Chapter 22

While I knew it would take several days for them to track Mom down and schedule a parent/teacher conference, mostly because she worked so much, I didn’t want to put it off until they got a hold of her. While I was doomed either way, I knew that if she was caught off-guard by a call from the school, things would go from bad to worse.

I was waiting up for her when she got home.

“What did you do now?” she asked as soon as she saw me.

Considering the last time, I was waiting up for her was to tell her I got suspended, that was a fair question.

“You’re going to get a call, and I didn’t want you to get blindsided.”

“You’re not suspended again, are you?”

“No, but it’s connected to that. Because of the suspension and a run-in I had with one of my teachers today, the vice-principal started looking into my classes, grades, and everything. He wants to set up a meeting to talk to you about my progress in school.”

“Okay, one thing at a time. What was the run-in with your teacher?”

“It was in history. I got back my history test, and got a fifty-four...”

“What!?”

“Wait, let me finish. I knew that couldn’t be right, because I’d studied and knew the materials, so I checked with other students. On every problem, someone else had the same answer and got it marked right. I’ve been having some ... issues with this teacher, so I took the tests to the vice-principal and asked that it be regraded.”

“What kind of ‘issues?’”

“He’s one of the coaches, and three of his favorite players are the guys I got into a fight with on the first day of school. I’ve tried to keep my head down, but he has it in for me.”

“Charlie, I know a lot of kids think that...”

“No, it’s not just an anti-authority thing. One day I had to go to the counselor’s office to do a follow up for new students. It made me late to class and the front office gave me a pass, since it wasn’t my fault. He wouldn’t let me into class, saying I was late. This isn’t his policy or anything, other students come into class and he’s never had a problem. I’m not trying to pick a fight with a teacher, he really hates me.”

“So what did the vice-principal do?”

“He talked to the coach and they’re going to regrade my test. Based on checking it against other students’ tests, I only missed one question and got an A on it.”

“Good. It sounds like that was cleared up though, why do they still need a parent/teacher conference.”

I paused, trying to think of a way to say it that wouldn’t make things worse.

“Charlie...” she prompted when I was quiet for too long.

“I’m having trouble in math.”

“Charlie, we talked about this,” she said, exasperated. “I made it very clear that if your job or music got in the way of school, you’d have to quit them.”

“It’s not the job or music...”

“Charlie!”

“No, please listen. It’s not those. I spend a lot of time studying and I’m always trying to get help from other kids at school, I’m just really struggling. The stuff they’re teaching assumes I know a lot of stuff I just don’t know. Everyone else is like ‘ohh, we learned that in middle school,’ but I have no idea what they’re talking about half the time. I swear I’m applying myself, reading the textbook over and over, and not letting anything else get in the way. My problem isn’t focusing or being distracted. My problem is I am just missing too much stuff. Even if this was the only thing I had to do all day, I’m not sure my grades would go up.”

“So, it’s my fault you’re doing bad in math?” She said, annoyed.

“I’m not saying that. What I’m saying is, not ever having been to regular school before, there would always be a problem with me not being ready for it. I’m doing great in English and I’d be doing fine in history if it wasn’t for Coach Bryant, but there are some areas where I’m missing the required learning.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. I thought if I just studied more, I’d pick it up, but it isn’t working. Everything I study just makes me have to go look up something else I don’t understand, which leads me to something else. I have to search through three and four more basic concepts to try and understand one part of the thing we’re learning in class. I’m frustrated and the class isn’t set up so I can get one on one help. Some of the kids I eat lunch with are trying to help me, and I get through my homework okay, but without their help I flop on quizzes and tests, since I don’t really understand why things are the way they are.”

“What about other classes?”

“Science is also a problem, although not as much. Some of the stuff is new to everyone, so I understand it; but some isn’t, and it messes me up. I’m doing better in biology, and I don’t think I’m failing, but I’m not doing great.”

“What do you think we should do?”

She loved doing this. When there was an issue, instead of telling me what we were going to do, she always wanted me to tell her what I thought. If she thought I was giving her an answer so I’d get what I want, instead of the best way to handle a situation, she’d make sure whatever we ended on would be the least pleasant option. She said she wanted to teach me to think for myself and not always have someone else give me help, which I guess was a good strategy, but it was frustrating.

“I don’t know. I’ve talked to my teacher, and she suggested I get tutoring, but there’s no way we can afford that. None of my friends are good enough in the subjects or have the patience to teach me. I tried that first, and it didn’t work. I’m honestly out of my depth here. I understand you said that if I started doing bad in school, I wouldn’t be able to go to the Blue Ridge anymore, and I will follow that if you insist. However,” I said, pausing for a moment. “I want you to consider that might not make the situation better, and will only punish me for things outside of my control. I am willing to put in the work and try my hardest to succeed, but sometimes things are just outside of a person’s control. I need help, not punishment.”

She looked at me hard for several minutes, thinking. I sat quietly worried, waiting to find out my fate. I hadn’t lied, I really had been trying my best and I really did need help, so this had the benefit of being true, but that didn’t mean she’d listen to me.

“What concerns me is that you haven’t said anything until now. If you were having problems, the smart thing would have been to ask. Hiding it and hoping I wouldn’t notice doesn’t sound like someone trying to fix the issue. It sounds like you were ignoring the issue and hoping wishful thinking was going to get you through this.”

