The Merriest Magnolia (Magnolia Sisters #2) - Michelle Major Page 0,23
shy kid, quiet and introspective but with a sweet smile and easygoing temperament that had made everyone in his life love him. His parents and grandpa had doted on him, and Dylan was embarrassed to admit he’d been jealous of the boy on occasion, unable to fathom what it would have been like to grow up surrounded by so much love and affection.
Only to have it stolen by a tragic accident.
He opened the door to Tim Johnson’s office and the wiry-thin man, who looked to be in his late fifties, gestured him forward. Dylan’s gaze tracked to Sam, who sat hunched in one of the upholstered chairs in front of the desk. The boy didn’t bother to turn around, but Dylan saw his shoulders stiffen as if he knew who entered the room without looking.
“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Scott,” the principal said. “Please have a seat. I’m Tim Johnson, and I apologize that we’re meeting under these circumstances.”
“Call me Dylan.” He placed a hand on Sam’s back. “You okay, bud?”
“Never better,” the kid muttered, although his body language told a different story. Sam never showed weakness to the world. It was something Dylan appreciated in the boy because, for better or worse, he had the same tendency.
The principal cleared his throat. “I hope that isn’t the case. Sam has committed a serious infraction, and despite the extenuating circumstances with which he comes to us, we need to ensure that nothing like this occurs again.”
He adjusted his glasses as he looked at Dylan. “The other option is that Sam isn’t a fit for Magnolia High.”
Extenuating circumstances. Angry heat rushed through Dylan. Surely the principal could come up with a better way to describe being orphaned.
“Tell me what happened,” Dylan told Sam.
“Nothing.”
“I wouldn’t call defacing school property nothing,” Tim said tightly.
“Defacing in what way?” Dylan asked the principal.
“Our security system caught it on camera. Instead of going to class, Sam chose to spend fifth period spray-painting school property.”
“The stupid, ugly modular classroom.” Sam shook his head. “It’s not even a big deal.”
“Vandalism,” the principal said. “Skipping class is a big deal. I’m certain your...” He cleared his throat. “I’m certain Mr. Scott agrees.”
Dylan pressed his lips together. In theory he agreed with the principal, but the truth was he’d done much worse during his time in high school. Still, he couldn’t let Sam start off in this way.
“What’s the punishment?” he demanded, figuring it was easiest to cut to the chase.
Tim Johnson raised a brow. “Do you think we should talk about why this happened?”
“Math is boring,” Sam grumbled. “The modular is ugly. Everyone thinks it looks way better now.”
“That isn’t the point,” Tim said, shaking his head.
It surprised Dylan that the principal didn’t argue. He hadn’t checked out the building where the graffiti had taken place when he’d arrived, and now he regretted that decision.
“I think more than worrying about why it happened,” Dylan told the principal, “the major concern should be ensuring it doesn’t happen again. Which it won’t.”
“My recommendation is a one-day school suspension,” Tim said with a nod. “That will take us into the Thanksgiving holiday.”
“What holiday?” Dylan asked, panic grazing along his spine.
“The school district is closed Wednesday, Thursday and Friday due to the holiday.” The principal looked at him like he was a total idiot.
“Right,” he agreed. “I forgot about Thanksgiving.”
“Because you always came to our house.” Sam suddenly turned to him, his tone filled with accusation. “You never had to remember it because my mom took care of everything.”
“It’s not like I forgot the holiday,” Dylan protested, the words sounding weak even to his own ears. “I’ve been busy, Sam. I just didn’t remember that it was this week.” He massaged a hand over the back of his neck. “Or that you’d be off school.”
“Stuck with me, again.”
Dylan blew out a long breath. “We can discuss Thanksgiving plans and whether you want pecan or pumpkin pie later. Right now we’re talking about you vandalizing the school.” He looked at the principal. “Do you have photos so I can see the damage? Sam will take care of cleanup and any costs involved.”
Tim nodded, flipping open the laptop that sat on his desk and turning it so the screen faced Dylan.
“As far as the suspension goes, we do have another option,” the principal offered, almost reluctantly.
Instead of hearing him out, Dylan held up a hand, unable to focus on anything but the images on the screen.