Four Little Problems. Carrie Weaver
this year.”
“He’s gotten out of hand because he’s been allowed to. If you’re interested, I have a few brochures for the district-sponsored parenting classes.” He opened his top desk drawer.
Emily’s heart sank. If she didn’t think he was right, she’d call him on his condescending attitude. As it was, she was too embarrassed to tell him that she’d already taken the courses and tried her darnedest to apply what she’d learned, but none of it seemed to work with Jason these days. Neither did any of the tactics she’d used when he was small. He’d turned into an alien creature almost overnight.
The teacher rummaged in his top desk drawer. “And I can give you a list of reading resources. Some parents find behavior modification quite helpful. Skinner, of course, was the—”
A muffled snap came from his drawer.
He jumped to his feet, cursing under his breath.
Emily tried to place the snapping sound—she’d heard it recently in another context.
Mr. Stevens brought his hand to chest level. “What the hell?”
Emily gulped at what she saw. A small mousetrap gripped the teacher’s middle finger, turning the tip an ugly purple.
Now she remembered the sound. Jason’s ill-advised purchase at the dollar store. And how she’d instructed him to get rid of the mousetrap before he broke a finger.
Jumping up, she grabbed a pair of scissors, intent on prying the spring open.
“No!” Stevens jerked away.
“Stand still.” Emily advanced, intent on saving him.
The door opened and the principal entered. “Mr. Stev— What’s going on?” she asked. Her gaze skimmed over Emily, the raised scissors, the swearing teacher, the mousetrap.
The principal crossed her arms over her chest. “Ms. Patterson, I think it’s best if you leave.”
“Let me explain.”
“Go.” Her voice brooked no argument.
CHAPTER ONE
Two years later…
PATRICK STEVENS GLANCED at the meeting agenda and almost aspirated his coffee right there in the teachers’ lounge.
God, no.
He couldn’t possibly be that unlucky, could he?
“What’s wrong?” The new, perennially smiling kindergarten teacher slapped him on the back, as if that would help.
“Did you see who’s running for PTO president?”
She shrugged. “Some woman named Patterson.”
“As in, mother of Jason Patterson.” That should have said it all.
“And that’s a problem because?”
She was obviously still too wet behind the ears to understand the implications.
“Jason Patterson, the kid who threw cherry bombs in the boys’ toilets.”
No recognition.
“Led his own gambling and extortion ring.”
“I’m sure he wasn’t that bad.” She flipped her hair and gave him that sparkling, you’re-just-old-and-burnt-out smile.
At thirty-eight, he considered himself far from old. But she might have a point about the burnt-out part. Today, a little over two months into the second semester, summer break still seemed very far away. And other days, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else but in the classroom. It was a dichotomy that would have intrigued him if he had time to contemplate abstract thoughts. But, as it was, he barely had time to knock back a cup of coffee before his kids returned from music class.
Jason Patterson. His ultimate failure.
“The little delinquent told the playground aides the dice were for improving his math skills,” he muttered under his breath as the newbie practically skipped out of the lounge. Obviously, she hadn’t heard the mousetrap story and he wasn’t about to enlighten her.
The girls’ physical education teacher came in before the door clicked shut. Her eyes were on the prize—the coffeepot.
Patrick reread the agenda, hoping he’d been mistaken. No such luck. He suppressed a groan.
“What’s your problem, Stevens?”
“Did you see who’s running for PTO president?”
“The Patterson woman. You can kiss that field trip of yours goodbye. I doubt the woman can head up a fundraising campaign. But with poor Mrs. Bigelow deader than a doornail, I guess we have to take what we can get.”
“Yeah. A heart attack at thirty-three. Who’d have thought?”
“Mrs. Bigelow was such a nice woman, too. And her kids know how to behave. Not like that oldest Patterson boy.”
“Jason. His mother transferred him out of my class the first year I taught here.”
“Yeah. I heard something about that.” She shrugged. “It happens.”
“Not to me, it doesn’t. At least not since Jason Patterson. I’m here because I want to make a difference. Otherwise, I’d still be a chemist, making serious money.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Spare me the greater-good lecture, Stevens. You better figure out how you’re going to work with her and fast. No PTO sponsorship, no Sea World trip. It’s as simple as that.”
“I am not letting that woman ruin sixth grade for these kids. They’ve worked hard. Car washes. Bake sales. Sold candy out the wazoo. All the PTO needs to do is come up with the money that was promised.”
She tilted her head to the side, tapping her chin with her index finger. “I hear Jason Patterson plays point for the basketball team.”
“So?”
She smiled mysteriously and grabbed an insulated cup. For a woman who’d been in such a hurry, she took her time pouring her coffee. Returning the pot to the burner, she said, “It means Emily Patterson probably has a soft spot for the sports programs. And if your SeaWorld trip doesn’t work out, maybe the PTO will spring for that new sports equipment I’ve been requesting forever.”
Then she punched him playfully on the shoulder and headed out the door, whistling cheerfully.
The vultures were already circling.
EMILY’S STOMACH CHURNED as she approached the cafeteria, which had recently been renamed the multipurpose room. Straightening her spine, she pasted on a confident smile.
“You’ll do fine.” Nancy, her best friend in the world, patted her arm.
“You think? Some of the parents act like I’m something they scraped off the bottom of their shoes. That Tiffany Bigelow was the worst. Not that I want to speak ill of the dead.”
“Since when? She wasn’t nice when she was alive, so why should you pretend now?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m doing this, either.”
“Because you love children and you don’t want to see all the programs go down the tubes this year, just because of Tiffany’s hard heart.”
Emily chuckled in spite of herself. She whispered behind her hand. “I was a little surprised she even had a heart.”
“You’re not the only one. Her über-volunteer act didn’t fool me. I’ll never forgive the woman for telling Ana I adopted her from Russia because they wouldn’t give me an American baby.”
“I would have gladly scratched her eyes out for you.”
Nancy slid her