Confessions from the Principal's Chair (6 page)

"I'm Robin Miller," I said. I was about to add that I wanted to enroll, but the woman didn't give me the chance.

She jumped from her chair, and her smile got real wide. "Oh," she said, "we didn't expect you until Wednesday, but come in. We are so happy you are here. Let me show you your office."

I was so surprised that I didn't say anything or move a muscle. The woman went to the little swinging gate that made it possible for people to go in and out of the inner office. She held the gate open, "Come this way, Ms. Miller," she said. "I can't tell you how thrilled we are to have you. It's been so hard not having a principal since Mr. Lawrence got sick. I just don't know what we would have done, if you hadn't been available to fill in."

My mind raced. This woman thought I was some sort of substitute principal. Wasn't this wild? I opened my mouth to explain, but I seemed to hear Miss Deirdre's voice again. "What a marvelous role, Bird," she said. "Who would have thought you would find such a wonderful part to play in Prairie Dog Town, Oklahoma. Go for it, darling. You can doit!"

I moved to go through the little gate. Why not have some fun on my first day at Thomas Jefferson? When I was in the inner office, I put out my hand to the woman. "Tell me your name again," I said. "I was told, of course, but I am afraid I've forgotten." I smiled. "Truth is, I guess I'm a little nervous on my first day."

"Nancy," she said, and she squeezed my hand. "Nancy Simpson. Welcome to Jefferson Middle School." When she let go of my hand, she motioned for me to follow her into the office. "Of course, we expect Mr. Lawrence back after Christmas, but I took the pictures off his desk and some of the personal things off the wall, just put them in a box in the closet. I'll have it all back when he returns, but I thought you might have your own things."

"I do have," I said. "My mother is an artist, mostly a sculptor, but I have a painting or two she's done also. I'll bring them and a small bust of Shakespeare she did for me when I got my master's degree." Most of that was a lie, but I thought it sounded good. To my personal knowledge, Rendi has never done a painting, but I suppose she had to do them in college some, and, of course, there is Richard, the missing father figure. Maybe that's what made me say painting. That idea about W. Shakespeare came to me because Rendi had made a piece like that for one of her friends in Denver, who did get a master's degree.

"How lovely," said Ms. Simpson, "and now you're working on a dissertation for a doctorate, and you so young."

I faked a small laugh. "Oh, you're flattering me now. I'm not so young, although I will say I still get carded sometimes when I go into a nightclub. It's an irritation now, but my mother tells me that these days of looking so young go quickly."

Pretty good one, huh? I'd heard a friend of Rendi's make that very same speech once. I was starting to be really glad that I am what our school counselor calls an "auditory learner," which basically means that I remember what I hear. I thought when she told me about the auditory stuff that I would rather have a photographic memory, but maybe being able to repeat what I've heard is very useful for me, now that I had so suddenly become a school administrator.

Mrs. Simpson laughed. "Your mother is right. She certainly is. Well, I'll leave you alone to settle in. I'm sure you won't have peace for very long. The teachers have been saving some discipline problems for you to handle." She walked out of the office, then stepped back inside and said, "Don't you be nervous, dear. You have old Nancy Simpson to help you." Then she went out and closed the door behind her.

My knees had got all weak, and I sank into this big comfortable chair behind the desk. I put my face in my hands. What had I done? This was crazy! I couldn't keep this masquerade up for long. When had Ms. Simpson said they expected the real substitute principal? Wednesday! Yes, that was it. Two days. Could I last that long? Probably not, but maybe I could last until lunchtime. Being the principal would be better than sitting through two or three boring classes, wouldn't it?

I relaxed a little. Then another thought came to me. What would they do to me when they discovered I was an imposter? Would Sheriff Clyde Walters come and take me away in handcuffs? They wouldn't execute me. How bad could prison be? No worse than being in the eighth grade at a new school. I was pretty sure of that.

The phone rang, and I froze. Should I answer it? I would have to, wouldn't I? My hand was shaking when I reached out for it, but suddenly it stopped ringing. There was a knock on the door, and Ms. Simpson opened it just enough to stick in her head. "Should I show you about the phone?" she asked.

I wanted to make some excuse for not answering the ring she had obviously heard, but I couldn't think of any. "Yes," I said. "That would be nice."

