The Principal's Office (31 page)

What was the boy doing? Why wasn’t he in class?

Though he didn’t see Rand watching him, Nathan suddenly pushed through the door and disappeared inside the restroom.

Rand sighed. Today’s meeting was supposed to be about finding equal footing, coming to an understanding. Now he’d have to talk about tardiness and whatever the hell was going on in that bathroom. Smoking? Or worse? Drugs?

Rand did not want to have to call Rachel to tell her Nathan was using or buying drugs, or even selling them. Not Nathan. He hadn’t pegged him for drugs, yet this could be the beginning of a downhill slide.

He covered the distance swiftly and quietly, then stopped outside the door, listening. Definitely voices within, so Nathan wasn’t alone in there. Damn. If he had to catch them in the act, he needed a few more seconds to allow the contraband to come out of backpacks, pockets, wherever. For better eavesdropping, he pushed the door ajar an inch or two with his foot. It opened to a tiled wall hiding the urinals and stalls from outside view. To get out, they’d have to go around or through him. The boys were trapped inside with nowhere to go except past Rand.

They were so damn busted.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE, TOM
.”
NATHAN’S VOICE, SOUNDING STRONGER
and less sullen than Rand had ever heard it.

“Hey, Nathan, perfect timing. This moron”—Tom Molcini, naturally—“needs a lesson in being a man.”

“Come on, guys, you’ve had your fun. Just let him up.” Nathan paused, then added, “Get up, Wally. You can go now.”

Jesus Christ, Wally was in there. Every muscle in Rand’s body tensed to rush through the door, to rescue him, yet the purely unemotional side of his brain made him stand still. This was the thing Nathan needed, he knew it in his gut. Nathan needed to handle this crisis. He
could
handle it.

“Hey, asshole”—the ever-present Rick Franchetti, Tom’s half-wit sidekick—“we’re not done with him yet.”

“Are you some kinda pussy, Delaney, defending a moron?” Tom sneered.

“He’s not a moron, Tom. He’s autistic. So just leave him alone. Come on, Wally. It’s okay. You can get up.”

Rand’s heart actually turned over in his chest at Nathan’s gentle voice, the kindness in his tone.

“Dude. You’re making a big mistake. You don’t wanna piss me off.” Tom gave a snarl.

Nathan came back after a short silence, as if they’d all been moving in wary circles around one another, settling in for the clash. “You’re pissing me off by picking on a kid who can’t defend himself.”

Rand had never been so proud of one of his students as he was in that moment.

“Well, then,” Tom said, “maybe we need to pick on someone who
thinks
”—spittle hissed from his lips—“he’s got some balls.”

“Yeah, dude, you just think you got balls,” Rick mocked, like a punctuation mark on whatever Tom said. He was just an ignorant follower. “We’re gonna kick your ass.”

“Yeah? You and whose army?”

Tom barked a laugh. “You’re such a pussy.”

It was time. Rand shoved the door open. “What the hell is going on in here?” His voice reverberated off the walls.

Tom and Rick jumped, turning to face the Rand. They flanked
Nathan, obviously intending to come at him from both sides. But Nathan stood his ground, hovering over Wally protectively, his fists bunched in readiness as if he were waiting for a free-for-all to break out. Tears streaked Wally’s face, a wet spot stained his jeans, and his backpack lay in a puddle beneath one of the urinals.

Jesus. Maybe he’d waited too long to come in. Except that Nathan
had
handled it. He’d gone to bat for Wally. He was willing to fight for him.

“This creep,” Tom said, stabbing a finger in Nathan’s back, “was giving poor Wally a bad time.”

“Yeah,” Rick said, sounding like the drone he was. “Look how he threw poor Wally’s backpack in the piss puddle.”

“Are you all right, Wally?” Rand asked.

“Fine, fine, fine,” Wally chirped, but he huddled down on the floor.

“Molcini and Franchetti,” Rand said very softly, “get out of here and go to your classes.”

“Yes, sir,” they said like chipper parrots.

The door whooshed closed behind them, but Rand could still hear their laughter outside. If he wasn’t a principal with a sworn duty, he’d have beaten their heads together. Instead, he’d take care of them later, within the confines of his mandate. Which meant no physical violence.

With the imminent danger over, Nathan reached out a hand to help Wally up.

“Don’t touch him,” Rand barked. There was no telling how Wally would react if touched right now, even when someone intended to help him.

