“Jordan?” Anya pokes her head into my office; standing behind her is the reason I’m so nervous.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” I say, waving my hand around. “Good morning,” I say to them. “How are you?”
“Good morning, Ms Hill.” He seems nervous, too. “We’re ready.”
“Good.” I turn to Skylar. “All the teachers are expecting you. This is your timetable,” I say, handing it to her. She takes it, her fingernails painted a deep black.
Usually, I don’t allow students to paint their nails like that, but today I’ll turn a blind eye. I don’t want to make the whole situation even worse for her.
“She doesn’t have her uniform, yet,” her father tells me, “but I’ve ordered it. It should be arriving next week.”
I look at Skylar: she’s wearing leather trousers, with her boots untied. Her shirt is unbuttoned, her cleavage on full display, and her face is fully made-up, complete with red lipstick. Her entire outfit is screaminglook at me! Help me!but still no one sees her. I don’t want to talk about the way she’s dressed in front of her dad, and I don’t want to bring it up the moment she arrives. I’ll find the right time to mention it, once she’s more comfortable, and we’re on our own.
“No problem,” I say, trying to appear disinterested.
The bell rings, saving us all from further embarrassment.
“Come with me, Skylar,” Anya says. “I’ll take you to your first lesson.”
“Well, have a good day.” Her dad seems self-conscious, awkward.
“Whatever,” she responds, before following Anya down the hallway, leaving us alone.
I need to limit these meetings. I have to avoid spending time alone with him.
“She’ll be okay, right?”
“It’ll take a few days, but I’m sure she’ll settle in.”
He runs a hand nervously through his hair, then turns to look at me.
“Thank you for giving her a chance.”
“I’m happy to help.”
“It wasn’t nice for her to feel so rejected all the time.”
“I can imagine.”
“Look, I know she’s done some things…” He shakes his head and sinks into a nearby chair.
I didn’t expect him to take a seat, or break down in my office.
“She’s only fifteen. She’s still a little girl, for fuck’s sake.”
I want to tell him to watch his language – we’re in a school, after all – but I let that slide, too.
I sit down, too, and decide to stay and listen to him, show him a little empathy.
“I wish I could do more, be closer to her, but she won’t let me in.”
“Sometimes, when people put up walls like that, it’s really a cry for help.”
“How can pushing your own father out of your life be a cry for help?”
“Maybe she just wants to work out whether you really do want to break down her walls.”
“…Do you think?”
