes irritation flicker in my chest. Easy for him to say. He doesn’t have the board breathing down his neck, his every decision questioned.
“And if I can’t?”
Danny sighs. “Then run it yourself. But you’ll need help, and she’s your only option.”
I follow his gaze to where Eleanor sits, reading quietly to her class.
The sunflower barrette in her hair has come loose from the morning’s activities, and a strand of caramel-brown hair falls across her eyes.
I’m struck by the sudden urge to brush it away, but immediately shake the bizarre impulse off.
Her first day here, and she’s already thrown me off balance.
If there’s one thing I know, it’s that handing the fall fundraiser to someone so inexperienced is a risk I can’t afford, but bringing in more people makes it harder to stay in control. And the truth is, there isn’t anyone I trust with this. Not when I promised the board I’d oversee it.
Danny’s right. If this is going to work, I’ll have to run it myself.
With her.