Page 63 of Closing the Distance

“I don’t have lesson plans set up,” I say numbly.

“Fuck lesson plans, Lexi. This is insanity. You can’t be expected to teach with this going on right out front.”

She’s probably right, but I can’t just sit at her house all day, and I’m not ready to face Ty again.

Summoning all my strength, I rub my belly, feeling my sweet girl’s strong kicks and grounding myself in the fact that I’ve survived my whole life. I can survive this too. I prepare to open the door and get out of the car when the locks engage. I look over at the bodyguard whose dark gaze is assessing the situation.

“Is there a different entrance you could use?”

Blaire pops her head between the driver’s seat and the passenger seat, pointing to the far right side of the building. “There’s one over by the portable classrooms. It’s used by the cafeteria staff and custodians because it’s close to their supply closet.”

He nods once, and then backs out of the space and follows her directions to the back side of the school.Fortunately, this entrance doesn’t seem to have anyone around, although I notice a few extra cars with people sitting in them. On closer inspection, they have long-lens cameras.

Fantastic.

But it’s better than the mob out front.

“On a count of three, let’s run inside.” Blaire looks at me expectantly.

“I’m thirty-one weeks pregnant and rarely work out. I’m not running anywhere. But I will speed walk with you.”

A smile graces Blaire’s face for the first time since I arrived at her house yesterday. “Speed walking it is.”

We get out of the car, and my bodyguard follows as we hurry toward the door. Car doors open and close, and a warm palm presses on my back. “Walk faster if you can; I’ll stall them,” my bodyguard murmurs, spinning around and telling them to stop. There’s commotion behind us, but I don’t dare turn around to see what it is as Blaire gets to the door and opens it with her school key. We rush inside, and my bodyguard follows us. “Only key access?” he asks us.

We both nod, and he seems to relax slightly. “Alright, lead the way to your classroom.”

We walk down the halls, the three of us silent until we turn the corner and find a crowd outside my classroom door, but this time it’s not the press.It’s my principal and several of the other grade level teachers who have classrooms in this hall. They all look over at us at the same time, but Mrs. O’Dell is the first to step forward, her face in a stern frown.

“Ms. Kemper, my office, please. We have much to discuss.”

I’m thrown back in time to when I was thirteen and the principal called me into her office, accusing me of stealing food. Shame coats my body now the same way it did then. I had stolen food, but only because it was the only food I had access to, and I was starving. Kids in the foster system had automatic free breakfast and lunches at school, but I wasn’t getting dinner at home, and the school lunches weren’t enough. I’d been hungry for days before I finally caved and stole the muffin. I felt so guilty, I cried myself to sleep for two weeks.

We walk in silence to her office, passing other teachers in the hallway whose conversations stop the second they spot me. One guess what they were talking about.

When we enter her immaculate office, she gestures to the chair across from hers before she takes her seat. She places her folded hands on the desktop and arches a brow. “To say I’m disappointed about what’s come to light is an understatement. We pride ourselves on excellence here, Ms. Kemper, and I think it’s safe to say that we need to investigate the claims that have been brought forth.”

Saliva turns to sawdust in my mouth as I stare at her wordlessly.

She continues. “We’ve been getting calls all morning from concerned parents. The district representative and I met this morning, and we’ve agreed the best course of action is to put you on administrative leave for the time being.”

“Administrative leave?” I whisper.

“Without pay,” she adds, her chin lifted with an arrogance she doesn’t deserve. I’ve worked for far better principals than she is, and I’m wishing I was sitting across from one of them right now. They would still treat me like a human being instead of the scum beneath her shoe.

“I—”

She holds up a hand. “You’ll have a chance to state your case at a formal hearing in front of the board, but for now, I have to ask you to leave so there will no longer be any disruptions to the learning environment of our students.”

“I can’t even tell my students what’s going on?”

“No.”

Nothing else. Just no.

It always amazes me when higher-ups in education conveniently forget that we’re working with kids—human beings who deserve to have things explained to them so they understand why their teacher is here one day and gone the next. Talk about disrupting the learning environment. They don’t even know where I am in my lessons. I can only imagine the subs they’ll get to cover my class, if they can even find subs since there’s a shortage. Likely, it’ll be a fellow teacher who doesn’t even teach my subject and just gives the kids a study hall or worksheets. How is thatnot disruptive to the learning environment?

I get out of my seat since I know nothing I say now will change her mind and walk out into the main office. Flashes of light go off on the other side of the doors as students try to enter the building, and tears of frustration build behind my eyes as I’m faced with reality. Maybe she’s right. My students—any student at this school for that matter—don’t deserve to be hounded by press as they come to school.

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