Kent Buckley, I heard him announce to the room the name of Max’s replacement.
“The new principal of the Kempner School will be … a rising star in the world of independent administration … a guy we were unbelievably lucky to get at this late date on such short notice…” Kent Buckley paused as if we were all having fun. As if a drumroll might magically come out of nowhere. Then he said, “Duncan Carpenter.”
I don’t know if Kent Buckley was expecting cheers or clapping or what. But there was just silence. That name was just a name. It didn’t mean anything to anybody.
Anybody except me.
I knew that name.
At the sound of it, I stood straight up in the middle of the room.
Just popped right up.
Just … burst upward, like a reflex. Like a leg at the doctor’s office.
But then, unlike a leg, I stayed up—my brain frozen.
Everybody stared at me. Including Kent Buckley, who was not exactly pleased.
There was no universe where Kent Buckley would have been a fan of mine, given that I was his wife’s nemesis. But he really, especially detested me ever since the time he’d overheard me calling him a “douchebag” at a school function.
In my defense, he was a douchebag, and I bet you nine out of every ten people would pick that exact word. But I guarantee you none of them would say it to his face.
Not even me.
Kent Buckley wanted me to sit back down. That much was clear.
But I couldn’t.
The name he’d just spoken was holding me suspended in shock.
“I’m sorry.” I shook my head, as if to clear it. “Did you just announce Max’s replacement … and tell us that it would be … that it would be…”
I paused at the impossibility of it.
Kent Buckley had zero time for this. “Duncan Carpenter,” he repeated, like he was talking to a dumb kid.
So many questions. I didn’t know where to start. “Do you mean the Duncan Carpenter?”
Kent Buckley frowned. “Is there more than one?”
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
The whole room was watching. Was this a conversation that needed to happen right now?
Um, yes.
“Tall and lanky?” I asked Kent Buckley then, lifting my hand way above my head. “Sandy hair? Super goofy?”
Kent Buckley’s voice was clipped. “No. Not ‘super goofy.’”
Maybe we had different definitions of that phrase. I tried to clarify. “Like, wearing crazy golf pants?” I went on. “Or a tie with rubber duckies on it?”
I was on borrowed time. “Just a normal suit,” Kent Buckley said.
I paused. A normal suit. Huh.
The whole room could tell I was having a moment. I don’t know a word, or even a category, for what I felt at the sound of that name, but it was more like a cocktail of emotions than any simple substance. Equal parts horror and ecstasy, with a twist of panic, and a little zest of disbelief—all poured over the cold ice of comprehension about what Kent Buckley’s announcement meant for my immediate future.
It wasn’t good.
The clock was ticking on everybody’s patience—Kent Buckley’s the most. Before I could ask another question, he pointed decisively at my seat, like We’re done here.
I sat. More out of stupefaction than obedience. Then I stayed still, trying to will the adrenaline out of my system.
Could there be more than one Duncan Carpenter in the world? I guessed it was possible. The world was a big place. But … more than one Duncan Carpenter in the world of independent elementary education?
Less likely.
The reality of the odds hit me.
Duncan Carpenter was coming here. To my sleepy little town on Galveston Island. To replace my beloved principal and run my beloved school.
The Duncan Carpenter.
“He’s a stellar candidate,” Kent Buckley continued to the room at last, glad to have his rightful stage back. “An assistant principal that took a nightmare of a school and pulled it together in the course of one year. They counteroffered several times to keep him, but he needed a change of location for personal reasons, and he’s ours now. He’s going to get in here and shake things up. Give this place the kick in the pants it’s needed for so long.”
Did our sweet little utopia of a school need a kick in the pants?
No. Not at all.
Of course, we would need somebody to be in charge. But why wasn’t it Babette? I guarantee every single teacher in that room would have voted for Babette.
But this was Kent Buckley. He wasn’t asking us to vote.