She came around to my side of the desk, reached for the phone, and pushed a button. "I'm sorry I didn't do that earlier. When that button is pushed, you don't hear the phone unless I have answered and am putting the caller through to you. When I do put through a call, you will hear a ring and this button will light up." She pointed to the second button. "You also have a direct line to Superintendent Morris. When the phone rings and the second button lights up red, it's the Soup's office calling. The third button will light up green when the call is from anyone in Mr. Lawson's office over at the high school. Mrs. Newton is the principal at the elementary school, and her button is the fourth one. It flashes orange. It's simple. When you want to call those places, you just push their button."

She reached for a pad and pencil lying on the desk. "Here let me write it down for you." She repeated as she wrote, "Button one, white, Nancy. Button two, red, the superintendent, Mr. Morris is his name. I call him the Soup, but not to his face. Button three, green, Mr. Law son, high school. Button four, orange, Mrs. Newton, elementary school. To call any of those people you only have to push their button. Just keep the note handy until you learn." She put down the pad, then picked it up again. Beside elementary school, she wrote, "Deaf." "The woman is almost deaf, can't hear well at all on the phone, but let me tell you she is sharp. Those kids don't get by with a thing nor anyone else either. Mrs. Newton doesn't miss a trick."

Pray Mrs. Newton doesn't call or show up, I said to myself, but it wasn't the elementary principal who I had to worry about. Of all things it was Angie from the City Café, but I am getting things out of order again. Angie didn't come until lunchtime. Well, not long after I had the phone explained to me, it rang, and a light started to flash. I grabbed Mrs. Simpson's note. The red light meant a phone call from the superintendent. I picked up the phone. "Good morning, sir," I said in the most adult-sounding voice I could come up with.

Mr. Morris laughed. "Now don't start calling me sir. I'm feeling ancient enough already. You call me Kenneth, like I told you. Almost everyone does, you know. I'm sorry to say it doesn't look as if I am going to make it over to visit with you today or even tomorrow. Things are stacking up around here, you know, and I am about to leave for a two-day conference on school finance in the city. I'm glad we got to have lunch together last week, gave us a chance to get acquainted, you know. Well, how's it going? Didn't you tell me you couldn't come until Wednesday? I was surprised when I heard from Nancy Simpson that you were here, you know."

The man liked to say, "you know," but I didn't have time to think about that. He was questioning why I had shown up today. An answer came to me. "I found I was able to make it a couple of days early, anxious to get on the job. That's all right, isn't it?"

"More than all right, it's good. A school can't get along well without a principal, you know. Lawrence has been out two weeks already. Discipline problems are stacking up, you know. I'm afraid we've got us a couple of teachers over there who can't control the kids very well. No, the truth is there are three. You'll find out right away who they are. They've no doubt been saving up their discipline problems to send to you. I'm certainly glad you've had so much training in the area of discipline, you know."

He paused, and I knew I was supposed to say something. "Well, troubled kids have always interested me a good deal," I said with all the maturity I could muster in my voice. "Actually, I've been closely involved with some."

"When I met you, I said to myself, this lady is young, but she has something special, you know. I feel certain you can handle the job."

"Thank you, Kenneth," I said. "I feel certain I'll never forget my first time as a principal even though it may be brief."

"Well, good. There's one more thing. It's Nancy Simpson, fine woman, mighty fine. She's efficient too, practically runs the school. Well, that's the problem. She can sometimes forget who's in charge around there. She'll help you, but don't let her get the idea you work for her. She'd take over if you let her, you know. Well, mighty glad to have you, you know, and I'll be over to visit with you on Wednesday."

I told him thank you and said good-bye after he did. Then I sat in my chair smiling. It appeared no one but the superintendent had actually met this substitute principal, this other Robin Miller. I might actually last longer than lunchtime.

This could be the most fun I've had in a long time. I wished there was someone to tell. There was the computer, but I didn't want to e-mail. I wanted to talk to someone now. I looked at the clock. Nine thirty. That would be eight thirty in Denver, and Katie would be almost to school. She'd have her cell with her, and I could call her on this school phone. I reached for the phone and dialed the familiar number. "Hello," I said when she answered, "what are you doing?"

"Nothing," she said. "Mom's driving me to school. It's so good to get to talk to you and everything. What are you doing?"

