Sweetest in the Gale - Olivia Dade Page 0,42
little, satisfied smile, a silent warning that this entire conversation was only going to get worse for him. “More importantly, if you’d consulted with Principal Dunn, you’d have discovered that we already discussed the issue of appropriate clothing and came to a mutual agreement on the matter.”
Yes. This was definitely worse.
“On days like today, when I’m lecturing and likely to remain clean, I follow the standard dress code.” She swept a hand downward, indicating her current outfit. “On days when my clothing is likely to get stained, I’m allowed to wear jeans and more casual tops. Because, as we both concluded, asking me to replenish my work wardrobe every time an item became slightly soiled was both unreasonable and cost-prohibitive.”
No amount of exponential multiplication was going to save him now. “It appears I owe you another ap—”
“If I were you, I’d save further apologies until we’re finished,” she interrupted, still smiling. “You might as well beg forgiveness for everything at once. For the sake of efficiency, which I know is of the utmost importance to you.”
Shit. Worse appeared to be an understatement.
“Now onto your next critique, concerning the inappropriateness of today’s lesson.” She ticked off her multipart response on her fingers. “First, inappropriateness is very much a subjective matter. I’m surprised a man like you, who seems to prize objectivity, would use such a nebulous, essentially undefinable concept as part of your feedback. Second, I ran the unit and its contents by Principal Dunn before the school year even began. She gave her approval. She did so because, third, I sent a letter home to the parents and guardians of my students weeks ago, one that described this week’s topic in detail and required their signatures for student participation.”
How he’d fucked up so badly, he couldn’t even say. All he could do was keep listening, silent, as she enumerated the flaws in his conclusions.
“As far as listing a set of preapproved diorama topics—I agree such a list would contribute to greater efficiency in my classroom.” She leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “But it would detract from the actual experience of making art, which is as much about the creative process as it is about the final result. I want my students to find topics that speak to them on an individual level, and I certainly don’t know them well enough to be able to predict the contents of their hearts or the subjects that consume their innermost thoughts. I’m happy to guide them if they have difficulty choosing a topic, but I don’t want to prematurely limit the expanse of their imaginations.”
It all sounded like chaos to him. Total and complete chaos.
She tapped a fingertip on the table. “This isn’t a math problem with one right answer, Mr. Burnham. There aren’t even ten right answers, or a million right answers. There are infinite right answers.”
That lack of surety was discomfiting at best. Terrifying at worst.
But it didn’t matter how much he feared problems without a clear solution. What mattered: the wrong he’d done his colleague by presuming her less a professional than she actually was.
“I apologize, Ms. Wick. Again.” He maintained eye contact as a reassurance of his sincerity, despite his desire to turn away in shame. “I’ve underestimated you, and I promise to try my best not to do so in the future.”
He wouldn’t make excuses for himself. He wouldn’t. But she needed to understand, if only to comprehend—
Well, not the contents of his heart. But maybe his innermost thoughts. Some of them, anyway.
“I just—” Under her scrutiny, he fumbled for the right words. “As you said, maybe I should have talked to Principal Dunn before offering my critique. But I didn’t want to get…”
No, he should just keep his mouth shut. His innermost thoughts were his to keep.
But it was too late. That same glow of revelation he’d seen on her student transfused Ms. Wick’s expression, and her mouth pursed in a silent oh.
She blinked at him, her throat shifting as she swallowed.
“You didn’t want to get me into trouble,” she finally finished for him, her voice hoarse and warm and so liquid he could have bathed in it.
Yes. Yes, that was exactly what he’d tried not to say.
After giving herself a little shake, she sat up straighter. “I appreciate your consideration, Mr. Burnham, but you still could have asked me if I’d somehow addressed your concerns ahead of time, instead of assuming I hadn’t.”
He could have. It would, in fact, have been the logical way to