Branna wandered about, looking at photos of children who had yet to grow into their bodies. Knobby knees, missing teeth… they were all represented here.
“Come this way, Branna. Ellen’s in her classroom.”
She followed the straight back of Mrs. Huxley, then entered the room she indicated. A woman, who Branna guessed was a few years older than her, was seated at a desk. Straight blonde hair hung to her shoulders and she wore a pretty floral dress and sandals.
“Ellen, this is Branna O’Donnell,” Mrs. Huxley said before leaving the room.
They shook hands and Branna took the seat across from Miss Todd’s. The room was small and filled with books and shelves; a whiteboard was covered in scribbles, which she was sure made sense to someone.
“How can I help you, Miss O’Donnell?”
“I wanted to talk with you about Michael Tucker, Miss Todd.”
“Oh, dear, what trouble is he in now?” The woman sighed as she put down her pen and then rubbed the bridge of her nose. Branna empathized; she remembered how that felt, the endless paperwork, continual parent phone calls, rude students, and thankless days. Of course, like a lot of teachers, she’d loved every minute, but she loved her writing more.
“No trouble. In fact, I wondered if you realized just how intelligent Michael Tucker is, Miss Todd?”
The tawny-colored eyes of Miss Todd suddenly chilled. “He is a bright boy, Miss O’Donnell. However, no brighter than any of my other students, and indeed a lot more trouble.”
Branna opened her handbag silently and found the papers she’d put in there, laying them on the desk facing the teacher; she then spoke.
“I met Michael Tucker a few days after returning to Howling. He came to see me because the woman who had bequeathed me her house upon her death was a friend, who supported and comforted Michael, which to me would suggest he was not receiving that in his own home,” Branna said slowly.
“I have no reason to believe that. In fact, his mother is a very nice woman, and calls to see me when she can. Michael tends to lie when provoked, Miss O’Donnell.” Miss Todd’s hackles were now well and truly up.
“These,” Branna said, holding onto her temper, because much as she’d like to let it loose, she would achieve nothing by doing so, “are the after school work I have been doing with Michael. Mr. Hope tested the boy and found his IQ to be one hundred twenty-eight, which I’m sure is stated in his records, if you have taken the time to read them.” Branna held the other woman’s rapidly widening gaze. “I think they prove just what Michael Tucker is capable of, don’t you?”
There was silence while the teacher studied Michael’s work. There were mathematical workings and written work.
“H-he did these?”
“Yes.”
“Well, they certainly show he’s capable of doing a great deal more than the tasks he’s currently being given, if indeed he did these, but they do not show me his IQ is quite what you state,” Miss Todd said.
“Perhaps you should read his file then?” Branna snapped, rising to her feet. “And for the record, I would never lie about something as important as this, especially as I was once in his shoes and have the same IQ. Believe me when I say it is a lonely and unenviable position for a ten-year-old boy to be in when your sole focus is on fitting in with your peers.”
“I’m not sure what you are accusing me of, Miss O’Donnell?”
Branna braced both hands on the desk. “Look, Miss Todd, I’m not accusing you of anything, nor am I judging. I was a teacher also and understand the pressures you face every day. A child who doesn’t fit into the model you have written presents more work—”
“Which I have no problem with, as my students’ welfare is important to me,” the teacher said defensively.
“Excellent, then can I suggest you read his file thoroughly before you make any further judgments about his behavior?” She didn’t stay to hear any further replies from the teacher; instead, she pushed off the desk and left the room. Waving at Mrs. Huxley, she then climbed into her van and drove out of the school gates. Lowering the window, Branna inhaled a deep, calming breath.
For now, she’d done all she could, but she’d be back if she thought it was needed. Mikey would not suffer because he had smarts; she’d see to that.
Driving into town, Branna pulled up in front of the drugstore; minutes later, she was looking on the shelves for her favorite brand of moisturizer. When the door opened, she didn’t look up, too busy reading labels, which was a bad pastime she had, but one that she had all the same. It always surprised Branna what actually went into things, and she usually tried to purchase things with ingredients that she at least recognized.
“You still suffering with that stomach upset, Macy?”
Branna wasn’t visible to the people at the counter, which was a relief; she had no wish to get into it with Macy Reynolds again.
“I’ll have this made up for you in a few minutes, Macy.”
“Thanks, Mr. Pike.”
Holding her breath, Branna eased along the shelf so she was tucked in the corner out of sight. Macy came into her view as she walked behind a set of shelves further down the aisle. She didn’t look Branna’s way, instead lowering her head into her hands as her shoulders started to shake. She then bent double, almost as if whatever hurt inside her was making it impossible to stay upright.
