9. Theo
Theo
She’s nervous. Really nervous. Her binder trembles in her hands, even as she holds her head high, and that unsettles me.
I grab the chair from behind Danny’s desk and wheel it around to sit with them. She relaxes a little at this, and I settle in to hear what she has to say. Even though I’ll probably have to reject another one of her impractical, starry-eyed ideas, the least I can do is politely listen.
“What I’m proposing isn’t only a program,” she begins cautiously. “It’s a shift in how we think about student success.”
I rub my chin as she speaks, distracted by her outfit.
Today, she’s in a bright skirt, hair piled up on her head, held in place by a large pink blossom.
Her legs cross at her slender ankles, feet clad in those same red heels from our first meeting, and the scent of roses and peonies clings to the air.
Eleanor’s scent. Her knee jiggles as she speaks, and I have to resist the urge to reach out and place a steadying hand on it.
Jesus. Focus.
“We do everything we can to help students academically, but they’re struggling in other areas.
They get anxious, overwhelmed, stressed.
Not because they aren’t trying, but because they don’t know how to look after themselves emotionally.
What if we taught them those skills? Shifted our focus to include not only academics, but also emotional wellbeing? ”
This is exactly the sort of thing I’d expect to hear from Eleanor, and I have to stifle a smile. I lean back in my chair, motioning for her to go on.
“I want to call it Safe Harbor.” Her eyes are lit in that same way they always are when she’s passionate about an idea, and despite myself, I’m still listening. “Inside the school, it includes a few key elements.”
She hands me a stapled booklet of paper, and Danny leans in to read over my shoulder as she covers the bullet points.
“Throughout the year we’ll set aside dedicated weeks, called ‘Ripple Weeks,’ designed to slow down, reflect, and focus on connection.
We’ll provide calm spaces in every classroom, and do daily check-ins so no student gets overlooked, no issue goes unnoticed.
We could even have a small group of trained staff that we call ‘Lighthouses,’ that any student can go to when they need support. ”
Eleanor pauses, glancing up to ensure we’re following, but I’m busy scanning her document. I was expecting another pie-in-the-sky idea, but she’s put a lot of thought and work into this.
“Outside the school,” she continues, more confidently, “it reaches even further. We’ll create a shared garden where students, teachers, and community members can grow food together, and we’ll invite local businesses who wish to be involved to join a volunteer exchange.
They can share their skills with the students, and our students can give back to the community. ”
Frustratingly, she’s covered all her bases. Internal to support the school and students, external to contribute positively to the community and satisfy donors.
“The community wants to support this school, which is why I’m proposing we use the fall fundraiser to get this program off the ground. I believe we could raise enough to do that.”
I turn the page, finding a breakdown of proposed costs, and my eyebrows jump. For someone as… impractical as Eleanor, this is surprisingly detailed. Annoyingly so.
“We want our students to be resilient, but that needs to be actively taught. Not in the classroom, but through developing a sense of self outside it. Through systems that remind them they’re not alone.
Safe Harbor is how we teach our students to weather the storm, no matter what.
That when things get tough—whether that’s at home, online, or inside their own minds—this school, this community, will be their harbor.
” Eleanor exhales, leaning back in her chair.
She’s so hopeful, so earnest, it tugs at something hidden deep in my chest.
“Yes!” Beside me, Danny begins a slow, appreciative clap. “Well done, Nora. This is fantastic.” He turns to me, face split in a grin. “Don’t you agree, Theo?”
I frown at him calling me Theo in front of Eleanor, as if we’re all old buddies.
And the simple act of doing so brings me back to reality.
It’s all too easy to get swept up when Eleanor gestures wildly and speaks with such conviction, and there’s no denying she’s worked very hard on this, but it all comes down to what I can sell to the board.
“Thank you, Miss Hart,” I say, pushing to my feet. I gesture to the door, setting her document on Danny’s desk. “Please give Mr. Fells and me some time to discuss this.”
Her face falls, but I resist the urge to soften the blow with praise.
That’s not my job. I asked her to approach local donors over the weekend, not build an entire proposal.
