Tatum. What can I do about her? She won’t speak to me with hardly any respect; every conversation we’ve had has been fueled by frustrations and annoyance. She can be immature, and yet, there’s a light that shines within her. Most girls with a bad rep wouldn’t be taking college level calculus the last semester of their senior year. She’s driven, but relaxed. Her personalities clash with one another. She’s like fire and ice. Which serves to explain why one minute she’s warm and open, and the next she’s the damn ice queen.
It’s well after midnight when I finish my fourth drink, and I decide it’s best to go home before I set myself up for a killer hangover. Tomorrow will be a new day, and I resolve to get to the bottom of Tatum’s behavior issues. Maybe I’ll consult Mr. Stephenson to see what he knows of her history.
Before turning out the light, I piece together my broken phone, knowing I’ll regret not having the extra alarm in the morning if I don’t. And as I’m drifting off to sleep in a buzzed haze, images of tear filled hazel eyes flash before my mind.
***
“What do you know about Miss Krause,” I ask the principal first thing in the morning. I drove in before first period so I could dig a little background on Tatum before I see her today. I’m sitting in his dimly lit office, and he’s staring at me curiously.
“Why are you asking about Miss Krause? Is she giving you more problems?”
“Oh, no. We resolved our issues yesterday. She made an apology to me privately, and we discussed moving forward.”
“She was supposed to apologize in front of your sixth period class. I had planned on being there, but I had an unexpected meeting. What happened?” he asks, looking at me like he thinks Tatum pulled a fast one.
“I was unaware, I’m sorry. We ran into each other before sixth period yesterday, and she apologized to me, very sincerely might I add. That’s sort of why I’m here.” I shift slightly in the hard plastic blue chair, feeling slightly uncomfortable with where I’m turning this conversation.
“What is it?”
“Does she have some history I should be aware of? Most students don’t have an outburst in the middle of class, and I was given the impression yesterday that something was amiss. I'd like to help her, if at all possible. I thought if there was a situation she was dealing with that you know about, it might make it easier for me to reach out.”
He stares at me, studying me with one hand clasped beneath his chin. Jesus, this guy is supposed to be my colleague and superior, but I feel like I’m the one in trouble in the principal’s office. He leans forward, laying his forearms on the desk as he addresses me.
“Miss Krause went through some home trouble last year and wound up missing a lot of class. She has been working very hard to catch up, even going as far as to enroll in our post-secondary program. Let me assure you, her behavior is very uncharacteristic. I, too, have wondered if she has been struggling with some outside stressors lately. However, I do not want to feel like I am gossiping about her behind her back, as she has used me as a confidant in the past.” He settles himself back in his chair once again, and I know this conversation is coming to a close. “My suggestion?” he offers. “Now that you have identified she is having some issues, use that to get her to open up to you. Maybe you can get her to open up a bit more, because lately, she hasn’t had much to say to me.”
I spend the rest of first period correcting pretests for my Algebra II class. When the students begin filtering in for second period, I’m surprised to find Tatum is not among them.
Promptly at 9:20, I begin my prepared lesson on expressions. At 9:28 I find myself glancing up from the projector to check the door every thirty seconds, and by 9:34, I find my mood souring now that she’s failed to show. After her blatant display of intolerance for tardiness, I’m almost sure she isn’t running late. She’s just not coming. Maybe her apology yesterday wasn’t as sincere as I thought, and her display of tears was no more than a show for sympathy.
By 9:45, I’m as frustrated as ever, feeling duped by this teenaged girl.
“Okay, class, for the remainder of the hour, you will begin your homework assignment on page 13. I want you to complete problems 1-80, only the even numbered problems. Please use this time wisely, as you’ll have less work to complete tonight if you do. Feel free to ask questions.”
Once I’m satisfied everyone is working quietly, I turn on my desktop and log into the school’s website. From here, I can search the attendance of any student, and I can’t stop myself from looking up Tatum’s status for first period. I search by name, and sit back in my seat when I see she was marked absent for French V, another college level class. I wonder if something is wrong with her. Knock it off, Ryan. Scolding myself, I log off the computer and finish correcting papers. Stop being so interested in what mischief one teenaged girl is up to.
On my lunch break, I decide to check my phone that I stashed in my briefcase. I was amazed this morning when the damn thing still worked, blaring the alarm bright and early. Turning it back on, I shouldn’t be surprised to see a voicemail waiting for me again. I can’t avoid this forever, so I listen to the message, jotting down the phone number he left for me.
I type the number into my phone, then delete it. I type it again, checking and rechecking the digits with the sheet of paper to make sure it’s correct, then I delete it again. Curling the phone in my fist, I bring my hand to my mouth, biting my knuckle to relieve some of the frustration and nervousness I’m feeling. Just call. I can always back away if it’s too much to handle.
Unwanted and unbidden, the very last image I ever had of Harper flashes in my mind. Her body, pale and cold, bruised and scratched, covered by a typical stark white hospital sheet. Unmoving. I blink back the tears and swallow against the pain in my chest as I find my resolve.
Call for Harper. Do it for Harper.
“Hello, this is Nurse Greta, how can I help you?” A kind woman’s voice sounds from the other end of the line, low toned with a slight southern drawl. I swallow thickly, trying to clear my throat from the lump blocking my airway. I open my mouth several times but nothing comes out.
I hear her breathe heavily into the line. “Hello?”
“Who is it?” someone croaks in the background. God, she sounds so weak and frail, the sound makes my heart constrict.
“Must be a wrong number, Carol, there’s nobody there,” she replies, before the line goes dead.
Everything I once thought was neatly tucked away is beginning to explode around me. That was a bad fucking idea to call. I’m useless. I was useless in saving Harper and I’m useless in putting her to rest. I just know whatever Carol needs to say to me is going to make my life a hundred times worse.
Checking the time before tucking my phone back into my briefcase, I realize my lunch hour is almost over. Pulling myself back together and banishing the unwanted images of that night so long ago, I make my way back to my classroom for the final classes of the day.
As I suspected, Tatum fails to show for my sixth hour class as well. She must be out sick, because my gut tells me she isn’t the type to skip school for no apparent reason. It’s too bad that little blonde friend of hers isn’t in my class. She looked like a talker, and I may have been able to prod some information out of her about Tatum’s whereabouts.
I’m being ridiculous for caring, but I can’t help feeling a little protective of her after the display of vulnerability she showed me yesterday. Clearly this girl is sorting through some shit, and it’d probably be wise of me to leave it alone. I have enough on my plate without getting sucked into whatever mess she’s in. But I never claimed to be a smart man.