More Than I Could (80)

“She’s being dramatic.”

“Really? What was it today?” Kennedy asks, wiping her nose with the back of her free hand. “If I had a mother, maybe I would know how to behave?”

My blood boils so hot that I think it will spew out of me. “You said that to her?”

Mrs. Falconbury flinches.

“Ms. Kramer, I’m going to need you to settle down,” Principal Walding says.

I get to my feet and pull Kennedy into me. Her head buries in my chest. Her shoulders shake from the force of her tears, and it’s all I can do not to cry too.

“Did you say that to this little girl?” I ask the teacher.

She dares to wave a hand through the air like she’s discussing the weather. “This is getting ugly for no reason.”

“I asked you a question,” I say pointedly.

“I have serious doubts that it came out of my mouth. It was probably one of her classmates,” she says. “But the shoe does fit.”

My shoe will fit up your ass, too, lady. I don’t say that, but I think she reads my mind. She leans away from me with a hand on her throat.

“So you don’t argue with what Kennedy’s saying?” I ask. “You’re admitting that her version of events is correct, just that she’s too … what? Sensitive?”

Mrs. Falconbury pales.

“We send this child to school every day for a safe place to learn,” I say, my voice shaking with anger. “Not to be ridiculed by an adult who should know better.”

Her eyes go wide.

I turn to the principal. “And you should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Ma’am, I hear you. Some of this is new information to me.”

“Have you ever asked?” I ask, my voice rising. “Have you ever listened to Kennedy to see what was happening? Have you ever done your job and thought that maybe it wasn’t normal for a child to be written up constantly? It didn’t trigger something in you that something may be amiss?”

He looks down at his desk.

“Kennedy isn’t perfect,” I say, running my hand over her head. “She’s a teenager who is going to make mistakes. That’s how she’ll learn. That’s what will teach her to be a responsible, strong, empathetic adult—something the two of you aren’t.”

“Ma’am …” Principal Walding looks at me warily.

“I’m not sending her to school every morning so she has to sit in front of this woman,” I say, jamming a thumb toward my new nemesis, “and be belittled. Not happening. I’ll happily take her home for the next three days. That should give you time to figure out how you will fix your staffing issue.”

Mrs. Falconbury snorts.

“Janice, please …” Mr. Walding says to her.

“Oh, look at you. You made a little girl cry.” I grit my teeth. “You bully her so badly that she doesn’t want to come to your class, and then you get another power trip when you give her detention. She either gets detention or is humiliated. That’s so big of you. Do you feel like you won?” I glare at her. “She may feel helpless. I, however, do not.”

I motion to Kennedy that we’re about to leave. Then she picks up her backpack and slings it on her shoulders.

“Principal Walding, I’m going to suggest that you dig deeper into this issue and make some adjustments because I assure you, I will be doing the same.”

He looks at the teacher with wide eyes.

“I’ll be in touch. Have a good rest of your day,” I say, giving them each a final icy stare to drive home my point.

I yank open the door, and Kennedy and I walk out. The secretary doesn’t say a word as we march by her desk and into the afternoon air.

Adrenaline spikes inside me as the sun hits my face. But I’m almost knocked over by Kennedy before I can get my bearings.

Her arms go around my waist, and she hugs me tighter than I’ve ever been hugged.

“Thank you,” she says, her words muffled against my clothes.

I pat her back.

I’m desperately holding back tears while my heart breaks. It reminds me of all the taunts and jabs I received growing up. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head. Good. It might make me go back in there alone, and I look washed out in orange.

“Let’s go home and have some ice cream,” I say. “Then we’ll figure out what to do. Does that sound okay?”

She pulls away and smiles a megawatt smile. “Sounds good.”

“Let’s go, kiddo.”

I follow her to Maggie’s car. We climb in and head off for home.





Chapter Thirty





Megan




My anticipation grows with every second that passes.

Kennedy sits across the table from me, legs crisscrossed on the chair and hands folded in her lap. The look on her face mirrors the sea of emotions raging inside me.

My heart hurts for her.

All afternoon and well into the evening, we talked off and on about what had happened at school. She’s told me how it feels to sit in a classroom and have her peers laugh at her. She talked about knowing her vulnerabilities and not being able to fix them, and much to my surprise, she’s demonstrated a great deal of emotional maturity by acknowledging her part in the problem at hand.