There’s no denying her passion, her energy, the sheer effort she’s poured into this, but I can’t let that sway me.
I can’t let the quiet downturn of her lips pull me off course.
I have a job to do.
Danny walks Eleanor to the door, murmuring something, and I’m pretty sure I catch the line “I’ll talk to him,” but I can’t be sure. Either way, Danny’s expression is grim when he returns.
“Alright, let’s hear it.”
I smooth my tie. “What do you mean?”
“All the reasons her proposal won’t work. Go on, give it to me.”
“Come on, Danny,” I level with him. “Ripple weeks? Lighthouses? Calm spaces?”
“You don’t think they’re a good idea?” he counters. “That students wouldn’t actually benefit from them? Nora has a corner with beanbags that her class loves. I’ve seen her use it when kids need a moment to settle, and it works.”
“I’m not denying that. It’s not that the ideas are bad, but it all seems a little… soft. Difficult to quantify. To control.”
Danny shakes his head in disbelief. “I think it’s awesome. And I think she’s right. It’s what this school needs.” When I don’t respond, he adds, “You can’t honestly tell me you’ve got a better idea than that.”
I rub the back of my neck, agitated, because he’s right, I don’t have a better idea. That’s the frustrating part. The proposal covers everything it needs to, on paper, anyway, and there’s a level of detail to it I hadn’t expected.
But details don’t guarantee success. If we try this and it fails, if the board doesn’t back it, if the parents protest… we’re back where we were last year. Cleaning up another mess.
I shake my head, turning toward the door. “I need to think,” I growl.
“Well, don’t take too long.” When I glance back, his expression has shifted to disappointment, and something heavier underneath. “If you don’t recognize that woman’s passion and dedication, someone else will, and she’ll go where she’s valued.”
I leave the room, jaw tight, the echo of his words following me down the hall. The idea of Eleanor taking that fire somewhere else—off this campus, out of my reach—is more unsettling than I want to admit.
The faculty lounge is empty when I enter later that afternoon, which is exactly how I like it.
I have a Nespresso machine in my office, but I needed to stretch my legs.
I’ve been at my desk all day, trying to compose a routine update to the board, debating whether to include a reference to Eleanor’s proposal.
There’s no point if I’m not going to follow through. Which I’m not.
It’s a pilot program. It’s not ready. She’s not ready.
Still, the email took all day. I wrote it, deleted it, rewrote it—over and over—then finally sent it off without including Safe Harbor.
Then I organized my inbox. Cleared my voicemails. Tried to ignore the nagging feeling that I’d done something wrong.
The coffee canister in the faculty kitchen is empty, and I curse under my breath. There’s a single decaf pod left in the bowl on the counter, and with a sigh, I shove it into the coffee machine. As it brews, a fluorescent bulb flickers overhead, grating on my nerves.
What a day. Hours gone, nothing of significance achieved.
I take my coffee to a seat by the window and sink onto the worn tweed upholstery. Stretching my legs in front of me, I try to massage the tension from my neck. I’ve had a permanent tension headache for a week now.
Paige Mercer enters the faculty lounge, sighing heavily. She doesn’t spot me as she moves to the kitchen, rooting through the cupboards in agitation.
“For God’s sake,” she says to herself. “How is there no coffee?” With a resigned sigh, she dumps a tea bag into a mug and fills it with hot water.
When she turns to find me sitting across the room, she nearly jumps out of her skin.
“Shit.” Her hand flies to her mouth in horror. “Sorry. I didn’t see you, sir.”
“No problem.” I sip my coffee. As much as I want to turn and stare out the window into the courtyard, I feel duty-bound to make sure there isn’t something going on I need to know about. “Everything okay, Miss Mercer?”
“Yes, thank you.” She exhales, raking a hand through her dark-brown hair. “Still settling in, but it’s been a busy start and more intense than I expected this early on.”
I remember Eleanor speaking with Paige after last week’s faculty meeting. I’d chalked it up to over-caution, but the worry etched into Paige’s brow suggests there’s more to it.
