Last Dance. David Russell W.
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his question was rhetorical, but I have a habit of stating the obvious when the only outcome is likely to inflame a given situation.
“To make you look bad.” The vice-principal was beginning to shake, and for a brief moment I did actually worry that he might have a heart attack and drop at my feet on the school’s doorstep. “Just calm down, Bill. They’re angry. They’re kids, and you’ve put their backs against the prom wall. They needed to make a statement, and they’ve done it. They might have done it a little more publicly than I would have liked, but they’ve done it. Now we sit down and try to hammer out our differences.”
“You think it will be that easy?” he demanded. “We’ve just been broadcast all over the breakfast show. This won’t simply roll up and go away.”
“It’s CityTV,” I tried to tell him. “It’s unlikely anyone was watching.”
“Except all the kids in this neighbourhood and their parents.”
“Yeah, well, except them.” From the corner of my eye I saw Sara approaching from the interior of the building. She was wearing a huge smile and had both Tim and Nathan in tow. If she sensed the fury steaming from the vice-principal, she either didn’t show it or didn’t care. I kind of hoped it was the latter. I shook my head at her, hoping to avoid a confrontation out in the open. If Sara noticed my not too subtle signal, she again either didn’t show it or didn’t care.
“Good morning, Mr. Patrick,” she said, smiling coyly. That she did not address the vice-principal was obvious and deliberate. The girl had chutzpah. Before I could reply, Bill let loose with the tirade that had been building since he had arrived on scene.
“Just what in the hell did you think you were doing, young lady?” I have yet to meet any teenager who doesn’t think the term “young lady” sounds anything but condescending.
“Oh, good morning, Mr. Owen. Is there something you wanted to speak to me about?” Sara’s pleasantness was not only phony, it was also kind of funny. I smothered the smirk bubbling up, especially given the smirks already on Tim and Nathan’s faces. Bill was near explosion, and I felt I should intervene to protect my student from his rage, but she seemed to be holding her own just fine.
“Don’t be a smartass with me, Sara. You had no right to invite the media to the goddamned school today.” Sara did not seem at all intimidated by the hulk of the admonishing administrator in front of her, which I had to admire; despite my bravado, people his size kind of intimidated me. Maybe I am too skinny.
“I’m not sure that I like your tone, Mr. Owen,” Sara replied calmly.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass whether or not you like my tone. You’re in deep sh —”
“Mr. Owen,” I interjected. By now a small crowd of students had gathered to witness the altercation, and its members seemed particularly pleased that Owen appeared to be losing the bout. Now I was feeling a need to protect the best interests not only of my student but also of the school. “If Sara is not comfortable with the tone of the conversation, profanity is not likely to make the situation any better.” Bill, suddenly aware again of my presence, appeared lost as to whom he was angrier with. I tried to defuse the growing melee. “Perhaps we would be better served by going inside and discussing this calmly and in private.”
“Good idea,” Bill replied. “You and I will go inside. Sara, you’ll stay out here for the time being. You’re suspended.”
A slight but ever so brief chink appeared in Sara’s emotional armour before she caught herself and held firm. “On what grounds?” she demanded.
“On the grounds that you held an unauthorized press conference at school,” he replied tersely, self-satisfaction creeping into his voice.
“In front of the school,” she corrected.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re still suspended.” A quiet fell over our little group. Sara made her move first.
“And what section of the School Act gives you jurisdiction over the city-owned sidewalk?” For the second time that morning I suppressed a giggle at her audacity. She was at least as prepared as Bill for verbal sparring, not that that was saying much.
“Sara, have you ever heard the expression ‘a little learning is a dangerous thing’? Taking one high school law class does not make you a lawyer.” He said the last word with such contempt that I thought he might choke on his own vitriol. Good counterattack, though: he’d managed to hit both of us with one shot.
“So is a little authority.” Her previously pleasant demeanour was gone and she was starting to adopt a similar tone. Nathan and Tim were no longer laughing. Instead they, along with the slowly surging crowd of adolescents, were smiling silently in outright awe at their classmate.
“You are seriously pushing your luck, young lady.” Bill’s voice had lowered to a growl, and I was beginning to wonder if he was capable of becoming violent against a student, a female one at that.
“And does the School Act also give you the authority to unilaterally quash the constitutionally protected guarantee of free speech?” A small cheer went up from the throng of students. Bill’s head snapped to face them as though just now becoming aware of their presence.
“We’re done here,” he finally muttered then addressed the crowd. “Let’s go everyone. The bell’s going to ring any minute. I don’t want to see anyone late for class.” The crowd dispersed immediately. Bill, at least, looked satisfied that some people were still afraid of him. He turned to face me and invited me to join him. “Come on, Mr. Patrick. I’d like to speak with you before class begins.” We turned to head into the school, but he stopped and quietly addressed Sara. “No. Not you. You’re suspended until further notice. You’re to leave the school grounds immediately. We’ll be in touch to arrange the conditions under which you can return.”
“You can’t do that,” Sara protested quietly. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Section eighty-five, subsection three.”
“What?”
“You asked what section of the School Act gave me the authority to send you home. It’s eighty-five, three. Come any further onto school property, and I will consider you a trespasser and have you forcibly removed, possibly expelled.” A slight smile turned up the corner of his lips.
“You are making a mistake. This is not over.” Even I thought Sara sounded like she was starting to lose faith.
“So sue me,” Bill Owen replied before walking through the school door.
“Mr. Patrick!” Nathan suddenly blurted, stepping forward to join us. “Can he do that?”
“I don’t know,” I had to admit. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Do something!” Nathan demanded.
“No, don’t,” Sara instructed me firmly. “This isn’t about you. I’ll take care of it.” Tim had joined our dispirited group.
“Sara,” he asked her worriedly. “What are you going to do?”
Sara smiled. “You’ll see.” Without another word she walked towards students straggling in from the parking lot.
“This is unbelievable. Have you ever seen anything like this?” Cassandra Beaumont taught next door to me, and the two of us, like nearly every other adult in the building, were staring outside at the swelling mob of students congregating anywhere on the school property except inside in their classes. In less time than I would have thought possible, Sara had convinced a sizable part of the population to stand outside with her in protest of what she deemed an unreasonable suspension. Not only had arriving students elected to support this fiery grade twelve student on an impromptu picket line, many students who had already entered the building and their classes had, as word spread, gotten up and abandoned their studies in favour of student solidarity.
“No, I haven’t. Of