"Nothing," I said, and then I laughed. "Well, nothing except being the principal of Thomas Jefferson Middle School in Prairie Dog Town, Oklahoma."

Katie screamed, "What?"

I told her the whole story. She got excited, talking loud and laughing. "Shush," I said. "I don't want your mother to hear and know what is going on. She might call someone."

"Oh, Bird," Katie said, "that's such a wickedly funny story. I really want to see the movie about the new girl getting to be the principal." I knew then that Katie's mother had been listening. "I can't wait to tell Ivory."

"Turn your phone on after second hour. I'll call you then, if I'm not too busy with business. There's a lot of work to be done around here." I hung up. For a few minutes, I sat in my chair taking deep breaths. This was like a roller-coaster ride, lots of fun, but scary too. Really scary!

Chapter 4

I
didn't have long to sit and breathe because the phone rang and the first button flashed a white light. That meant the secretary wanted me. Her name had gone completely out of my head, and I grabbed up the list, Nancy, Nancy Simpson. I cleared my throat and picked up the phone. "Yes?"

"I don't like to bother you," she said, "but I was wondering about an announcement. Shouldn't you make an announcement, telling everyone that you are here?"

"An announcement?"

"Yes, on the PA system."

"The PA system?" This was not going well.

"Yes, of course, the public address system."

"Oh, yes, the public address system, the thing you use to call kids to the office." I looked around. What did a public address system look like? My eyes fell on a box sitting on a stand in the corner behind my desk.

"Should I come in and show you how to use it?"

"That would be nice."

She came right away and did go to the box. "See these switches and the room numbers below them?"

I nodded.

"You flip the switch to the room you want. You can speak or just listen. There's a schedule in your top desk drawer to tell you what teacher is in each room during a certain period. Teachers can call us by flipping a switch in their rooms too, but those calls go first to me. I've got one of these boxes behind my desk too. I flip a switch to pass the call on to you if there is an emergency, like some kid has passed out or something. See this green button? Push it if you want to do an 'all call.'"

I felt like it might be the new principal who passed out. "What's an call call'?" I asked.

"When you want everyone to hear you, like the announcement you're about to make." I guess I looked kind of clueless because she went on. "You know the one introducing yourself to the students and faculty."

"Oh, yes," I said. "Yes, of course." I considered asking Mrs. Simpson for advice about what I should say, but I remembered Superintendent Morris's warning about not letting her take over my job. You're the principal here, Bird, I told myself. "Thank you, Mrs. Simpson," I said. "You may go now. I'll make my announcement soon."

Mrs. Simpson looked at me, one eyebrow raised like she was sort of measuring me in her mind. I felt she did not approve of me, but she did leave the office.

I took a piece of paper from a drawer so I could write out what I would say, but Mrs. Simpson called me on the phone. "You might want to say something about expecting the kids to behave. In some classes they've acted up."

"I might want to say that," I said, "but I'll decide in a few minutes. Thank you for your suggestion, Mrs. Simpson," I said. I was glad she was on the phone because I wouldn't have wanted to say that to her face.

"Of course," she said, and her voice wasn't as friendly as before.

Pretty soon, I had my announcement all written. I read it over several times, practicing sounding like a principal. Then I pushed the green all-call button. "Students and faculty," I said. "It is my pleasure to tell you that I am your new principal. My name is Ms. Miller. By the way,
Ms.
is spelled
m-s,
and it means that I might or might not be married, no one knows." I thought about that for a second and realized it didn't sound right. "Well, of course, I know if I am married or not, but it doesn't really matter here at school, does it? Anyway, I am the principal for the rest of this semester. I am sure you all know that the word
principal
is spelled with a
p-a-l
at the end when it means the principal of a school and with a
p-l-e
when it means a standard or something. I am glad my kind of principal is spelled with a pal because I want to be your pal. I think students deserve a real pal in the principal's office, and that is what you have here at Thomas Jefferson Middle School for as long as I am here, which won't be real long." I realized I hadn't written a closing, but now it seemed like I needed one. "Over and out," I said, and I flipped off the all-call button.

For a minute, I just sat at my desk and waited for my heart to stop beating so fast. This acting job was the hardest I'd ever had. The phone rang. It was Mrs. Simpson, and somehow I didn't imagine she was calling to say she loved the announcement.