Nathan froze, then glanced over his shoulder, his eyes dark and angry. He didn’t understand; Rand didn’t have time to explain.

“Come on, Wally, get up.” Rand stepped around Nathan to grab Wally’s backpack out of the puddle. Carrying it to the sink, he ran water over the bottom of it.

Wally rolled to his hands and knees. “Yes, sir, yes, sir, yes, sir.” Then he got to his feet, turned to the wall and zipped up. Dammit, they’d attacked him with his pants down. Rand’s blood boiled. When Wally turned, the dark stain on his jeans was a stark reminder.

Nathan grimaced. “You can’t send him out like that, Principal Torvik.”

Rand was silent a long moment. “I’ll take care of it, Nathan. Go to class.” His voice came out more harshly than he’d intended, but he didn’t have time to deal with Nathan’s feelings. They’d have to discuss it later. “Be in my office as soon as the lunch bell rings.”

Nathan stared at him a moment longer, emotions—anger, bitterness—flitting across his features, then he stomped across the tile floor, grabbed his backpack, and slammed through the door.

Maybe he should have explained, but Nathan’s needs at the moment were secondary to Wally’s.

RAND HAD NOT TAKEN HIS SEAT BEHIND THE DESK. INSTEAD, HE
turned the chair beside Nathan’s to face him. Sitting, he assumed a relaxed posture.

Nathan wore his usual sullen demeanor, eyes down, head lowered.

“Wally’s fine,” Rand said. He’d scrubbed off the bottom of the boy’s backpack. Nathan had been right; Wally couldn’t walk around school in those clothes. Rand had taken him to the locker rooms where Wally’s mother kept a cache of extra clothing. Not that Wally wet himself as a matter of course, but his mother was one of those women who was always prepared.

The boy was fine. He was a remarkable sort. After his progress over the last six months, Rand was hopeful that Wally would
someday find his perfect place in society, especially with the end of Molcini’s and Franchetti’s tyranny.

Then there was Nathan. Rand had been planning his tête-à-tête with Rachel’s son, then he’d walked into the restroom and it had all been blown to hell. This was no longer about Rachel, or about getting on the good side of her son so he could keep fucking the boy’s mother.

This was about Wally and Nathan.

“Do you remember the incident in the cafeteria when you knocked Wally’s tray out of his hands?” Rand asked softly.

Nathan swallowed, then the muscles of his face tensed, and he clenched his fists on the armrests. “I told you I didn’t touch him.”

“Are we parsing words here? You didn’t
touch
him, you bumped him. You can deny it all you want, but we both know I saw it, Nathan.”

The boy was silent.

“What I fail to understand is why you rescued Wally from those two bullies today when less than a month ago you were pushing him around, too.”

Nathan’s head jerked up. For a moment he looked so much like Rachel that Rand’s heart ached. Then the moment was gone, and he was Nathan, the student Rand couldn’t seem to reach.

“Tom and Rick told you I was the one who pushed Wally down in the restroom. You believed them.” His tone was challenging.

“I’m not stupid, Nathan.” Rand decided to be completely honest. “I saw you go in, I heard voices, and was worried it might be about drugs. So I listened at the door to catch you all in the act.” He raised a brow. “But what I heard was you going to bat for a kid who couldn’t defend himself.”

Nathan didn’t say anything, but his cheeks colored.

“I was very proud of you, son.” He waited for Nathan to meet
his gaze. “You stood up to them, even though they were mad enough to beat the crap out of you for it.”

Nathan actually smiled. “They were getting ready to.”

“Why did you do it, Nathan?” Rand asked gently. “Was it because of your work in the special ed lab?” Rand didn’t believe there’d been enough time for it to have turned the boy around this completely.

Nathan went back to staring at his hands, and Rand got it. The boy was ashamed. He didn’t want to admit what he’d done, but he’d tried to make up for it in that restroom.

“You didn’t push Wally down the gymnasium steps, did you.” He didn’t emphasize it as a question.

Nathan shook his head slowly.

“Did you see who did?”

Nathan shook his head again.

He was asking the boy to rat out his pals, but Rand needed to know. “You saw today that it can become serious very easily, Nathan. One of these times, someone could really get hurt.”

He let the room sit in silence while Nathan thought.

Finally, the boy spoke. “I didn’t see. Tom and Rick were there, and three or four of the other guys.” He shrugged. “Then Wally was just falling.”

