Page 16 of The Headmaster’s Rule

God.

“Who?” I ask nonchalantly, turning to the coffee machine and shoving a pod into the slot.

“Nora. She’s an absolute ray of sunshine.”

“Hmm.” Marlene’s been with the school almost as long as I have, and she’s been the head of the lower school for half that time. I trust her judgment. Eleanor and I have another meeting scheduled for this afternoon, and I was considering canceling, but curiosity nudges me to ask, “What makes you say that?”

Marlene chuckles. “Just look at her! Everything about her screams fun. The kids love her.”

I open my mouth to protest, because this is Wetherly Prep. Fun is all fine and good, but what matters is academic achievement. Rankings. Numbers I can present to the board.

But Marlene continues before I can get a word out. “They’re off to a strong start. I’ve seen their workbooks, and they’re already writing full paragraphs.”

I take my coffee from the machine, glancing again across the conference room at Eleanor. She’s in another colorful number today, a pink dress with a forest green cardigan. Yesterday, when I passed her in the hall, she wore what looked like a collage of children’s storybook characters on her lower half.

“Why is she speaking to Miss Mercer?” I ask. “Should I be concerned?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” Marlene assures me. “Andy O’Reilly wrote a journal entry about missing his dad, and she’s following up.”

I frown. Journals. Right, because that’s what’s going to improve SAT scores.

“Are you sure these journals are a good idea?”

Marlene laughs. “Come on, Theo, they’re harmless. And they encourage the kids to write.”

“Harmless? Then why are they sending students to the guidance counselor?”

“Would you prefer Andy suffer in silence and not get support?”

I scratch my chin. I’d prefer Andy check his personal problems at the door, but that might be a lot to ask of a third-grader.

“Give her a chance,” Marlene says. “She might surprise you.”

Then she toddles off to class with another chuckle. Juliana steps up to use the coffee machine beside me, and I smile at my daughter.

“Hey, Bug. How are classes? Anyone I need to send to detention?”

She cringes, looking past me. “Dad. Please.”

“Sorry.” I smother my smile. It’s easy to forget I need to treat her with distance and professionalism now, when it feels like only a few years ago she’d come into my office in tears over a bad grade.

“Seriously, Jules. You’re settling in okay?” It’s Juliana’s first year teaching here, even if the school is as familiar to her as home.

“I’m settling in fine.”

“I need to send Mason to fix your porch light. I’ll speak to him today.”

She turns to me with a huff, placing one hand on her hip. “I can change a light bulb by myself.”

“But I’d rather he—”

“I’d rather you stopped assuming I need help.”

My smile falters. “Right,” I mumble. “Got it.” I’m about to turn away, when she sighs.

“I hear you’re making Nora’s life hell.”

“Who?”