“Well, this morning’s episode will help focus our discussion,” the vice principal says at the parent-teacher conference that afternoon. I’ve been suspended for a day and my mom’s crying. My dad says her name and she stops. Gus’s birthday party has been postponed. Gus is with a babysitter.
“His mother’s upset,” my dad tells the vice principal.
The vice principal moves the Kleenex box closer to her on the desk. He tells us that one of the teachers, Ms. Meier, wanted to be here as well and should be coming through the door momentarily. “As you can see, things aren’t getting better,” he says.
My dad nods like he can see that and would like to move things along a little faster. “Is he unusually problematic, or middle of the pack in terms of your experience with these kinds of problems?” he goes.
“Call me Justin,” the vice principal goes.
“All right, Justin,” my dad goes. “Is he unusually problematic, or kind of middle of the pack in terms of these kinds of problems?”
The vice principal gives him a smile. “I’m not sure I’m ready to handicap him like this is the Kentucky Derby,” he goes.
“I thought I asked a straightforward question,” my dad goes.
My mom asks if he could please stop it, and he apologizes. Maybe because he teaches in a college, you can see that he thinks that people who teach in junior highs are probably not all that smart.
“Can I ask what you’ve been noticing at home?” the vice principal asks. “In terms of behavior, in terms of the way he’s been feeling?”
My mom talks for a while. My dad adds things in here and there. When they’re finished they ask me if I think they left anything out.
“Sounds about right,” I go.
Ms. Meier comes clumping down the hall and opens the door like she expected somebody was holding it shut. “Hello, hello, everyone,” she goes. She asks to be called April.
“April Meier,” my dad goes.
“That’s it,” she says.
“Nice to meet you,” my mom goes. She sounds miserable.
“And you,” Ms. Meier says. “What have I missed?”
The vice principal repeats what they told him about the home situation. He leaves a few things out and screws one or two things up. “Is that about right?” he asks me.
“Yep,” I go.
“Well. Here’s what we’ve been noticing around here,” Ms. Meier says. “May I start?” she asks the vice principal.
He makes a little after you gesture.
“Edwin acts like he’s under constant pressure,” she says.
“My little spray can,” my dad goes, almost to himself.
“Is that a joke?” my mom goes.
“No,” he tells her. She looks at him.
Ms. Meier waits for everybody to finish. “He’s either very very quiet or acting out in various antisocial ways,” she says. Everybody sits and looks at each other for a minute.
“Could you give us some examples?” my mom finally asks.
Ms. Meier gives them a few. Some I didn’t even know she knew about. “He’s got a good head on his shoulders,” she says at the end. “He’s very bright.”
“He’s bright, we know that,” my dad goes.
“He’s so bright,” my mom goes.
“He’s had trouble in math, but verbally he’s tested off the charts,” the vice principal says. “Is that your sense of him, as well?” he asks Ms. Meier.
“It is,” she goes. “Though this year he seems to be actively working, in his essays, to rein in his vocabulary.”
“Are you doing that?” my dad goes. “Are you working to rein in your vocabulary?”
Everybody looks at me. “I’m working to rein in everything,” I go.
Nobody answers. They all look at each other. The vice principal smiles.
“How long have you been noticing this?” my mom goes. “This is a question for either of you, I guess. Do you have some idea when it started?”
“Don’t pick at your fingernails,” my dad goes to me.
The vice principal looks at Ms. Meier to see who’s going to go first. “I’ve just started with Edwin,” she says. “I didn’t have him last year. But I’ve checked with Mrs. Fisher, and she said he tailed off badly in the spring.”
“That’s been my impression, too,” the vice principal says. My dad jots a note to himself on a little pad of paper he’s brought along. “Were there any traumatic events, or did anything in particular happen last spring that you guys know about?” the vice principal asks.
They think about it. They look at each other. “Not that I know of,” my dad goes. My mom agrees with him.
“Was there anything in the spring you can remember that really affected you?” Ms. Meier asks me.
“No, not really,” I go.
“But there was something?” my mom goes.
“No, not really,” I go.
“You can’t think of one thing?” my mom goes.
“Well, I got older,” I go.
Everybody sits back in their chairs. The vice principal slides his palm back and forth on the desk blotter in front of him. He watches his hand while he does it.
“So where do we go from here?” my mom wants to know.
“Well, there are various options,” the vice principal tells her. “One place to start is with a special-ed program we have for extra work with socialization. It meets one day a week during school hours and one day a week after school hours. So it’s not too burdensome.”
“You mean like for retards?” I go.
“I don’t know what you mean,” the vice principal says, mad.
“You mean like special-needs kids?” I go.
“Special-ed programs are just that,” he goes. “They’re for all sorts of things. Whatever someone needs extra help with.”
“What’s it involve?” my mom wants to know.
“It’s mostly a workshop,” the vice principal goes. “A workshop with his peers. Other kids who’re also having difficulties. They’re given tasks to perform together. They do skits and hypotheticals, stuff like that.”
I imagine sitting across a table from Dickhead and Weensie and Hogan and every other asshole in the school and doing skits.
“Is that it? Is that all we’re going to try, at first?” my dad goes.
“We also have worksheets and exercises to send home,” the vice principal tells him.
Ms. Meier starts to say something, and my dad interrupts her. The vice principal lowers his head and holds up a palm to my dad and rotates his other hand to let her know it’s her turn.
“We find the combination can work very well,” she goes.
“Ms. Meier used to help out in the program,” the vice principal tells us.
“That sound amenable to everyone?” he asks, after no one says anything for a while. “If you guys don’t do the work on your end, it doesn’t matter what we do here,” he adds. “We can only do so much with the time we have him.”
My dad lets out a huge amount of air. “Sounds fine with me,” he says. “What about the patient?” he goes to me. “How’s it sound to you?”
“Fine with me,” I go.
“Fine with you,” he goes. “Everything’s fine with you.”
“Well, I guess that’s about it,” the vice principal says. “Edwin, do you have anything that you’d like to add?”
“Nothing I can think of,” I go. I stand up. My dad stands up.
“Mr. Hanratty,” Ms. Meier says. “Does Edwin have a chemistry set?”
“Not that I know of,” my dad says.
“Did we get him a chemistry set?” my mom asks.
“Not that I know of,” my dad says.
My stomach feels like it jumped up and froze in midair. Ms. Meier moves her mouth back and forth like she’s thinking.