“How so?”
She hesitates. “Well, a lot of our students are struggling more than they let on.” She dips her tea bag thoughtfully. “I’m noticing some challenges I hadn’t fully anticipated.”
My eyes narrow, and I set my coffee down. “Did Miss Hart put you up to this?” I hear the distrust in my voice and hate how it sounds.
Paige blinks. “Sorry?”
“Never mind.” I wave a hand, wishing I hadn’t said it. When did I become such a cynical bastard?
Paige shakes her head, returning to the topic at hand. “I usually don’t see this kind of overwhelm until midterms. If it’s like this now…”
I steeple my fingers, absorbing her words. I hadn’t realized other staff had noticed the same issues Eleanor highlighted.
“What would help?” I ask at length.
She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know, exactly. But sometimes I wish there was something more proactive in place. Something to ensure no one slips through the cracks.” Her mouth pulls into a strained smile. “Anyway. Didn’t mean to drop all that on you. Enjoy your coffee.”
I watch her leave the lounge, turning over her words. Something to ensure no one slips through the cracks.
Something like Eleanor’s proposal.
I push to my feet, dumping the decaf coffee in the sink. Was I too hasty in dismissing Eleanor’s idea?
At the top of the stairs, I head to Danny’s office, but it’s empty. Margaret is at her desk as always, and I pause.
“Have you seen Danny?”
“He went home a few minutes ago, but said you’d left Eleanor’s proposal in his office. I’ve put it on your desk.”
I release my breath. I was hoping to have another discussion with him about the Safe Harbor proposal, one where he could help me critically evaluate it, rather than simply sing its praises, but that will have to wait.
“Thanks, Margaret.”
She peers at me over her glasses. “Are you considering it?”
“I… don’t know,” I answer honestly.
She hesitates, weighing something. I motion for her to share what’s on her mind.
“If you want my two cents, it’s not bad at all.”
This gives me pause. Margaret has been with this place longer than I have, and I trust her implicitly.
“How so?”
“It’s the sort of idea that challenges the status quo, which usually means it’s worth a second look.”
I stroke my chin, contemplating this.
“You could do worse,” she adds, turning back to her screen. “You have done worse, if memory serves.”
“Thank you, Margaret,” I say dryly, turning toward my office.
I close the door to find the proposal waiting on my desk, but I don’t sit down yet. I stand there, staring at it, hoping maybe it’ll tell me what to do.
Picking up the booklet, I flip through it again. I only read the first two pages this morning, quick to dismiss it, but as I sink into my chair, reexamining it, I’m forced to ask myself: if this had come across my desk from anyone else, would I have rejected it so quickly?
Because backing this doesn’t only feel risky to the school. It feels risky to me. Like opening a door I’ve tried to keep closed. Like saying yes to more than just Safe Harbor.
You don’t have to figure it out alone, you know.
Eleanor’s words from last week ring through my head. The earnest way she wanted to help.
That part of me wanted to let her.
I’m so used to doing things alone. For fifteen years, I had no choice. Then along comes Eleanor, offering to shoulder some of the burden.
Maybe that’s what scares me the most. Not the board. Not the parents. But how easily she’s getting under my skin.
If I remove Eleanor from the picture—her voice, her smile, the way she leans forward when she’s passionate about something—if I strip that away and look at the idea on its own…
It’s good. I can see that. Her proposal is thorough, hits everything it needs to, and, if we could pull it off, would benefit the students and community greatly.
I’d need to get the board’s approval, but if we frame it correctly, that shouldn’t be too hard.
They want results, and the kids are struggling.
If we can measure tangible benefits—improved attendance, better engagement, fewer behavioral issues—then they can’t argue.
Besides, it’s a pilot program. A test. We’ll start it on a limited scale, with a specific scope, and built-in evaluation at each stage. If it doesn’t work out, it won’t be a huge scandal.
This isn’t the same as last time.
And after making such a mess of things before, I owe it to them to try.
But even as I tell myself that, I know this isn’t only about atonement. It’s about hope.
And something in me wants to say yes.