Teaser. Burt Weissbourd

FIVE

      The “campus” of the Olympic Academy covered almost two acres, on Tenth. The centerpiece was the arts and humanities building, a five story, 50,000 square foot affair. The outside of the building was teal green, with over-sized windows strategically placed to reveal classrooms, a dance studio, the wood shop, and a group of Plexiglas teachers’ offices. Inside, the supply lines were Plexiglas so a person could trace the wiring, plumbing, heating and so forth. All except the sewage lines, of course, which were painted sea blue.

      Corey arrived at 9:50 a.m. Monday morning for her 10:00 a.m. parent conference with Will’s advisor. The design committee had probably specified relaxed and welcoming, but they’d ended up with specially-milled, wide-planked, hardwood floors, stone water fountains, ancient Asian tapestries, and stark white, space-age security panels. Corey found the place stiff and self-conscious. She stopped, confused by a poster for a film series with admission restricted to people of color.

      Will’s advisor’s office was on the fourth floor. Through his Plexiglas walls, she could see Tom Gleason, a history teacher, grading papers. She watched him—so serious—before she knocked.

      “Hello, Tom.”

      “Nice to see you.” He shook her hand. Tom had long black hair, a neatly trimmed mustache, and a kind face. She liked his colorful hand-woven tie, worn without a jacket. He was openly gay, no nonsense, and, Corey thought, easy to talk to.

      “Can I let my hair down a little—off the record?” she asked.

      “Depends.”

      “I want to talk about a couple of Billy’s friends. I don’t want them to know—or Billy to know—that we talked.”

      He scratched his head, weighing this. “I can do that.”

      “Here’s the deal. I’m pretty sure Aaron Paulsen and Maisie Daniels are doing drugs. It may be just marijuana, it may be more than that. The thing is, they’re lying to their folks.”

      Tom nodded, just barely.

      “The drugs by themselves aren’t the problem. They’re hanging out with an older girl—Will said ‘at least twenty’—and I think she’s been into the hard stuff. Look, I trust my instincts on this. Something’s wrong.”

      He looked at her, making a decision. “Let’s ask Toby to join us.”

      Corey hesitated. “If you think it’ll help.” It couldn’t hurt, she reasoned. At least it would get his attention.

      Tom receded to a corner when Toby Paulsen arrived. He leaned against the Plexi wall, a watcher. Corey understood that.

      Toby paced the floor in Tom’s cube, listening to Corey’s concerns. When she was finished, he turned to her. “Corey, I spoke with Aaron last night. He and Maisie are in love, he was articulate and sweet about that. And yes, they may have cut some classes, but that’s something I know how to handle. He’s a responsible young man, and he’s old enough to manage his own love life. Even make a mistake.”

      She looked right at him. He didn’t get it. “Toby, please…‘Letting them make mistakes’ doesn’t work with opiates.”

      Toby raised his bony fingers, a give-me-a-chance gesture. “Aaron promised me he wasn’t doing anything more than a little weed. And last night, he promised to lay off that, too. I believe him.”

      “Maybe.” She hesitated, wanting to get this right. “But Star’s streetwise, and there’s a reason she’s hanging out with sixteen-year-old, private school kids. Maybe it’s sex, maybe it’s boredom—”

      “And maybe she’s just lonely,” Toby interrupted.

      “You’re not understanding…” Corey stopped, started over. She tried to be really specific. “Please consider this. Young drug users, especially the girls, are exposed to unspeakable horrors on the streets. Aaron, Maisie, and Billy could be marks to her—a way at food, or money, or god-only-knows what. And that’s all they’d be. Even if our children had the right values and the best intentions.” She watched him, thinking about it, frowning.

      “I have a suggestion. Before we get too worried,” Toby sat on the edge of Tom’s desk, “I’ll talk to Aaron again about all of this. Okay?” He touched her arm. “I’ll ask about Star. And I’ll insist that he stay away from her apartment if she’s doing drugs.”

      She wasn’t sure why Billy’s dean couldn’t really hear her. It bothered her—Toby wasn’t stupid. “Fine, but what if Aaron lies?”

      Toby spread his arms. “I’m sorry. I’ll do the best I can.” He checked his watch. “I have an appointment.”

      Corey’s pale blue eyes widened. She was working hard. Really trying. And Aaron’s dad, the dean, didn’t have time? She bit her tongue. After a beat she stepped forward, inches from Toby’s face. “Toby, suppose these kids are not as well put together as you’d like them to be?”

      He didn’t respond.

      “Okay. Can you at least promise me that you’ll keep them safe. Don’t let them go to her apartment. Find out who she is. Take whatever steps you can to make sure that your son and his girlfriend don’t get hurt…and please keep Billy—Will—out of it. Will you do that?”

      His face turned grim. “Corey, these young people are very capable…I know your intentions are good, but over-protectiveness can easily, unknowingly, become stifling, or even evolve into paranoia. Have you thought about talking to someone?”

      Corey just stared at him, disbelieving. Stuck. Her mouth was getting dry. She wanted to hit him. She didn’t want to ruin it for her son.

      Tom busied himself, re-adjusting his tie. Corey touched his shoulder on her way out.

      “The guy couldn’t hear me. Picture this alien saying, ‘I’m here to eat your children’ and Toby keeps saying, ‘Welcome to Olympic’,” Corey said, still angry. “And what does it mean when he says ‘over-protectiveness can easily become stifling’?”

      Abe was sitting, watching her pace in front of their fireplace. Abe scratched the back of his head, looking glum. “He said that?” he finally asked.

      “Just before he asked if I’d thought about,” she raised a forefinger and middle finger from each hand above her head, scrunching them to mimic quotation marks, “‘talking to someone.’”

      “Did you provoke him?”

      “What kind of a dumb-ass question is that?”

      Abe grinned. “Sorry.”

      “He didn’t like what I had to say. But what difference does that make? It was true.”

      Abe rubbed the top of his ear with his thumb. “You had to say something. Aaron’s his son.”

      “He was so full of himself. So sure he knew everything. He thinks I’m paranoid. Is that what I am?” she asked, looking at him, suddenly anxious.

      He looked up at her. “No, you’re nothing like that.”

      “Okay. Thank you,” she said, then Corey turned to watch the fire.

      Abe stood, aware she was still upset. He made a grumbling noise.

      Corey looked back at Abe over her shoulder. “I almost hit him.”

      “Cor, he’s Billy’s dean…” Abe barely suppressed another grin. One time she’d hit Billy’s baseball coach. Billy had just turned eight. She came late for a game and he wasn’t playing. She finally found him stuck way up a tree, crying because he couldn’t get down. The coach had sent Billy up there for missing a fly ball, told him to play look out. Two grown men had to pull her off the guy. Abe loved that she’d done that.

      Will walked in. “Is this about