“I’ll admit I was trying to push off this conversation, but it wasn’t relying on wishful thinking. I was trying to figure this out on my own. I kept trying different things. True, none of them have worked yet, but we wouldn’t have known if they would have worked if you had known about it either. I still would have had to try it.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t say anything.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I admit I was stalling to try and figure something out. I was wrong. I should have told you I was having problems, but I was scared I’d have to stop playing or even working at the Blue Ridge, which I really love. I don’t feel like I was hiding it from you, since I was still trying to solve it on my own, but I should have said something.”

I’m not sure Mom was prepared for that response. Whatever she was going to say in retort fell away. Instead, she just stared at me, calculating. I sat still, not interrupting her. I was on edge, and I knew it. This could go either way, and I just hoped I’d made my case enough to not lose any privileges.

“What do you want to see happen?” she finally asked, throwing the problem back into my lap.

This I had thought about.

“I need help. I’m too far behind and no amount of studying on my own or getting a friend to answer questions will get me out of it. I’m already in the easiest math class for tenth grade, and everyone else in the class transferred in from other districts with a different order for taking math, has trouble with math, or is an athlete. My only options are getting held back and taking the class twice, hoping I have enough time to learn everything, ask the school to move me to a freshman-level class, see how that goes, or find some kind of actual tutoring. I’d prefer the tutoring option, since if I take the freshman class, I don’t get credit for it from homeschooling, and I won’t get four math credits, which might require me to be held back a year anyway. The only hard part of tutoring is finding a way to pay for it. I think we go to the parent-teacher conference and ask the vice principal what options there are for me. He might suggest where to find tutoring or another option I haven’t thought of. Once we get his input, we can make a decision on what I need to do. The same is true for science, although I’m not as far behind there, so I think with just a little help I can catch up in that class.”

“You’ve thought this through.”

“I have. I honestly wasn’t slacking or trying to put one over on you. I’ve been stressing over it for a couple of weeks.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, we’re doing it your way. We’ll talk to the vice-pincipal and see if there is an option. I’m also going to contact him back and ask that your math teacher participates in the meeting. While I trust you, if I’m going to let you keep working while your grades are down, I want to know that you’ve been trying your hardest. If - and I want to emphasize ‘if,’ as this isn’t a promise - if we can figure out a way to get you help, I’ll let you keep playing.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I said, picking her up and hugging her tight, swinging her around in a circle.

She laughed. Not her normal reserved laugh, but a full-throated giggly type of laugh. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard Mom actually laugh. She’d been so serious since we moved here, always tired and stressed, that it was good to hear.

“Put me down,” she said, calming herself to get serious again. “Now, I want to make it clear this is provisional. If you don’t get your grades up, then I will still shut down anything that’s getting in the way. I want you to take this seriously.”

“I really will. I promise,” I said, hugging her once more and heading towards my room.

Tomorrow was Saturday, which meant that once again Chef would be showing up at an ungodly hour.

“Hey, Mom?” I asked, stopping in my doorway and turning around towards her.

“Yeah?”

“Would you come see me play one Saturday?”

“Charlie, I don’t know.”

“Please. I know you got your fill of the life with Dad, but this is different, I swear. I’m really proud of the progress I’ve made and it would mean a lot to me if you could come see me play.”

“I’ll see. I have to get a Saturday night off from the cleaning company, but ... maybe.”

“Thanks. I love you,” I said, knowing that was as good of a commitment as I was going to get.

While I’d managed to make it through the night with a win and another successful weekend, Monday we barely made it into school before the drama ramped up again. Hanna and I had just walked through the doors from the parking lot when Jordan came running up to us.

“We have a problem.”

“What?” Hanna asked.

Jordan looked away, not making eye contact.

“There were more posts, weren’t there?” I asked, knowing what her refusing to look at Hanna meant.

“We’ve been keeping an eye on the account, you know, just in case. So you weren’t surprised again, and Megan saw a post go up a few minutes ago.”

“What does it say?” Hanna asked, her voice a mixture of fear and annoyance.

“It’s not what it says. It’s...”

“Just tell her,” I said, as Jordan trailed off. “She’s going to find out eventually. Now is better than later.”

“It’s pictures of you changing for gym. Nothing nude, I guess to keep the posts from getting pulled down, but ... they’re not flattering.”

“Just ... shit,” Hanna said.

She had a look of despair on her face, which is what whoever was posting these things goal was, really. They just wanted to hurt her, and they were succeeding.

“It tagged a bunch of other students’ accounts. We reported it, but since it isn’t nude, I’m not sure they’ll take it down.”

“We should go talk to someone in the front office.”

“What can they do?” Hanna asked, her voice wobbly. “They don’t control Twitter.”

“No, but the pictures were taken in the locker room, right? That’s school property. They’ll have to investigate. They probably won’t find the person, but we have to report it. At the very least, the school administration asking questions about it will make people less likely to do something similar again.

“Fine,” Hanna said, not happy.

Vice Principal Keller was busy, so we ended up talking to the counselor. While I hadn’t found him particularly helpful so far, he at least seemed to take this seriously. He made it clear that he agreed it was unlikely they’d find the person who actually took the pictures, which didn’t make Hanna particularly happy. Beyond the promise to investigate the event and talk to the coaches, he made one suggestion, none of us thought of.

He said they would contact Widget support and report the images and the account that it was associated with. While Hanna was over eighteen, there were a couple of other girls, out of focus and in the background, but still mostly visible, who were minors in various stages of undress. He said that, while he couldn’t promise anything, it should be enough to get the posts and maybe even the account taken down.