Matt & Zoe (25 page)

I’ll still give Matt a chance of course. But I don’t like his evasiveness. I still don’t know that much about him. And that bothers me a lot.

I walk to the back door and open it. Jasmine is in the barn—we let the horses inside just a little while ago, and she’ll be busy getting them fed and put down for the evening. I assume a smiling face, jump down the stairs, and walk to the barn. Looking into the darkness, I see her on the top rail petting Mono on the snout.

“Hey, want to go to Chick-fil-A for dinner?” That’s usually a winner, because she can play in the indoor playground there.

“Yeah!” She jumps down from the railing, and says, “Can I get a milkshake?”

I grimace. The thing is, I kind of want a milkshake, but I know that as the stand-in for Mom, I’m supposed to make her drink juice or something. Right? Isn’t that what Moms do?

I sigh, then shrug. Why not? It’s Saturday night, and I make her eat healthy most of the time. “Sure,” I say. “You should leave some room for ice cream for dessert. I thought we’d head over to McCray’s farm.”

Her eyes widen, then she shouts, “Hooray!” Her shout startles the horses, and Mono lets out a near roar, throwing his head back.

I think he knows that he scares me.

Chapter Sixteen

Amherst Fair (Zoe)

My entire childhood, the Amherst fair was something I looked forward to. There are carnival rides, fun houses, all kinds of food, and other fun. It may not be as big as a state fair somewhere, but it’s a lot of fun for the kids. Jasmine has been talking about it for days—she may not be in school right now, but enough of the kids that she sees at Paul Armstrong’s farm have kept her clued in on what’s going on around the area. We make a day of it.

It’s about 10 a.m. when we take the minivan and pick up Matt at his apartment next to the post office. He looks tired, but cheerful, when he comes running out from the parking lot and hops in the van.

“Jasmine!”

“Mr. P.”

I feel a tension when I look over at him and meet his eyes. He gives me a faint smile, and says “Zoe.”

It’s a 20 minute or so drive to Amherst from South Hadley. Along the way, Jasmine sings one of Taylor Swift’s new songs at the top of her lungs. When she doesn’t know the lyrics, she just makes up her own. Honestly, Jasmine’s are better. And definitely funnier. The three of us ride north, laughing the entire way, and I’m glad, because it helps cut the tension from last night. By the time we get to Amherst, I’ve decided to let it go. He had things to do. I need to give him a chance.

When we get into Amherst we sit in traffic for a while, mostly cars stuck around the common, and we have to park a few blocks away. I’m a little startled when Jasmine slips in between me and Matt and takes each of our hands. I glance over at Matt and our eyes meet. I feel heat on my cheeks, and look away. The three of us walk up the street to the common.

A flash of memory takes me back to Dad talking to me about Amherst and the Common. It’s a large green area with old trees. On one side, Amherst College, on the other side the town. The Lord Jeffrey Inn and the town hall are in between the college and the rest of downtown. Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson lived here, and Dickinson is buried a few blocks away. For a literature professor like Dad, this was very near the center of the universe.

Today, however, there’s no rarefied poetry in the air. Instead, the common is permeated with the smell of cooking hamburger meat, fried dough, and cotton candy. Tents cover the common with vendors selling everything from Chinese food to knock-off handbags. Jasmine has no interest in any of that, though I’m sure she’ll want the food later. For now, she starts to jump up and down in excitement when she sees the tiny roller coaster. It’s a bite-sized coaster, the cars just big enough to hold two children. The line of cars is shaped like a snake, and colored bright green with big eyes on the front car.

“Zoe! Zoe! Can I ride it? Please?
Please
?”

Matt chuckles. I say, “Let me get some tickets, and we’ll take you around to the rides.”

For the next two hours, we move from ride to ride, attraction to attraction. Matt stops at the ring toss game, his eyes scanning everything … the bottles, the stuffed animals, the none-too-clean barker. The grand prize is a three-foot-tall panda bear. Matt looks at the panda, then takes out a five-dollar bill and passes it to the guy behind the counter.

I shake my head. “I never do these, they’re rigged.”

