Drew all over the third grade portion of the hallway with Sharpie on his one approved trip to the bathroom (reported to me by an irate Emmanuel, as Max had colored over his bulletin board).
“You’re going to have to do some community service tomorrow morning with the custodian to get that off the walls,” I tell him in a private conference in the hallway.
Max rolls his eyes.
“What’s going on, dude? I thought we were doing okay, you and me. I thought you were really working on being agood friend and a member of our community. You’ve been doing great work.”
He rolls his eyes again, not responding.
“Is everything okay, Max?” I squat down to meet his eyes, trying to make eye contact. “Remember, you can always come to me if you need anything. I’m always going to be here for you.”
He huffs a laugh. “Can I go back inside?”
I sigh. “Okay, Max. Please try to turn your day around.”
Cue narrator voice:he doesn’t.
7. Cut off a piece of my hair. With a pair of adult scissors. Pilfered from who knows where.
At dismissal, I try to tamp down my rage when I see Max’s mom standing outside looking as frazzled as I do. Except, less infuriated Archangel-of-Violence like me, and more sad, dehydrated flower.
“What happened?” she asks immediately, as I drag Max by the hand to speak to her.
“Why don’t you tell mom what happened, Max?”
He scoffs.
“Okay, well, luckily for you, I’ve been keeping a list,” I say, pulling out my Post-It.Because I’m petty as fuck. I hand it to mom.
“Max…” she starts, but he darts away to join an ongoing football game.
“Max,” I growl. “Get your little behind back…”
He’s gone.
She turns to me. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Baker. He’s… we’re having a really tough time right now. We were doing okay, but then his dad came back. There’s been an ongoing custody battle. I’m trying to get full custody. Max hasn’t been handling it well. He’s confused about why he can’t see his father.”
Her body crumples, like she’s exhausted. I squeeze her hand. “For what it’s worth, though, he’s doing the same thing to me at home. He’s really pushing my buttons.”
I’m really feeling like a Rage Tornado as I get my classroom ready for the next day.
I’m not pissed at Max, and I’m not pissed at his mom, and I’m really pissed at his dad, and Oliver, a little, and there is no outlet for my frustrations, so I take it out on the pencils I am sharpening. Maybe I can get them sharp enough to be useable weapons.
Later, I get a text from Oliver.Home. Come over whenever you’re done.
At least I’ll be able to work out some of this rage on the six flights of stairs up to his apartment.
I do just that, even taking stairs two at a time for an extra workout. I’m out of breath by the time I reach his floor.
“Exercise…” I pant to myself, “is sustained and prolonged torture…”
I’m so busy trying to catch my breath at his door that I forget to check the hallway.
“Ms. Baker?” a little voice says.
My soul leaves my body.
