Page 6 of The Headmaster’s Rule

But Eleanor… Nora? In all honesty, I’m not sure what to make of our newest hire. She’s young, with a quirky dress sense and what appears to be a lot of enthusiasm, but that’s not always a good thing.

“Margaret,” I ask, in a confidential tone, “what do you make of her?”

Deep in thought, my assistant taps a pen to her lips. Whatever she says, she’ll be straight with me.

“She seems bright. Eager. Perhaps a little naive.”

I nod in silent agreement. My concerns exactly. “Thanks, Margaret. Let me mull it over.”

She nods, then exits the room, closing the door behind her. I sip my coffee, thinking about the young woman from the faculty meeting. The way her hand shot up to volunteer. The timid smile she sent me across the table. How she mumbled a quick, nervous Sorry when she bumped into me leaving the conference room. Despite myself, curiosity tugs at me.

It only takes a few clicks on my computer to bring up her staff file. In the top corner is her photo, a headshot, likely taken by Danny during onboarding. She looks younger in this picture than her twenty-seven years, younger than she did in the faculty meeting this morning. Reading on, I find her history interesting; a couple years in a pre-law program, a transfer into education, teaching for two years at a New York inner city school.

I drain my coffee, glancing at her picture again. She’s smiling broadly, her peaches and cream complexion flushed, hazel eyes sparkling as if she’s thrilled to be working here. Much like when she volunteered during the meeting. The neckline of her dress is just visible in the photo, black with vibrant yellow sunflowers. It reminds me of the flower barrette in her hair this morning. The woman loves sunflowers.

I catch myself and click out of her file. Why the hell did I notice her damn barrette? Shaking off the thought, I open the P.E. budget, preparing to go through each item line-by-line, but before I can start, there’s another knock at the door, this time Danny.

Daniel Fells—or “Danny” to most of the faculty and, much to my disapproval, a few of the senior students—has been the assistant head here for five years. It took me a while to warm to him, but I’m grateful to have him on the team. Danny’s a social guy, a natural with the faculty and parents. He handles the front-facing work: the outreach, the public charm, the hiring and firing.

“Hey, man.” Danny grins as he saunters into my office. “Straight back into it, huh?” He motions to the papers on my desk. “You haven’t even told me about your summer. Let’s take a break.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I can’t take a break if I haven’t done anything yet.”

He nods, then, because he knows me well, tries a different tack. “True, but maybe we should walk around campus, make sure everyone is settled into their classes. No stragglers.”

And because I know Danny well, I know he won’t let up until I agree. “Fine.” Blowing out a breath, I take my glasses off and set them aside, pushing away from my desk. It will be good to stretch my legs. Save for the faculty meeting, I’ve been in my office since dawn.

Danny trots jovially out into the hall, triumphant at having lured me away from my desk. I catch him sharing a smile with Margaret, and can’t help but think she might have engineered this.

“So, dish,” he jokes. “How was your summer? Do anything fun?”

I slip my hands into the pockets of my slacks as I follow him, heading down the grand marble staircase. This building has stood here since 1893, with the K-5 classrooms on the first floor, grades 6-12 on the second, and the administrative wing on the third. Over the years it’s been joined by a small auditorium, library, gym, and an arts wing which was built mid-twentieth century.

“Summer was…” I trail off.

The truth is, my summer wasn’t especially relaxing. Usually I love the time alone, but I noticed the silence more this year. Tried to spend a week at the family cabin, but I ended up coming home early. Most days I kept busy with early morning runs through the campus, more out of habit than anything, and when I wasn’t doing that, I was reviewing budgets, researching security upgrades, and revising the staff handbook. What else? I polished my car, reorganized my office, and helped my daughter move into the old librarian’s cottage on the edge of campus. Which reminds me, that bulb on her front porch still needs replacing. I should follow up with the groundskeeper.

“Uneventful,” I say at last. We step onto the second floor of the building, strolling past the bank of lockers, the faculty lounge, the copy room. I stop to pick up a crumpled piece of paper with a frown, tossing it into a trash can.

“Dude,” Danny says, looking disappointed. “You must have done something.”

I shrug, glancing into Juliana’s classroom as we pass. Her students are already working silently at their desks, and pride blooms in my chest. That’s the kind of academic rigor we value at Wetherly.

“What about you?” I ask, more to deflect than out of interest.

“I hiked part of the Appalachian Trail and saw a black bear. It was freaking terrifying.”

I nod, only half-listening, as we descend the smaller stairwell at the end of the hall onto the first floor. A student bustles past, uniform askew, headphones clamped to his ears. He grins at Danny, who high-fives him, chuckling to himself.

I glare at him. That kind of laid-back attitude is the opposite of what this school stands for.

“Relax,” Danny teases, catching my expression. “He has a hall pass, and is going to see the guidance counselor.”

“And the headphones?” I say dryly. We both know they’re not permitted during school hours.

“He has sensory sensitivity. They help with the noise.”

I glance around the quiet corridor, wondering what noise, exactly, would be bothering him, then decide to let it slide. I’ve got bigger issues to deal with.