“You don’t think he was pushed?”

Again, silence. And again, Nathan finally answered. “He was pushed. Then they all ran away. I just don’t know which one of them did it.” He pressed his lips tightly together, and Rand suspected he might be fighting tears. “I should have told them to leave him alone then. But I just stood there.” He paused a long moment as if truly looking at himself and not liking what he saw. When he spoke again, his voice dropped almost to a whisper. “I
always
just stood there and let it happen without even trying to stop them.” He clenched his teeth a moment, then opened
his mouth to drag in a deep breath as if he’d just bared his soul. “Sometimes, though, you just gotta draw a line and man up.”

Rand realized what it must have cost the boy to admit he hadn’t acted like a man until that moment in the boys’ room. “You stood up for him today, Nathan, and that’s what counts. The Wallys of the world need people like you.”

Nathan’s head swayed. “I did knock his tray out of his hands that day in the cafeteria.” He took another deep breath, held it, then exhaled in a long, painful sigh. “And I called him a stupid retard,” he said, his shame evident in the softness of those words.

Here’s what Rand had been waiting weeks to hear. He let Nathan tell it.

“It was just supposed to be giving other kids crap. Like who’s stronger or more popular, who’s top dog, all that stuff.” He sighed as if the weight of the world sat on his shoulders alone. “Then I started to see it was just about
those
kids.”

“The special ed kids?”

He nodded. “It stopped being fun a long time ago and started being just plain mean.”

“And you don’t want to be mean anymore, do you.”

Nathan raised his gaze to meet Rand’s, and somehow his spine seemed to get a little straighter in his seat. “No. I don’t. If that’s what it takes to be on their team, I don’t want to play.”

Holy hell. Rand wanted to cheer. He couldn’t have made up a better metaphor himself. “All it takes is awareness, Nathan. They aren’t
those
kids. They’re teenagers like anyone else, just with different needs.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “They’re special.”

Nathan stared at the carpet, then nodded slowly. “Wally’s actually capable of amazing things. I saw that in special ed.”

His words were enough to bring a tear to Rand’s eye. “Maybe we can help spread the word in small ways.”

Nathan shrugged again in typical teenage fashion.

Rising, Rand clapped him on the shoulder. “By the way, many autistics don’t like to be touched. That’s why I didn’t want you to help Wally up. It wasn’t you personally.”

“Really?” Nathan sounded hopeful.

He was a good kid. Rand had high hopes for him. “Really. Now, I’m going to need your help. Let me tell you my plan.”

Nathan listened, nodding eagerly.

This could work. As an added benefit, it solved all Rand’s problems with Rachel, too.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU’RE TAKING AN EARLY LUNCH?”
Yvonne’s brown eyes snapped with ire.

This was
not
working. Yvonne wouldn’t let her learn a thing, getting angry if she made a mistake, snatching the keyboard away. Rachel wasn’t sure what half the mistakes she supposedly made actually were.

All she wanted to do was get out. She’d stolen Gary’s key out of Justin’s backpack this morning before school, and she wanted to get over there before lunch just in case Gary came home for a quick nooner with his little floozy.

God, she was turning into a judgmental bitch. Not to mention useless at order entry.

“I have a doctor’s appointment.” Now she was lying, too. Whatever, couldn’t be helped, extenuating circumstances.

Yvonne merely huffed. “We’re never going to get this done if you keep running off when we’re right in the middle.”

They had
months
, for God’s sake. Rachel resisted rolling her eyes. If Yvonne stopped grabbing the keyboard every time Rachel
made a teeny-tiny error, things would move a lot faster. “I’ll be back before one. We can start again.”

“I’ll have placed all the orders by then,” Yvonne grumbled.

Why was she being so difficult? Afraid Rachel would replace her, as Bree said? Whatever. “Perhaps you could leave me a couple of orders, and I’ll enter them on my own. You can check them when I’m done.” She could do it if Yvonne wasn’t hanging over her, hemming, hawing, making her nervous and prone to mistakes.

Yvonne flapped a hand. “Go. Go.” Then continued to mutter irritably to herself. “Silly girl,” et cetera, et cetera.

Rachel was beyond caring. She stopped in her office for her purse, then made it to Gary’s apartment complex much faster than usual, which meant she’d been speeding and could have gotten a ticket. Luckily, there weren’t any cops around.