Page 11 of The Headmaster’s Rule

Hurt colors her expression, and I grimace. I’m being a jerk, but she doesn’t understand the circumstances, the pressure to get this right. What the cost will be if I don’t.

Then tell her, a tiny voice in my head reasons. It sounds suspiciously like Danny’s voice.

“Look, it’s… a little complicated,” I begin, absently loosening my tie. It’s a noose around my neck. “Last year there were some issues. Things didn’t go entirely according to plan”—that’s putting it mildly—“so I need to be a little more particular this year. I need to ensure it goes off without a hitch.”

“Right,” she says, realization dawning on her face. “So that’s why no one else wanted to volunteer.”

“Something like that.”

She’s quiet for a beat, looking at her folder. “Well, I have some ideas, if you’d be open to hearing them.”

I force my breath out through my nose, gazing at her. No matter how much I push her away, she pushes back. I have to admire her persistence.

“Go ahead.”

A smile flits across her lips. “What about partnering with the Wetherly Cove Public Library to create a children’s literacy program?”

“A worthy cause,” I agree, “but I don’t want the board asking why we’re raising money for a public resource instead of our own programs.”

She tilts her head, considering this. “Fair enough. Then maybe something in mental health? A crisis line or teen counseling network?”

I wince. “Too tricky with the board.”

She takes my rejection in stride. “Then we could help a local shelter, or children in foster care, or—”

“We’re not a social services agency, Miss Hart.” I’m almost enjoying this now. Each rejection only makes her more determined, but as much as I’d like to consider any one of them, I’ve already done it and ruled them out.

“What about raising funds for marine life conservation off the cove, or shoreline cleanups?”

I shake my head. “It looks good on paper, but doesn’t reflect the school’s priorities.”

She pauses, taking this on board. “So maybe something with a more direct link to the students.”

I wait, curious to see how she pivots.

“What if the fundraiser started with something for the school? A program that helps our students. Something completely new, and one aspect of it could be reaching out to the community or another outside cause that complements it?”

I exhale warily. “That sounds complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she says, sensing her opportunity. “In fact, this makes a lot more sense. We should invest back into the school—the kids—first. Once we’ve done that, they’re in a position to give back to the community. It flows outward, like a ripple effect.”

“We can’t—”

“What do the students actually need?” she says, half to herself. “They need support beyond academics, right? Things you can’t measure with a test score. We could create a student wellbeing program, or peer mentorship initiative—”

“Miss Hart.” I slide my glasses off and pinch the bridge of my nose. “These are all noble causes, I’m not denying that. But this isn’t only about what we need, it’s about optics. I need to satisfy the board, the donors, the parents. If a cause doesn’t look good to them, we don’t stand a chance.”

She sinks back into her chair with a frown. I should have known this meeting would get us nowhere. She has no shortage of ideas, I’ll give her that much, but she’s too young, too idealistic, to see how easily it could all go wrong.

A knock at the door breaks me from my thoughts. It’s Margaret, looking apologetic.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Wright, but there’s an aggravated parent at reception demanding to speak with you.”

I drag a hand down my face. Just what I need. Glancing at my watch, I notice it’s already after five.

“We should leave it there, Miss Hart.”

Her lips part in surprise. “Really?”