He looks at me and winks. Then he turns back and lands a ring on the very first try. Jasmine claps with excitement, jumping up and down. That was uncanny.

He takes the second ring, studies the scene for just a moment, then tosses it. It lands on the bottle right next to the first. This time I clap with Jasmine, stunned.

There’s no way Jasmine can realize just how difficult a feat that was.

From the sour look the carny is giving Matt,
he
certainly realizes it. Matt ignores him, instead staring at the bottles, his face screwed up in tight concentration. Several people are standing around us now watching, and they’ve hushed, realizing that someone is about to win the grand prize.

Matt tosses the ring.

I suck in a breath, then exhale as the ring lands on the third bottle right next to the other two. We break into applause, and the barker shakes his head, a wry smile on his face. He turns and takes down the huge stuffed panda, and hands it to Matt. Immediately several children begin to shout at their mothers, demanding a chance to try themselves.

Matt kneels down, and hands the giant bear to Jasmine. “For you,” he says. She staggers back a little as she wraps her arms around it. It’s taller than she is.

“Really?” Jasmine asks, her eyes wide.

“Of course,” he says. Then he shrugs, and says, “I’ve already got a stuffed bear.” As he stands up, I feel an unusual wash of emotion, and my eyes begin to water. She’s had such a hard time, she deserves some good in her life.

Matt meets my eyes, and I smile, feeling electric tension between us. It’s so intense I have to look away.

Please watch yourself (Matt)

The first week back at school is a small triumph. I’m greeted on the first day with congratulations and handshakes and smiles from everyone on the staff—the union won the contract negotiations and major concessions from the administration. That happened because everybody in the union worked together; but I was getting a lot of attention because I’d been one of the negotiators.

In the classroom none of that is an issue. My goal is to usher the kids back into complete normality as quickly as possible—we begin our first day back as if it’s only been a weekend in between. The kids are ready to go—they’ve had a brief unexpected vacation. For the parents it’s not quite so easy—child care, jobs and the sudden strike were not a good combination.

Jasmine is doing better. Of course she’s still grieving and missing her parents, but the worst signs of that are fading. She isn’t stuttering as much, she laughs in class, she plays with the other girls. I can’t ask for more than that.

I didn’t see Zoe on Monday evening—she was working on a paper for one of her classes, and I had a massive amount of paperwork to do related to the end of the strike. On Tuesday morning, as the kids are streaming into the class, Jasmine walks in, her eyes to the floor. She carries a small painted box filled with wildflowers of various colors. She sets it on the edge of the desk, and stammers out, “Fr–fr– from Zoe… and me.” Then she blushes a bright red, turns and runs to her seat.

A smile spreads across my face. On closer examination, I see that the box is a small rectangular planter, painted on the outside in bright blue and green pastels. On one side in neat, feminine letters—probably applied with a Sharpie—are the words, “
For our favorite teacher.
” Next to that, in Jasmine’s large and shaky handwriting, “Mr. P.” The rest of the planter is covered in hand drawn stars and flowers. What looks like glitter glue is smeared on the other side. The flowers are a mix of dandelions and some little blue flowers I didn’t know the names of.

I look up at Jasmine. She stares at the desk, her face still red. “Thank you, Jasmine.”

On Wednesday morning, I find a letter in my inbox in the main office. It’s sealed… the return address is from the office of the superintendent. I tear it open, puzzled.

This is … odd. The letter says,
Please report to the office of the assistant superintendent at
2 p.m.
, Wednesday, October 1.
The letter is signed by the assistant superintendent of schools.

I walk over to the front desk. Sarah Higgins, the school secretary, usually has a pulse on everything that’s going on in the district. “Do you know anything about this? They want me down at the superintendent’s office this afternoon.”

She shakes her head. “It came in with the other papers from the office this morning.”

“Thanks,” I say. The strange part about the letter is that class is still in session at 2 p.m.. It’s not that we don’t have meetings during the day—we do all the time. Typically, for an appointment at the school department, they’ll schedule it outside of class hours. I shrug. I’ll know in a few hours what it’s about. I go to see the principal to arrange for coverage in my classroom, then head back to class.

