“Aren’t we leaving?” she asks.
“One more lap,” I argue, and I can’t help my smile when she nods.
She’s good enough to go on her own, but instead, I hold her close and give myself this last lap before I get back on track.
* * *
I rush to put my skates back in my locker while Savannah uses the restroom.
“Hello?” I ask when my phone rings with an unknown number.
“Hi, Mr. Callahan?”
“Who is this?” I ask instead of telling her Mr. Callahan is my father, because technically, the burden does fall on me.
“I’m Mrs. Marcotte. Isabelle’s teacher?”
“Is everything okay?” I panic, but school ended hours ago, and it’s not like Izzie is a troublemaker.
“Of course. But tonight is the parent teacher conference.”
“Shit, sorry. Did her mother not make it?” I don’t call her our mother. Like a remnant from when I was afraid someone would find out I was way too young to be raising Izzie.
“No, she didn’t. And it isn’t mandatory, but when I mentioned it to Isabelle earlier, she said you often handle her homework. When I found your contact information, I thought I would see if you were on your way…”
“No, I’m sorry. I can be there in maybe an hour?” I try to go to bed early the night before a game, but this wouldn’t be the first time that doesn’t work out.
“We’ll be long gone by then. But don’t worry, Isabelle is doing great.”
“Not in math,” I argue, not so much because I want to bring her down, but saying Izzie’s doing great doesn’t tell me how to help her.
“She’s improved significantly. And she’s been very good at helping other students, sharing tips and tricks that work for her.”
“Izzie’s got a big heart,” I agree, but a teacher wouldn’t call just to praise my sister, when I already know how awesome she is.
“She does.” There’s a pause. “My only concern is her support system. Again, it’s not mandatory, but there is a PTA which holds meetings every month or so, bake sales for field trips, volunteer sign-up sheets for plays…I looked back, and no one has signed up for her for any of these, which again, none of them are mandatory…”
“But one every once in a while is expected.”
“Strongly encouraged,” she agrees. “I have lists of behavior problems and subjects to focus on for a lot of these kids, but that was the only item we had for Isabelle. She really is doing great.”
We’re the ones who are failing her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Marcotte. I’ll make sure we sign up for something.” I try to stay pleasant and polite, but my shoulders slump as soon as I hang up.
Chapter Fourteen
Savannah
Feels Like Home
Noah
The Game is a pretty good book to get a pro’s perspective.
I’ve been staring at Noah’s text for the past minute, because it has been complete and total radio silence between us since we left the arena a week ago, him acting all distant and saying goodbye like we were never going to see each other again. Which I resigned myself to, because we both got what we wanted out of this, officially, only now he’s texting about books and I’m at risk of reading too much into it.
Me