"I hate to bother you." She was speaking softly, little more than a whisper. "Well, maybe I'd better just come in and talk to you."

"Yes," I said, "do that."

In just a second, the door opened. Mrs. Simpson stepped inside and mostly closed the door after her, but kept looking through the crack. "Like I said, I hate to put this on you so soon, but something has to be done about Serenity Blair."

My heart started to race again. This kid, this Serenity, was obviously sitting in the outer office. According to Mrs. Simpson, something had to be done about the kid, and I was expected to do it. I swallowed hard and straightened myself in the principal's chair. "Give me a little background," I said. "What is Serenity's problem?"

Mrs. Simpson let go a very long sigh. "How do I explain this? First, she was sent down here by her math teacher, Mrs. Street. Serenity is a problem in all of her classes, but she wouldn't stand up and slap another girl except in Mrs. Street's class. The woman has no control, and of course the kids have been taking advantage of the fact that we've had no principal." She stopped and smiled at me. "Serenity did her slapping just before your announcement, so she didn't know you were here. No doubt she'll be sorry now."

I studied her expression. Was she putting me on? Did she think I'd fall on my face, and was she just waiting to see it happen? I was starting not to like this woman. "Well," I said slowly. "I'd like to think I'll be able to help some troubled young people. I don't so much want to punish as to be a guiding hand, firm, but kind."

This time Mrs. Simpson laughed out loud. "That's good. I can tell you Serenity Blair can certainly use a guiding hand. The kids torment her, and I am afraid she brings most of it on herself."

I was proud of myself for not groaning out loud. A Marcy Willis type was about to come into my office. Then suddenly, I changed my mind. Good! Wouldn't I have loved to have a go at Marcy? I certainly knew what her problem was. I'd never get to straighten out Marcy, but here was this Serenity kid just waiting for my guidance.

Mrs. Simpson interrupted my thoughts. "Should I send her in now?"

I leaned back in my principal's chair. "Yes," I said, "I'm ready for Marcy."

"Serenity," Mrs. Simpson corrected. "The child's name is Serenity, but she certainly is not serene."

"Oh, yes," I said. "Send in Serenity."

You won't believe this, but it's true. This girl actually looked like Marcy Willis! Oh, maybe her face didn't look so much like Marcy's. The actual truth is I guess I never really looked real close at Marcy's face, but there was a similarity between the two girls, and it jumped right out at me, the same mousy brown hair with no style whatsoever, the same slouchy walk, and sort of nothing clothes, some kind of worn-looking beige pants.

"The files are over there, Ms. Miller," said Mrs. Simpson, who had followed the girl into the office. "Should I get Serenity's for you?"

"Oh, the file," I said. I should have thought of the file myself. Principals and counselors really love files. They were always whipping out mine. "Certainly, I will want the file."

Mrs. Simpson opened a filing cabinet, took out a thick folder, put it on my desk, and went out, closing the door after her. I was thinking fast, trying to remember what counselors and principals had said to me. Questions! They usually started with a question. "Well, Serenity," I said. "Would you like to tell me why you slapped a girl in math class?"

"Aren't you going to tell me to sit down first?"

"Yes," I said. "Certainly, take a chair if you would be more comfortable." I waved in the direction of the chair across from my desk.

Serenity settled herself in the chair, hunched over. I waited for her to look up, but she didn't. Nothing but silence. Just be quiet, I told myself. I'd had that silent treatment used on me, and I remembered that it had worked, made me start to talk.

"They pick on me," she finally muttered. "They pick on me all the time." Her voice got louder on the second sentence. I remained quiet. "You can read all about it. I bet there's plenty about it in that stack of junk about me."

I looked down at the papers in her file, shifted to the form on the bottom, and read. The note had been written by Serenity's first grade teacher. "Serenity is a happy, bright child. She has a wonderful imagination." Well, something sure happened to her since.

I put the papers back into a stack. "I could spend lots of time reading about you," I said to the girl, "but I'd rather hear what you have to say. Why do other kids not like you?"

Serenity shrugged, but she didn't look up. "They're jealous I guess."

I laughed out loud, and that made Serenity finally look up at me. "Why would they be jealous of you?"

She shrugged again. "I don't know. Maybe they're not jealous. They pick on me. That's all." She bit at her fingernails.

