No Matter What - By Janice Kay Johnson Page 0,3

his face, it was fleeting and replaced by his now-current sullenness.

“We’re going home,” Richard said, and kept walking, leaving Trevor to fall in behind him or not.

Good. Great. His meeting with Vice Principal Callahan had made him sullen, too, and about as mature, behaving like the average middle schooler, forget high school.

And now he had to figure out how to be the parent.

* * *

CAITLYN SNATCHED A carrot that her mother had just peeled and crunched into it. Molly pretended to slap at her hand but then took another carrot from the crisper and began to peel. She watched with pleasure as Cait plopped her book bag on the breakfast bar, hopped on a stool and hooked her feet on it. Orange bits flew as she chewed and talked.

“Wow, I don’t know what his problem is, but today Mr. Sanchez was a total—” She grinned at her mother’s raised eyebrow. They’d agreed years ago that she could express honest opinions of her teachers but not use profanity or obscenities to do so. “Jerk. He was a jerk today. He was in some kind of snit because nobody, like nobody, passed his stupid quiz. Of course it’s our fault. Did it occur to him that maybe he failed to successfully teach a concept? I mean, duh.” Another enthusiastic crunch. “So he tried again, and I still don’t get it. Who needs advanced algebra anyway?”

“Engineers, I’d guess. Mathematicians, computer geeks, scientists.”

“You know this for a fact.”

Molly laughed. “Well, no. I confess I got an A in second-year algebra and can no longer remember a single thing I learned. I thank God on my knees daily that you haven’t needed my help.”

“About that.” Cait reached for the zipper of her backpack. “See, there’s this thing I don’t get…” She giggled at her mother’s expression. “I’ll figure it out myself, thank you.”

She rambled on for several minutes. Molly would have basked in the pleasure of having Cait talking to her, really talking, if she didn’t know that soon—any minute—she herself would have to drop a bomb on the mood. Obviously, Cait and Trevor had not spoken since he’d slunk out at his father’s side without finishing the day.

She would have waited until after dinner if it weren’t for the possibility of the phone ringing any minute. Unless Richard Ward had suspended his son’s phone privileges? Yeah, sure.

Cait finished telling Molly about a friend who was being such an idiot about this guy who treated her like garbage, and why would she put up with that?

Usually Molly would have commented. Instead, she took a minute to look at her daughter and think, If only you knew how much I love you.

She’d been so in love with her one-and-only child since the day she was born. It almost seemed unfair that Caitlyn was darn near perfect. Molly had been waiting for years for the other shoe to drop. Life was never this good. People weren’t this good.

But there she sat, delicate face open and cheerful. She had big blue eyes and a cloud of wavy, strawberry-blond hair. Thanks to her father’s genes, she was both shorter than her mother and finer boned. She gave an impression of fragility that her years in dance belied. Cait could be tough.

Bracing herself, Molly stirred the homemade chili simmering on the stove. “Cait, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Her daughter tilted her head. “Wow. You sound serious.”

“It’s about Trevor.”

Cait stiffened.

Get it out quick. “There was another incident involving Trevor. Aaron Latter bumped Trevor in the hall between classes, and Trevor attacked him. He hurt Aaron badly. Mr. Whitlock had to pull Trevor off Aaron. I know how you feel about Trevor—”

“No, you don’t.” Cait was already scrambling off the stool. “What did you do? You didn’t kick him out, did you?”

“I suspended him. You know I had no choice.”

“Oh, right,” Caitlyn said in an ugly voice. The hostility that filled her eyes was shocking. “Did you even ask him his side?”

“He has no interest in talking to me.”

“Gee, I wonder why that is? God, Mom. How could you?”

Molly continued with her dinner preparations. She’d tell any parent not to overreact to teenage drama. Be matter-of-fact, she would say. Explain, but do not justify yourself. Be a reasonable adult. A role model.

She reached for the olive oil. “You know school policy on fighting. This is his second infraction within a week. And from what I’m told, this wasn’t a fight. It was an assault.”

“Oh, that’s bull!” her darling daughter snarled.

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