His Brother's Keeper. Dawn Atkins

Hopkins.

       “The district got tired of him complaining about money,” someone else answered.

       They were definitely talking about her school. Felicity listened hard.

       “What did your friend in personnel say about the new one?”

       “Not much. She’s cute. A cheerleader who looks all of twelve.”

      Hey. Felicity was thirty-one, damn it. Sure, she was petite and bubbly with a high voice that might make her seem younger, but she had experience and she’d proved herself over and over. She would prove herself here, too.

       “From California, right?” the other woman said.

       “Yeah. She was pedaling some New Age self-esteem program as a consultant, but had to get a real job.”

       “Funding has dried up everywhere,” the other woman said.

      Exactly. Felicity wanted to hug her.

       “If I had a dollar for every touchy-feely California pipe dream they foisted on us, I’d buy an island in the Pacific and retire.”

       “You and me both, April.”

      April… Felicity recognized the name. An English teacher? Felicity had pored over the school’s website and asked the assistant superintendent for as much background as possible so she could hit the ground running. They were partway into the spring semester already.

       She wasn’t surprised by the cynicism, but Enriched Learning System was research-based and had earned awards. Teachers loved it once they heard the details. She was sure they would love it at Discovery, too.

       “Maybe she’ll be good. We can always hope,” the nice one said.

       “How good can she be? They’re paying her a first-year teacher’s salary.”

       Felicity cringed, embarrassed this fact was known. The pay was low, but there were few midyear openings anywhere. Plus, this was a chance to test her system with older students in an at-risk school, which would earn her the credibility she needed. Her goal was to score a curriculum-director spot in a large district so she could bring her system to thousands of kids. Eventually she would reopen her business in California and reach thousands more.

       The bakery line moved, but Felicity held back to listen.

       “It’s all part of the plot, Marion. The district wants us to self-destruct, so they can say they tried to reach at-risk kids, but it couldn’t be done.”

       “I don’t buy that. The alternative schools are Tom Brown’s pet projects.” Tom Brown was the man who had hired Felicity.

       “He’s an idealist. He ignores what he doesn’t want to see.” This made Felicity’s stomach tighten. Tom had promised district resources. Would he come through?

       “With regular schools hurting, boutique schools are a luxury we can’t afford. That’s the hard truth.”

       “We can’t abandon these kids,” Marion said.

       “They mess up the district’s No Child Left Behind scores.”

       “Screw the scores. What about the kids? These kids washed out of regular schools. The alternative schools are their last chance.”

       “You’re preaching to the choir, Marion.”

       “If we’re on the chopping block like you say, we need a powerhouse principal. Why did Tom hire a lightweight, for God’s sake?”

       Felicity’s cheeks burned.

       “Don’t you know? Phil Evers is a relative. She’s his niece or stepdaughter or something. Tom had to hire her.”

       So. People knew she was related to the superintendent. That was unfair. Jefferson district was so big her uncle had no involvement in personnel decisions. She’d confirmed that with Tom before she’d accepted the job. Besides that, her mother had been estranged from Phil since before Felicity was born.

       “I help you?” the round-faced Latina behind the counter asked Felicity.

      Not likely. Even if she greeted her staff with a seven-layer flaming tiramisu, they would still think she was an unqualified phony. Turned out her first impression had already been made for her.

       She paid for the rolls, then turned, thinking maybe she could clear the air with April and Marion. But they were gone, leaving only lipstick-stained mugs, wadded napkins and pañuelo crumbs—pretty much what remained of Felicity’s hopes for the day.

       She set off down the block, lugging the food, the bag of rolls fragrant and warm against her arms, with just enough time to spare. When she reached the school, she saw one window had been boarded up and was covered with ugly gang tags.

       So much for the cheerful breakfast greeting she’d planned. This was what the teachers would see when they got to school. She’d be lucky if they didn’t throw her precious pañuelos right back in her face.

       AT©FOUR©THAT©AFTERNOON, Felicity lifted her head from the budget printout she’d been struggling over and took a deep breath. One thing she liked about her tiny office was how it smelled—like shoe leather and polish, since it used to be a shoe-repair place. She’d loved to help her daddy shine his shoes when she was a child—and he was in a good mood.

       The teachers had eaten her rolls and drunk her coffee and made polite chitchat with her. Each time she’d introduced herself she’d wondered if the person knew about her uncle, her puny salary or believed her to be a useless cheerleader. Maybe she’d bring pom-poms to the first staff meeting to show she could take a joke.

       After the meet and greet, her first official act as principal had been to insist the landlord replace the window ASAP. Leonard Lancaster had hemmed and hawed over the phone, but finally agreed it would be replaced today.

       She’d set up her office as best she could and had begun making her way through the mess Charlie had left. Bills and reports were stashed willy-nilly, and the man didn’t seem to have ever used his computer.

       Right now, what annoyed her almost more than the snarled budget was the gym that still took up some of the school’s much-needed space. Charlie was supposed to have had it cleared out before she got here.

       She would have to talk to the coach herself; she needed the room for her After-School Institute, a crucial part of her program. And, since she’d had enough of numbers that didn’t add up, she left her office and started down the hall.

       The school was arranged in a U around a grassy courtyard with picnic tables where the three hundred students ate trucked-in lunches. With space at a premium, why would Charlie give away a thousand square feet to a boxing gym? And a controversial one at that. There were parent complaints that the coach was a gangbanger, of all things.

       No way would Charlie Hopkins permit that. For all his organizational flaws, he’d been an advocate for the school and protective of his students. That was obvious from what she’d read in the few files she’d found. He’d refused to put in a metal detector, saying it was a breach of faith in his kids. She liked that attitude.

       He’d probably sacrificed the space for the rent money, since the school was strapped. The landlord had grumbled over replacing the window, and she’d found a receipt that showed Charlie had bought a small AC unit for the library out of his own pocket.

       As she reached the gym door, she heard yells and thuds and punches hitting home in there. So ugly. So violent. She hated violence. Fight with words, not fists. That was her mantra with students. The gym had to go.

       Inside was pure chaos. She smelled gym stink and, oddly enough, laundry detergent. Two boys flipped giant tires along one wall. Another dragged a boy on a metal cart by chains around his waist. Some older teens beat on crude-looking punching bags made of green canvas. Another wailed on an older man wearing pads on his arms and legs, both of them yelling at the tops of their lungs.

       The place