“What?”
“I ordered a graphic novel for one of my kids. For my classroom library, actually, but a student requested it. I figure, anything to get them reading, right? But when it came in, I noticed one of the illustrations on the back was, um, kind of boob-forward.”
“Jim didn’t mention boobs,” she said dryly.
I exhaled in relief. “Good. I Sharpie’d out the nipples before I gave it to him, I swear. The student.”
She smiled. “Quick thinking.”
“Thanks.”
“Jim is waiting,” she reminded me.
“Right.” I rolled my eyes. “Can’t be late for the principal.”
—
The school secretarywaved me through to the office.
“Come in, Anne,” Jim Curtis said. “Shut the door.”
The principal of Ravenscrest was a handsome man in his mid-fifties with the sleek silver hair and polished smile of a congressman. Better at fundraising than looking after his constituents, I thought. But he’d hired me during the pandemic, and I was grateful.
I wiped my palms on my skirt, suddenly conscious of the run in my tights, and sat. “Thanks.”
“There’s never a good time to have these conversations,” Mr.Curtis said. “Unfortunately, they can’t be put off.”
My shoulders relaxed. Now he would tell me he was sorry for my loss, and I would thank him for his sympathy. I nodded, my attention already wandering. When Chris finally got off his shift last night, I’d been sleeping. Which was fine. We would connect tonight. Maybe I’d even cook dinner. Mentally, I reviewed the contents of Chris’s refrigerator. I was pretty sure I bought lettuce last week. Or I could go grocery shopping…
“…where this came from,” Mr.Curtis was saying. He slid a book across his desk.
I blinked at the well-worn paperback. Not the manga book. “Sorry, what?”
“It’s not a school library book. Do you recognize it?”
The Perks of Being a Wallflower.There was a stain on the cover, a crease in the back corner. “Yeah.” I’d loaned it to Colin a couple of weeks ago. “It’s from my readers’ corner. For my students to borrow?” My voice rose, like I was asking a question or seeking permission.
“I’ll need a list of those books.”
“I don’t have a list. It’s…They’re just books. Poetry, fantasy, YA, graphic novels. Things I think my students might like.”
Books they might not have access to otherwise. “Your underground library,” Sarah called it.
Mr.Curtis pursed his lips. “Not part of the course curriculum, then.”
“Not exactly. Some of them are on the AP reading list.Sometimes I buy stuff based on recommendations. I want all my students to see themselves, their stories, reflected in literature.” I smiled brightly. “And of course I want to encourage them to read.”
“Which is a laudable goal. However, there’s some concern you’re exposing your students to material that is educationally unsuitable for this age-group.”
I stifled an image of the Sharpie’d nipples. “Concern,” I repeated.
“A complaint, I should say.”
Crap on a cracker. “From a student?”
“From Mr.and Mrs.Quinn.” Colin’s parents.
I sat straighter in my chair, remembering how Colin had avoided my eyes today. “Sorry,” he’d mumbled. Sorry that my father died? Or sorry that his parents reported me to the principal?
