For Kat, it was even worse. When her report card arrived in the mail the day before, she was shocked to discover that she had failed every subject but Art. And she had a sneaking feeling that the only reason she wasn't failing Art was because Mr. Harding had felt sorry for her.
Kat decided that the time had come to take matters into her own hands.
Dr. Bradley had an open door policy when it came to students. Her office had glass walls and was situated in front of the administration offices. Students passed by all day long and gazed in unconsciously, watching as their principal went from phone call to phone call and parent meeting to staff meeting to student meeting. Kat got to school early on the day before Danylo's trial. So early, in fact, that she beat Dr. Bradley, who liked to pride herself on her early-bird habits.
Kat sat down in front of the glass door and placed her knapsack beside her. She pulled out a drinking box from her pocket and sipped on it patiently, waiting for the principal to arrive.
Kat was so caught up in her thoughts that Dr. Bradley was upon her before she even noticed. "Come in," said Dr. Bradley, who was carrying a take-out cup of coffee in one hand and a bulging brief case in the other.
Kat scrambled to her feet and offered to hold Dr. Bradley's coffee while the principal rooted through her coat pockets for the key to the office. "Success!" she said, pulling out a key laden chain, selecting one and opening the door with it.
Kat followed her into the office and set Dr. Bradley's coffee down on the desk.
"Make yourself comfortable," said Dr. Bradley, motioning with her hand for Kat to sit at one of the two chairs positioned in front of her cluttered desk.
Kat didn't take her coat off and didn't put down her knapsack. She perched on the edge of the chair furthest from the desk and hugged her knapsack to her chest.
Dr. Bradley had removed her own coat by this time and was sitting in her wooden swivel chair on the other side of the desk. "You are a bundle of nerves," she said, taking in Kat's demeanour. "You've been through the loop, haven't you?"
Kat nodded, but still didn't say anything. She was afraid that if she started, she would begin to cry. And where do you start with a problem like this, anyway?
Dr. Bradley sensed Kat's difficulty, so she began the conversation with what little she knew about it. "I'd read the newspaper reports," said Dr. Bradley, "but I didn't realize Mr.Feschuk was your grandfather until I saw the television news last night."
Kat just sat and nodded, clutching her knapsack to her chest.
"Let's just see your transcripts," said Dr. Bradley. She took her desktop computer out of sleep mode and entered Kat's name into the system. "Whoa," said Dr. Bradley when Kat's current course standings appeared on the screen. "When you plunge, you plunge deep, girl."
Kat's shoulders hunched in resignation.
"The hearing starts tomorrow?" Dr. Bradley asked.
"Yes," Kat managed weakly.
"I think you should go. You would be a great moral support for your grandfather."
"My mother doesn't want me to go," said Kat forlornly.
Dr. Bradley arched her eyebrows. "She obviously hasn't seen your report card. You'd be better off to start fresh again next year than to try and salvage these marks."
Kat nodded in agreement. "I haven't had the heart to show her yet, what with all that's been happening."
"I can understand that," said Dr. Bradley. "Why don't I give your parents a call and we'll have a meeting?" suggested Dr. Bradley. "I think the best thing for you right now would be to attend your grandfather's hearing. You can't possibly concentrate on school work in your condition."
"Will I lose my year?" asked Kat.
"Most likely," said Dr. Bradley. "But I'll save you a spot for next year. You are a brilliant student and this is a bona fide family crisis."
For the first time in a long time, Kat felt a sense of relief. Her hunched shoulders relaxed just a little bit, and she slowly let out the breath that she hadn't even realized she had been holding.
Dr. Bradley got up from her chair and walked around to where Kat sat. She crouched down beside her and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. "It may not feel like it now," said Dr. Bradley, "but this too shall pass."
Kat walked out of the school just as the early bus arrived. Michael was the first to step off, and he was concentrating on something so hard that he almost walked right into Kat. He did a double take when he recognized her. "Are you okay?"
Kat explained that she was dropping some courses and would be attending the hearing.
"I don't blame you," said Michael. "I'd do the same thing in your position. You're not dropping art class, though, are you?"
"I wish I didn't have to," said Kat with resignation. "That's the only subject I'm not failing."
"I figured as much," said Michael. "Mr. Harding asked me about the case once, then mentioned what a talented student you were."
"Mr. Harding asked you about the case?" The thought gave Kat the creeps. Why was Mr. Harding so interested in this? She remembered her own conversation with him, and how uncomfortable it had made her feel.
"I couldn't tell him anything even if I wanted to," said Michael. "And I don't want to."
Kat nodded. It relieved her to know that.
"I can take notes for you in art so that you don't get too far behind."
"That would be great," said Kat. "Give me a call when you have a chance and we can go over stuff together."
Michael shifted from one foot to the other and his face flushed pink. "I ... I don't have your phone number," he said. "It's unlisted."
"But your father has it," said Kat.
"Client privilege," said Michael.
"Right," said Kat. "I forgot. Give me your hand."
Michael stretched out his hand and she wrote her new phone number on his palm in ballpoint pen. "Now just don't wash your hand," she said, smiling.
When Kat got home, it was midmorning and the reporters had again begun to accumulate. At least now they knew better than to trespass. Why didn't they just leave? What is it that they're trying to see? Maybe they thought they could catch her grandfather unearthing an old Nazi uniform and trying it on, she thought giddily. Didn't that happen in some movie?
Danylo still hadn't come out of his room by lunchtime, and she knew he had eaten no breakfast. Neither had she, for that matter. There was a frozen batch of vushky with pidpenky in the freezer from Sviat Vecher,Kat took out a dozen of the mushroom-stuffed noodles and re-zipped the package. Then she got a Tupperware container of leftover borscht from the fridge. She warmed the soup and defrosted the noodles and combined them in a pot on the stove. When it was steaming hot, she tapped on her grandfather's door.
"Leave me alone."
In normal times, that's just what Kat would have done, but these were not normal times. She remembered how depressed her grandmother got when her cancer recurred. She'd do exactly the same thing: lock herself in the room and mope. Well, Kat didn't take it then, and she wasn't about to take it now. She tapped on the door again.
"Go away, I said."
"No," said Kat. "Either you open this door, or I do."
"Don't be a pill," grumbled her grandfather.
With that, Kat opened the door. Her grandfather was sitting on the edge of the bed, going through the items in her late grandmother's jewellery box. All sorts of homemade knick-knacks were spread across the comforter.
"I made some soup," she said.
"What kind, zolota zhabka?" asked her grandfather.
This was a good sign, thought Kat. "Borscht."
"With vushky?" he asked, his eyes lighting with interest.