***

I arrive at the town hall at five minutes before two. The school administration offices are small—after all, South Hadley has two elementary schools, one middle school, and one high school. There’s little need for the bloated bureaucracy that you might see in a large city school system. On the flip side, sometimes I feel as if I’m an outsider at the country club. Everyone knows everyone, and they’ve all known each other for their entire lives. As someone who’s been in town just a couple of years, I’m often intimidated by that. Times like this more than any other. I knock on the door, catching the attention of the administrative assistant just inside.

“Oh, Mr. Paladino. Come in, the Superintendent is expecting you.” I step into the crowded office, and try not to fidget while she picks up a phone and calls the superintendent.

A moment later, Michael Barrington opens his office door and bustles out. As always, he looks a little fussy, wearing a nice suit, which appears to be both new and expensive, but his tie is slightly off center and a tiny stain mars the collar of his shirt. He’s clean-shaven, but has a visible shaving cut on his chin.

“Matt,” he says. “Come in, come in.” We shake hands and I follow him into the office.

Something feels off. I don’t know Barrington well, but every time I’ve seen him, he has seemed both stressed and very serious. He frowns a lot, and his eyes often appear distant, as if he’s worried about some indefinable future.

Today, however, his mouth carries the hint of a smile. His eyes are shifting everywhere. He sits down behind the desk and gestures to the seats in front of it. I take a seat.

“I suppose you are wondering why I called this meeting,” he says.

I nod. “I am, actually. What can I do for you?”

“Matt… What can you tell me about Jasmine Welch?”

That’s odd. “Well, sir, her parents were killed a few weeks ago in an accident. Her sister Zoe has custody of her. She’s doing as well as can be expected.”

“Is she receiving special education services?”

This is puzzling. It would be a trivial matter for him to look Jasmine up in the computer, to find out whether or not she is receiving any accommodations. There’s no need to call me to the school system offices to answer these questions. I proceed slowly and carefully, mindful of Barrington reputation. “No, sir.”

“She doesn’t have an IEP?”

An IEP, or individualized education plan, is put in place to modify the curriculum to accommodate the needs of children with disabilities. I shake my head. “No, she doesn’t have an IEP.”

He frowns, deepening the crevices at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t understand, Matt. Her curriculum was modified.”

I shake my head. “Not really. She’s been learning the same things, we just changed the order of some things and added some additional drawing components. She’s been struggling with grief, so I’ve been trying to work with her in areas where I could reach her more effectively.”

“Matt, I completely understand that your motives are… well intended. But you cannot just go around modifying the curriculum anytime you feel like it.”

I stiffen, and feel my face heat up. “With all due respect Mr. Barrington, I made no modifications to the curriculum. And she’s doing much better than she was, she needed help. That’s my job.”

“And the fact that you are dating her sister has no bearing on any of this?”

“Of course not.” I feel anger rising, a tightness in my chest… “First, that’s none of your business. Who I date is not the concern of the school system. And second, our job is to teach those students. I’ve done the most effective job I could with Jasmine.”

The corner of Barrington’s mouth jerks up. A smirk. “At the expense of the other children in your class. There’s a reason we have specialists in special education, to help deal with these situations.”

I’m furious now. This is bullshit. This has nothing to do with Jasmine or the other students at all—it’s all about Barrington paying me back. The question is, what can I do about it?

“The students in my class have lost nothing, Mr. Barrington.”

“Mr. Paladino, I’m afraid I’ll have to be the judge of that.”

I feel my pulse in my ears, my hands are twitching and I’m having difficulty not thinking of the thousand things I want to say. It leaves me paralyzed. We sit there in silence for a while… fifteen seconds? A minute? It seems like a very long time. Eventually, however, he breaks the impasse.

“I recognize, Mr. Paladino, that you are a gifted teacher, if a little unseasoned. For that reason, I’ve decided you won’t be officially reprimanded. We’ll simply include a brief note in your file about the discussion today, and your agreement that you will no longer modify the curriculum on your own.”