Death, Unchartered. Dorothy Van Soest

the principal ordered in her raspy smoker’s voice.

      I turned the knob and pushed in the door. Miss Huskings, slouched down in a leather chair behind her mammoth desk, looked like a wrinkled lump of clay. Creases of skin puckered toward her lips, from one corner of which a cigarette dangled. She plucked the cigarette out with yellowed fingertips and balanced it on the edge of an ashtray overflowing with what looked like a week’s deposit of ashes and butts.

      “Mrs. Waters,” she said.

      “I guess I’m early,” I said.

      Miss Huskings picked up the cigarette and brought it to her lips. She took a puff and blew out a perfect smoke ring. “Anthony and I were reminiscing a bit.”

      I followed her gaze and saw Frascatore sitting off to the side with one leg crossed over the other. He was smiling and nodding like a bobblehead doll, the embodiment of superiority and clueless self-importance. I grimaced. What was he doing here? Was he the person who had complained about me?

      “Sit.” Miss Huskings flicked her hand toward the chair next to his.

      I pulled the chair a few inches away from him before sitting down. I wished I were invisible, like when, as a child, no one noticed what I said or did. I longed for the advantage that comes with the ability to pass unnoticed through whatever was to come. But it was not to be.

      Miss Huskings’s pointy green eyes were stuck on me in a way that made it clear I was not at all invisible to her. “I’ll get right to the point,” she said. She heaved her thick body up and took another drag from her cigarette. “Some parents complained that their son was assaulted by a teacher. Now I know that if any of my teachers saw something like that, they would have reported it to me right away.” I froze, prepared myself for the attack to come. “So that’s not what this is about,” she continued. “Anthony here mentioned that the two of you had a conversation about discipline, and I thought it would help if we talked.”

      This was my chance to set the record straight. But what could I say? How could I tell her that Frascatore had assaulted a boy, but I hadn’t reported it to her? She’d want to know why I didn’t speak up before, maybe accuse me of collusion and reproach me for putting her in a bad position with the student’s parents by not coming forward earlier. For a split second, it crossed my mind that she might already know it was Frascatore, but then why was he here? Wouldn’t Miss Huskings want to talk to me alone? Now that he was here, that made speaking up impossible. If I told her what I saw, he would deny everything. And why would she believe me over him?

      I folded the note she’d sent in half, then in half again, kept folding until it was the size of a piece of hard candy. Then another thought occurred to me, one even more terrifying than the others. Maybe Miss Huskings already knew what happened. Maybe the student had told his parents I was a witness. What if this was all a test? What if my principal was playing games? I shifted my position in the chair, and it scraped on the floor with a high-pitched sound.

      “No need to be nervous, Mrs. Waters.” The principal coughed into her hand.

      I let out my breath. Then why am I here? I bit my bottom lip. There was a lead weight in my stomach.

      “I told Ada here that you have an unusual philosophy about discipline,” Frascatore said in a casual, matter-of-fact tone of voice.

      Ada? What was his relationship with Miss Huskings, anyway?

      The principal blew out another puff of smoke. She leaned toward me and waited, eyebrows raised.

      “I don’t think like he does,” I muttered. I was confused, thrown off-balance. “That’s all.”

      “She doesn’t realize that sometimes it’s our job to knock some sense into our students.” Frascatore wrapped his arms around the back of his chair, expanded his chest. A button came undone on his dingy shirt.

      I clenched my fists. “There are alternatives to violence.” I knew I was mumbling and kicked myself for it. I sat up straighter, ready to explain, and be more assertive, until I saw Frascatore shoot Miss Huskings a “didn’t I tell you” look.

      “Are you saying that Anthony believes in physical discipline of his students?” the principal asked. Was it an accusation? Did she really want to know?

      Frascatore cleared his throat and looked me straight in the eye. It was a dare if I ever saw one. I looked away. I didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know whether Miss Huskings was after him or me or something else. She was watching me, waiting. I had to say something.

      “I guess you could say,” I said at last, “that Mr. Frascatore believes in controlling students and I believe in motivating them.”

      He twisted his body toward me, a look of disdain on his face. “Here’s the deal.” The reminder was delivered with a smile. “I’m not sure Mrs. Waters here believes in any form of discipline at all.”

      I tightened my jaw. So this was how Frascatore was setting me up. If I told Miss Huskings what I’d witnessed, he would argue that I had skewed ideas about discipline, that what I thought I saw was not what happened. I opened my mouth, angry enough now to tell the principal everything, get it over with, let the chips fall where they may. But then I saw the two of them smile at each other, and I squeezed my lips together. I was the one at risk, not him. The two of them had a cozy relationship. They’d known each other for many years. He was the union representative for the school. He had tenure.

      “We can’t teach if we’re not in control,” Frascatore said.

      A sharp pain shot through my temple. I spoke up, but my voice was weak. “I don’t believe teachers have a right to punish students with impunity,” I said. “Students can’t learn if they’re afraid.” I leaned back in my chair feeling nauseous.

      “Ah, the self-righteousness of the young and inexperienced,” he said.

      “Nothing wrong with idealism, Anthony,” Miss Huskings scolded. “It’s in short supply around here, I’m afraid.”

      I sat up, feeling a bit emboldened by what seemed to be support. “We need to find ways to encourage our students,” I said in a stronger voice. “We need to motivate them.”

      “Uh-huh, like having them dance in class.”

      I whirled toward him. “Are you saying my classroom is out of control? Are you accusing me of letting my students do whatever they want? Is that what this is about?”

      Frascatore crossed his short legs, one foot resting on the knee of the other, and smiled in a triumphant, bare-your-teeth way.

      “Is this meeting about me, Miss Huskings?” I asked. “Have I done anything wrong?”

      “No, no.” The principal’s response was quick and firm. “I know this is your first year with us, Mrs. Waters, but I’ve been at this long enough to spot a gifted teacher when I see one. I would like you to consider supervising a student teacher next year.”

      I blushed and looked down at my lap.

      “And you’ve been a big help to me,” she added.

      “How,” I asked, looking askance at her.

      “This discussion has helped me clear a few things up in my head. It seems like everything these days comes down to a difference of opinion about discipline.” She stood up, glanced at her watch, and grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a folder from her desk. “And now I’ve got a meeting to get to downtown.” She rushed toward the door with a side-to-side gait and a wave of her purse.

      “Thanks, Ada,” Frascatore called out as he swaggered from the room behind her.

      I sat there, stunned, and didn’t move until a secretary popped into the office with a stack of mail. Then I left in a daze. I’d been duped. Anthony Frascatore had set it all up. Had set me up. He’d protected himself by making sure I didn’t tell the principal what I’d seen.

      I didn’t tell Frank about the meeting in Miss Huskings’s