and cocked my head to the side.
There was an unfamiliar car in my driveway. Well, not unfamiliar. Just not mine. I’d recognize that green station wagon anywhere, though. It belonged to Anne Henderson. Who was currently standing on my porch.
As I watched, she pushed something through my mail slot. I picked up my pace as she hurried off my porch and through my front yard back to her car. Where was she going, and why was she in such a rush about it?
“Anne?” I called out, when I was two houses away. “Hey, Anne! Do you need something?”
She turned at the sound of my voice, and I was close enough now to see the shock painted on her face. But instead of answering, she threw open the door to her car and climbed inside.
“Anne, wait a second,” I called. But she slammed the door and put her car in gear. She peeled out of my driveway before I could get any closer, leaving me to watch her speed down my street in confusion.
What the hell?
I opened my front door to find a white envelope with my name and address on it lying on the wooden floorboards of my front hall. Something about it looked ominous. With some trepidation, I picked it up and pulled out the letter inside.
Dear Mr. Jackson,
After trying multiple times to discuss this matter with you in person, I have no choice but to schedule a formal meeting with you. Please report to my office at 3:30 p.m. on Monday afternoon to discuss the results of your most recent evaluation.
Regards,
Anne Henderson
Principal, Adair Elementary
My stomach dropped. This was not good. I didn’t know what she was talking about, saying she’d tried to discuss the results with me in person. When I’d seen Anne outside the auditorium this morning, she’d practically sprinted away.
But the fact that she wanted to schedule a formal meeting felt even worse. Nothing about the words, ‘formal meeting,’ suggested, ‘Your evaluation went great, we’re so happy to have you teaching with us!’ No, ‘formal meeting,’ sounded much more like, ‘Hello, please take a seat, you’re fired.’
I set the letter down on my kitchen table and let Gretchen sniff it while I opened my freezer. Movie nights with Katie meant massive bowls of ice cream. I’d just gotten everything ready when my phone rang. Katie’s number popped up on the screen, and my stomach, which hadn’t quite recovered from Anne’s mysterious letter, decided to drop another eight feet or so for good measure.
“Hey, you,” I said, trying to keep my voice cheerful as I answered. There was no reason to automatically assume the worst.
“Please don’t hate me,” Katie said.
Okay, so maybe there was.
“Of course I won’t hate you. What’s wrong?”
“I can’t come over tonight.” Katie paused. “I’ve been spending too much time out with my friends, and not enough home studying or training for Regionals.”
Gretchen meowed at me, so I scooped her up with one arm as I considered how to respond. Yes-or-no questions were usually best. I walked down the hall to my bedroom and flopped down on my bed.
“Is that what you actually think?”
“Well…”
“Or is that what Dad says?”
“Um. Maybe that.” Katie laughed lightly. Too lightly.
“Is Dad by any chance within earshot right now?”
Another laugh. “You could say that.”
“So you’re pretty much on house arrest until he decides you’re allowed to do anything other than school or cheer stuff?”
“That’s pretty much the size of it.” Katie was quiet for a moment. “But maybe next week? Or the week after that?”
She sounded so hopeful that I couldn’t do anything but agree. “Definitely. And hey, there’s still Sunday dinner.”
“Your favorite.”
“Well, yeah, but at least I get to see you, right? And Regionals are pretty close now, so I’ll definitely see you then.”
“For sure.”
“And hey, if you are able to stop by any morning, I did just buy some of that fancy peanut butter you like. If that helps swing the pendulum in my favor.”
Katie laughed—for real this time. “Oh, it definitely does.”
“Well, I’ll let you go and get back to studying—”
“Oh, joy.”
“—but I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I set the phone down on my nightstand and waited a whole seven seconds before I buried my face in my pillow and screamed—an action Gretchen seemed to find very disconcerting. She batted at me with her paw until I looked up, then poked her face in close.
“I’m sorry, kitten,” I told her. “Just having a minor nervous breakdown over here.”
As a kid, I’d discovered early on