The Red Hunter(3)

“I need a clearer picture of what happened,” said Claudia. She looked at Raven. who had turned her head away.

“Apparently, Clara and a friend had some unkind words for Raven. I am not sure what was said since neither Raven, Clara, or her friend Beth will say. But, in response, Raven flipped a tray that was in front of them, covering both the girls with food.”

Claudia felt the tug of a smile but bit it back.

“It was an accident,” said Raven unconvincingly. “I was picking it up to walk away and finish my lunch elsewhere.”

“It was meatball and spaghetti day at school today, so it made quite a mess.”

“So it’s not that she hit anyone,” said Claudia. She didn’t want to be one of those parents, the kind that rushed to the defense of her obnoxious, misbehaved child. But it was important that she be clear on exactly what happened.

“I didn’t hit anyone,” Raven said. “It was an accident. Clara went home because I ruined her outfit, not because I hurt her.”

Principal Blake nodded carefully, cocking his head and wrinkling his eyes a little. “People around the girls said that it seemed like Raven purposely dumped the tray onto Clara.”

“Yeah,” said Raven, sitting up a little. “All her friends, who were laughing while she was verbally abusing me.”

Claudia struggled against a flush of anger, a surge of protectiveness for Raven. “So, basically,” she said, trying to keep her voice mild. “A group of girls surrounded Raven, saying unkind words—to use your phrase—and when Raven got up to leave, she tipped her tray either by accident or on purpose and ruined another girl’s outfit. Is that right?”

Raven gave a light nod. “It was an accident.”

Claudia was reasonably sure that it wasn’t an accident. She knew Raven’s temper was a flash flood, surging against everything in its path and then quickly receding, leaving regret in its wake.

“That’s what I gather,” said the principal reasonably. He seemed like a nice man, trying to do his job.

“Were the other girls reprimanded?” asked Claudia.

“It’s unclear what was said,” said the principal. “So it’s difficult to address.”

“Okay,” said Claudia. She took and released a breath. “So where are we with this? Is Raven going to be punished?”

“Look . . . it’s Thursday,” said Principle Blake. He had nice hands, long thin fingers, and a white-gold wedding band, clean, pink nails. You could tell a lot about a person by his hands. He was careful, responsible, tried to follow the rules. He laced his fingers in front of him on the green desk blotter.

“I’m not going to suspend Raven; it’s not going on her record,” he went on. “Let’s just have her take the day off tomorrow and we can all start fresh on Monday, let her think about what happened and reflect on how she could have handled things better. Maybe on Monday we can have a conference with each girl and her parents to discuss how we can better handle conflict. How does that sound?”

It sounded like shit actually. A “day off” was a suspension, even if it didn’t go on her permanent record. She would have to attend the conference alone while Raven sulked unapologetic, and Principal Blake played benevolent mediator. This Clara and her parents The Parkers would play the injured party, and Claudia and Raven would be the outsiders. But she found herself nodding.

Claudia wanted to say something. She wanted to say thank you, and assure him that she was going to make sure that Raven understood the seriousness of her actions, but also ask that this Clara be made to understand the power of words.

Instead, there was a big sob stuck in her throat, a bulb of anger and frustration and sadness. She was afraid that if she opened her mouth, she wouldn’t be able to contain it. So, instead, she just kept nodding and rose. She felt Raven’s dark eyes on her. Only her daughter, and maybe her sister, knew that silence from Claudia was more serious than yelling—which she didn’t do very often either.

“Ms. Bishop?” said Principal Blake. He was staring at her with concern. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she managed. “Thank you for your patience with Raven. She and I will talk over the weekend, and of course, there will be consequences at home.”

There. She didn’t burst into tears. Was there any more vulnerable position than being the single parent of a badly behaved child, sitting in the principal’s office? Weren’t you the one being reprimanded, really? Because wasn’t it, after all, your fault that your child couldn’t control herself?

“Raven,” she said. “Do you have something you want to say to Principal Blake?”

“I’m sorry,” she said dutifully. “I lost my temper and I shouldn’t have.”

The principal smiled warmly. “It takes a big person to admit when she’s wrong. I think that’s a good start. Write me an email over the weekend, okay? With your reflections?”

Raven nodded. “I will.”

Claudia draped an arm around her daughter’s slender shoulders as the girl stood, gave her a little squeeze, then nudged her out the door.

? ? ?

CLAUDIA STOOD BESIDE RAVEN’S LOCKER while the girl stuffed her belongings—iPad, binder, dirty gym clothes—into her knapsack. Claudia had hated school—the ugly lights, the cafeteria smells, gym class, the pathetic social hierarchy where looks and athleticism trumped brains and character (not that that ever changed). The scent of the hallway—what was that smell?—brought it back vividly.