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ChapterOne
Paislee
Looking over at my fourth graders, I watch as they all have their heads bent over their books, colorful pencils making movement over papers, the sound of pages turning and intense shading across paper being the only sounds one can hear in the room. And then, I take another look at the time; they have less than five minutes to finish their classwork.
“What is wrong with you?” A childish screech pierces the air.
I sit up instantly, my eyes switching to the front of the class, where a blonde named Callie stands, eyes sparkling with rage. There are pencils scattered all around her table, there's another little girl who stands there, wide-eyed and scared.
“I'm sorry, Cal—"
“I don't want to hear it!”
I get up very quickly and move to the scene, casting warning glares at the others who have abandoned their work to watch the interlude.
“Now, what is going on here?” I ask.
“This girl—"
“Callie,” I warn, this time giving her the no-nonsense look that has managed to work every time. “I'm not going to repeat myself. Watch your tone.”
“Miss Donovan,” the brown-headed little girl starts. Her name is Chelsea and she's the sweetest kid I've ever taught. "I promise you; I didn't do it on purpose,” she says, eyes wide and sincere.
“She's always had it out for me.” Callie cuts in, eyes shining with tears that I know she won’t let fall. “She keeps doing this. It has happened more often than is normal.”
Using my softest tone, I say, “I don't think Chelsea meant to have your drawing materials roll off the table. She has also apologized. Can you forgive her?”
“I won't,” Callie replies, her hazel eyes still darkened by rage.
I sigh.
Callie has always been like this. A little too difficult to handle and it has recently gotten worse. It has become more and more difficult for her to get along with her classmates, and her tantrums are getting wild and a little scary.
As someone who's taught these kids for a full term, I can tell that Chelsea's actions had not been deliberate. That the scared little girl whose cheeks are starting to tremble does not have it out for Callie as she has claimed.
“How about we settle this in the hallway?” I say in the sweetest tone I can muster.
“I'm not going anywhere. I'm not done with my work because she didn’t watch where she was going.” Callie screams.
“Will you please calm down?”
“I won't,” Callie yells as angry tears for the first time begin to fall.
Oh, shit.
It has never gotten this bad. I study Callie a little longer until it suddenly hits me, the suspicion I've had for the past month is confirmed. I sigh as I shelve the thought I've had, deciding to soothe the little girl instead. But she throws my hands off.
“Don't you touch me!” She shouts.
I raise my hands up in the universal act of surrender, certain now that whatever I am going to do or say is only going to rile up Callie even further. There's only one thing left to do, and it's the one thing I hate to do—calling a parent.
I check my gold wristwatch, the most expensive thing I own, and realize the period is over. I turn to the rest of the class. “I hope you are all finished. Drop your work on my desk if you are.” I say as I head straight for the telephone.
I can't believe this is about to happen. I am about to call a parent and not just any parent, Callie's father, well-known and respected even by the school board. I have always constantly referred to him in my head as Mr. Arrogant due to how uppity he is.I have seen the way he interacts with Mr. Beatles and know the man is cockier than a peacock.
We've never butted heads, thankfully, because we've never interacted. Mr. Vaughn, who acts like he is the busiest man on earth, is always in a hurry when he isn't sending one of his drivers to come pick up Callie.
As I press the phone against my ear, I wonder if he is even going to pick up at all.The phone rings the first time, and then a second time. Just when I am about to hang up, his assistant answers.
