“Nobody,” Nadine said, “is allowed to physically attackanypupil at this school. Full stop.”
“What was I meant to do, then,” Scarlett said, “when James said that about my dad? Would you let somebody say that aboutyourdad?”
“And Scarlett’s, like, practically my sister,” Finlay said. “You can’t just let your sister get beat up and not help!”
“First,” Nadine said, “if somebody says something you object to, you donothave to physically attack them. What would our lives be like if adults lashed out like that anytime anyone said a cross word to them? We’d have punch-ups on the trains. In offices. In Parliament. Is that the world you want to live in?”
“Yes,” Scarlett said. “If they’re saying things about my dad, I do.”
“Me too,” Finlay said.
“Well, I’ll tell you what happens in my school when pupils fight,” Nadine said. “They face consequences.”
“Fine,” Scarlett said. “As long as they get the same thing. I didn’t start it, and Finlay didn’t do anything bad at all. You should probably give me his punishment, too.”
“No,” Finlay said. “Mum always says that you make your choices and you face the consequences. I wanted to hit them, and I hit them. I’m ready to face the consequences.”
Nadine said, “Here’s what we’re doing. First, you two will both be picking up rubbish and helping the custodian at lunchtime for the rest of the week.”
“Fine,” Finlay said. “Who cares?” Which was not the most politic answer, but Skylar couldn’t help being proud of him. Of both of them, if truth were told. Although, of course, violence was deplorable. Obviously.
“In addition,” Nadine went on, “we’ll be having a RestorativeJustice session with the peer mediation team, and they may assign additional consequences. Fighting is very serious, and we’ll be treating it as such, but the most important thing is to work as a community to mediate issues like this so you don’t resort to violence next time.”
Scarlett just looked at her. Skylar was pretty sure Nadine could read the thought-bubble as well as she could herself.If they say things like that about my dad, I’m not promising anything.She wasn’t Zane Mahuta’s daughter for nothing.
But what about that thing the kid had said? It couldn’t be true, could it? The kid was twelve years old! How would he even know?
Cell phones.
Please, let it not be true.
How she hated time zones.
First, there was getting the kids home to Zane’s, cleaning them up, and explaining to the rest of the kids, and to Granddad. Although that wasn’t theveryfirst thing she’d done. The first thing, after the cleanup and resumption of icepacks—it was fortunate that Zane had half a freezer full of them, and plenty of Panadol, too, for the aches—was to grab her phone, retreat to Zane’s bedroom, hold her breath, and type in the search term.
All Blacks v England rugby injury
The man had broken his neck.
Hisneck.
She could feel the blood drain from her face. Her legs didn’t want to hold her anymore, and she sank down on the bed, the dread contracting in her stomach, and read on.
Condition unknown. Undergoing surgery. Guarded optimism.
She dropped her head into her hands and breathed. Three times. Four.
Could you break your neck and notbe paralyzed? Was that a thing? Possibly? Please?
The papers were full of it. England fans calling for an investigation. International rugby announcing a review. The All Blacks expressing concern for the player and assuring reporters of their full cooperation in the process.
And Zane himself nowhere to be found, at least not in the quotation department.
Why,whywas she a teacher? If she hadn’t been, she’d already have known what had happened. But why hadn’t Zane eventextedher?
It was now … she checked the time. Four-thirty P.M. Which meant five-thirty A.M. in London, and no, she couldn’t possibly call Zane at five-thirty in the morning just because she was worried about him. He didn’t need to know about the kids right now, either. He needed to sleep, and she needed to get a grip. Which was why she went out into the lounge again and told the kids that the player would be having surgery, and she was sure they’d know more tomorrow. That the officials had reviewed the accident over and over again, and if they hadn’t seen any foul play, therewasn’tany foul play. (Investigation be damned.) Then she supervised homework—“Yes, you still have to do it, even with a black eye. If you didn’t want to do that, you shouldn’t have got into a fight.” Which got her major maturity points, as what shewantedto say was, “Why don’t we all lie on the couch, watch a stupid movie, and eat takeaway Chinese and vats of ice cream?”
After that, she cooked the simplest possible dinner with Olive and Duncan as her sous-chefs, because routine was calming and important, supervised the washing-up, lay on the couch with all the kids piled around her like puppies and read a story, and got everyone to bed by seven-thirty. She didn’teven get any pushback, because they were all heavy-eyed and squabbling from that early start.
