Lie, Lie Again - Stacy Wise Page 0,55

see Principal Rosenkrantz approaching with long strides.

“Good morning!” She smiled, hoping he wasn’t going to comment on her tardiness. As he neared, she noticed his eyes were all squinty, making him look angry. Shoot! But it could be the sun, she thought.

He gave her a brief nod, the stern look remaining on his face even though he was now in the shadow of the building. “I’d like to have a word. My office, please.”

Why would he need to talk to her about being late in his office? It would make her even later . . . Oh, crap! She hadn’t sent the email. It was still sitting in her drafts folder. “Sure,” she said, forcing a smile. This was so not how she wanted to start her day. If she were at her old school, Principal Griffin would’ve had a laugh with her about the ridiculousness of the email complaints while they brainstormed solutions over a box of chocolates. Principal Griffin had a secret stash for such occasions.

As she walked into the office, she scanned the wall. It was lined on one side with tissue-paper butterflies made by a kindergarten class and limericks written by a first-grade class on the other. I wonder if a parent complained about the butterflies, she thought bitterly. And weren’t limericks rude? How dare they teach precious children about this ugly form of poetry at such an impressionable age! She followed the principal past Ms. Harper, his assistant, into his large office.

He motioned to the tiny plastic chair that sat opposite his desk, and she sat. It was kid-size, and she immediately felt at a disadvantage.

“Do you know why you’re here, Miss McFarlan?”

She crossed her legs, trying to get comfortable, but they were too long for the stupid little chair. “Is it because of the leprechaun-trap assignment? Mrs. Trainor mentioned she might email you.”

He nodded solemnly. “It is. How would you evaluate your handling of the situation?”

At least he wanted to hear what she had to say. Hopefully he recognized how silly Mrs. Trainor’s complaints were. She leaned forward. “I think I handled it well. Quite a few parents chimed in after Mrs. Trainor’s initial email, and I logged their opinions on whether they wanted their child to participate or not.” She hesitated as she recalled her list and hoped he wouldn’t ask to see it. She’d have to make a new version without the current label of “Crazy Parents.” Should she tell him she meant to send him an email, or would that make her sound flaky and forgetful?

Definitely flaky. She straightened. “I thought making the project optional was a good solution.”

Principal Rosenkrantz listened with his hands folded on the desk as she spoke. Very casually, he leaned back and rubbed his chin. “Mrs. Trainor told you she would bring this to my attention. Did it occur to you that you should’ve alerted me?”

Heat sprang up Riki’s neck, and she was certain her face was scarlet. Great. She was going to be written up because she’d forgotten to do something over the weekend. “Yes. I should’ve emailed you,” she responded, her tone flat.

He squinted and appeared to be holding his breath. He looked like an angry toddler ready to burst. “But you didn’t. And that’s a problem, Miss McFarlan. A big one. You know I’m very supportive of the teachers here. However, when I’m bombarded by a couple of irate parents first thing Monday morning, and I haven’t a clue as to what it’s about, it puts me in a very awkward position. Do you understand?”

“The Trainors came to see you this morning?”

“Mrs. Trainor and Mrs. Johanson came to see me. They were waiting outside my office when I arrived. I didn’t even get the chance to have a cup of coffee.” He said this as though it were an equal outrage. “Mrs. Trainor made claims that with your ‘flip response’—that’s a direct quote, mind you—you invited an opportunity for the matter to take an argumentative turn, causing her to feel that she was getting bullied by other parents. Mrs. Johanson came in support of her. She and her husband were both extremely upset by your response.”

“What? My response was to let each family decide if the project was right for their child.”

“Well, that’s not how they see it.” He sighed. “And please keep your emotions in check. I’ve already had to deal with excited parents.” He pushed a stack of papers across his desk toward her. “Mrs. Trainor printed these out for me.