I wanted to slap her. "Stop biting your nails!" I yelled. "Don't you know you can't let them see you biting your nails or even let them know that your nails have been bitten. You can't let them know that they get to you."

She stared at me, confused. "Huh?"

"The people who pick on you! Don't let them know you bite your nails."

The girl looked up at me and shrugged. "Whatever," was her only answer. I didn't even think about what she said. It was the look on her face that got me. Her eyes were big and brown, and I guess they could have been pretty except they weren't. Those eyes made me think about a dog that someone kicked every day.

I wished Serenity would look down again. I didn't want to see those eyes anymore. The really wild thing was how I kept seeing Marcy Willis, like she was the one sitting in that chair. Suddenly I could totally remember how Marcy looked, especially the way her eyes were. I did not want to see Marcy Willis in Prairie Dog Town, Oklahoma. I got up and walked over to the window. I'd finish the discussion without looking at Serenity, but I had to say something. I wanted the girl out of my office. "Who picks on you? The whole eighth grade? Do they all hate you?"

"I don't like to talk about this stuff," she said.

A strange feeling came over me. I whirled around and stomped my foot. "Well, you're going to talk about it," I yelled, "and I am going to put a stop to this nonsense." That last part just sort of came out. What nonsense did I mean? I wasn't sure. I didn't even know whose side I was on, Serenity's or the girls who picked on her.

Serenity looked up, surprised, but she wasn't nearly as surprised as I was. Could I really think I wanted to help this girl? I went back to the desk and sat down behind it. "Now first you tell me who picks on you." I tore off the page of notes about the phone and shoved the empty pad across the desk. Then I held out the pen. "Here, I want a list."

"Are you going to punish them?" Serenity looked up at me, and her sad brown eyes got even bigger. I couldn't tell if she was hoping or afraid I would punish her tormenters. "Because if you give them detention or something, they will just take it out on me."

"Write," I demanded. "I want the name of every person who has ever picked on you. I'll get you more paper if you need it."

She started to write. After a while she stopped, looked over her list, and drew a line across it to separate some names. Then she pushed the paper across the desk to me. "That's most of them, I guess," she said. "The main ones anyway, the ones who make my life miserable." She sat back in her chair, folded her arms, and watched me.

I studied the list. There were four names, then a line followed by three more names. "What's the line for?" I asked.

"The first names," she began to count them off on her fingers, "Nicole, Caitlyn, Katelin, pronounced the same, but with different spellings. They call themselves
C
and
K.
Anyway those three girls and Ashley, they are the most popular girls in our class. They treat me the worst. The others ..." She paused, shrugged, and then went on, "I guess they want to be popular too. I guess they want to be in that group, and they think picking on me might get them in."

I didn't know what to say next, so I said, "Hmm," and leaned back in my chair. Then I remembered something. "Now tell me what you do to make them pick on you."

"Nothing," she said, and her tone was miserable. "Three of them have always been best friends, even in kindergarten, but back then mostly everyone used to get along. Back when we were little, I mean, sometimes, kids would be mean, but the next day we'd play together. Now Ashley is best friends with them too, and they . . . well, they think they're hot or something. That's all."

"And there aren't even six of them, are there?"

"No," she said, and she leaned toward me. "Why would you think that?" She didn't wait for me to answer, just went on. "They call themselves the Purples because they all four have purple jackets. They wear them even when it isn't cold, like today. You know how warm the weather is, but they came to school in those purple jackets. Makes me sick."

I was interested. "Even in kindergarten? They had little purple jackets even back then?"

"Nah, not back then." She sort of threw up her hands. "Why do you need to know exactly when they got the stupid jackets? What difference does it make?"

"Well," I said, "I just think they could get a better name than the Purples. They could even call themselves the Four Pack." I realized that didn't sound very principal-like, so I shuffled around the things in Serenity's file while I thought. Then I remembered. "But you do something to make them pick on you. Mrs. Simpson said so."

Serenity fell back in her chair and put her hands up to her face like I had slapped her. "She said that? Mrs. Simpson said I do something to make them tease me?"

"She did. Now tell me what you do?"

"I thought Mrs. Simpson was my friend," Serenity said. "I thought she liked me. She's always nice to me when I come into the office."