In fact, my original plan was to go back to the public school where I attended middle school, but there’s Tyler, and I have to think about his future too.
Mr. Trask pulls out a stack of papers in a folder and opens it up. He’s holding my actual permanent record and my fingers itch to snatch it out of his hands, wondering if the keg party is documented there. I’m certain it is. Every football player at the party was reprimanded, suspended for a week while the police conducted their interviews. A fucking week. As for me, I never came back to Camden after that night, spending a few days at Piper’s until I went back to the group home.
That was then.
This is now.
He says, “Your GPA will continue to be competitive with the rest of the student body, and you’ll be eligible for final class rankings.” He places a piece of paper in my hand. “So if you’ll just sign here, you will be fully enrolled again. Just like you never left.”
“Any word on housing?” When we spoke on the phone last week, he said we’d discuss it today. I didn’t expect him to agree, but living on campus would make things easier, especially the terrible morning commute from Nashville. Plus, the nuns aren’t responsible for me anymore, and even though they’ve given me this extra time, they need room for other kids.
“Ah, yes,” he says, smiling. “I have very good news. There’s an opening in the dorms and it’s yours. No charge.”
Surprise makes me blink. I came prepared to battle for a free dorm room. “But you weren’t even sure the board would agree to pay for my housing. What’s changed?”
He nods. “Actually, we have an anonymous donor who’s offered to cover the cost.”
“Who? I mean, I assume most of the board is angry with me for last year.”
He sighs, an uncertain look on his face. “The person wishes to remain anonymous. And, I assure you, the board is not angry with you. We want to help you. I have two daughters myself, and I just…” He stops, clearing his throat, obviously pushing aside whatever he was going to say as he looks at me, thinking, choosing his words carefully. “As you know from our conversation earlier, we don’t normally allow local residents to utilize the dorms, but since you’re a special case, I’ve overruled that policy and granted the opening to you. You can move in today if you like. Miss Henderson is the dorm mom and she’s expecting you. Just show up after school and get settled.”
I’m flabbergasted. That’s at least ten grand for the whole year!
Who was it? A guilty parent who knows their son hurt me?
Regardless of who it is, having housing here will make life much easier. I’ll have a private room where I can study and focus. Sure, I’ll miss Tyler, but I can visit him every afternoon, and it’s not like we share a room or keep the same hours except for dinnertime anyway. The younger kids sleep on a different wing from the older kids at the group home.
I nod, moving on and focusing. “I mentioned my brother Tyler and his situation last week. He’s six and has special needs, and the crowded school he’s zoned for in Nashville isn’t doing him any favors. They barely pay him any attention.” I chew on my lips, recalling an incident last year where he actually left the school and wandered off near the river. It was a frantic four hours until the police found him on the shore tossing rocks into the water. What if he’d fallen in? What if someone had abducted him? It’s a terrible part of town, addicts living in abandoned buildings on every corner. I’m used to those places; he’s not. “I want him at the Camden elementary campus. I know you have a department devoted solely to helping kids with special needs.”
He stands, walks around to his chair, and sits. “Your brother…that’s an entirely new scholarship, and our board has already fulfilled our quota for the year. You, on the other hand, were a previous student here, one with incredible SAT scores.”
My chest rises. I think about my brother, his small-for-his-age stature and slightly disjointed fingers. Diagnosed with fetal alcohol syndrome at birth, he has some developmental delays and attention issues. He’s never going to be everything he can be at the place he’s zoned for.
My resolve builds. “With all due respect, Mr. Trask, I’m not coming back unless he’s enrolled. One of the nuns has agreed to drive him back and forth every day just like they did for me before I turned sixteen. He needs this, and he’s not unruly. He’s kind and sweet and smart, and all he needs is a place with good people to care about him. And he’s an orphan. Our mother abandoned him.” I hate using that word, but if it helps, I’ll throw it around.
He grimaces, and I continue.
“I’ve already filled out all the paperwork.” I pull it out of my backpack and set it on his desk. I copied it using the printer at Lou’s diner. “There has to be a spot for him at the elementary campus. Just one.” The thought of seeing Tyler actually get the services he deserves makes my palms sweat. I swallow, thinking fast, my mouth saying things I don’t know I can deliver on. “Look, forget the scholarship for him. I…I can pay you back a little at a time. I have some savings and a job. I’m a great waitress. It won’t be much, and you can charge me interest or whatever your administration prefers, but I swear, I will pay for his tuition, and then when I get to college, I can get another job, maybe one that pays more, and—”
“Ava.” He cuts me off. “I can’t give you a loan. To even enroll him with a payment plan, I’d need half of the money. Do you have fifteen thousand dollars?”
My gut clenches. “No.”
“My dear…” His voice softens. “All monies for scholarships have already been allocated for this year. It’s out of my hands.”
I stand up. I didn’t walk in here today just to be turned down so quickly. I’m prepared to fight. I look down at the Anaïs Nin quote on my backpack, words I put there with a sharpie. Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.
Never give up, Ava.
“Then ask that donor, or call the administration at the campus to check for sure, because I promise you this: if you don’t find Tyler a spot on your roster, you’re going to lose me. I can drive down the road to Morganville, and they’ll roll out the red carpet. You and I both know my scores are some of the best this school has ever seen. You wouldn’t have called me and asked me to come back if I wasn’t poised to put Camden at the top of the list of best private schools in the state. Do you really want your biggest competition bragging about my scores?”
I’m bluffing about Morganville, who also happens to be our biggest football rival. The only reason I haven’t approached them already is they don’t have the special needs program Camden does.
“Plus, I came back here. I came back. Doesn’t that look good for those future students who might be wondering about the moral quality of the young men you’re educating here? Maybe there’s a future football star out there wondering if Camden is the right place for him. Maybe there’s a smart girl who can afford Camden, but she goes to Morganville instead because she’s heard rumors.” I hesitate. I do like him, always have, but… “I get requests for my story from reporters who don’t have a thing to do with this town, who aren’t afraid of the money here. Would you like to see me on some national morning show? I’d hate to draw unwanted attention back to Camden and perhaps suggest that this school and town didn’t do enough for me.” My voice cracks. It’s a lie. There are no reporters. Nobody gave a shit about what happened to me.