Page 135 of Hot Shot

“All right, bug. I’ll see you at home,” I promise, moving to kiss Wilder on the cheek. “I might be a bit later than you, but not by much. Just have some papers to grade and I’ll head home.”

“Good. See you in a bit.” With a parting kiss, he heads out with Cricket, striking up a conversation I wish I was a part of. But alas.

I watch them until they’re gone, then head to my desk to get to work.

But I don’t even make it through one math sheet before the intercom sounds.

“Cassidy, could you come down to the office please?” Principal Harris asks.

Cold anxiety zips through me. “Of course. I’ll be right there.”

Instantly, I have to work full time to wrangle my thoughts, certain I know what this is about. My heart thumps painfully with every step I take down the long hallway to the office. When I get there, Christine is leaning on the counter, talking to the receptionist in a hushed voice.

Her eyes are sad when they meet mine. “Hey, Cass. Come on in.”

I try to smile, following her obediently into her office. She closes the door behind me.

“Have a seat.”

Again I obey, trying to stay calm despite my nerves screaming that something’s wrong. I watch her walk around her desk and sit, clasping her hands on the desk in front of her.

“I got a call today from Jeremiah Lewis, the head of the school board. Avery’s grandfather.”

The blood drains from my face—my skin is icy in its wake.

She sighs, seemingly unhappy about the situation. “He informed me that your husband assaulted his son at a children’s baseball game. Is that right?”

“It is.” The words are shaky, and I swallow in an attempt to settle myself.

She nods through another sigh, this one heavier, as she picks up the folder under her hands and passes it to me.

“I’m afraid the board has moved to dismiss you.”

A wave of nausea is chased by the momentary dimming of my vision. I reach out and take the paper numbly. “I’m…what?” It saysNotice of Dismissalacross the top in bold, damning letters. The rest of it swims in my vision, illegible.

“They’ve cited many reasons, like breeching the clause about using reasonable effort to protect a child. They’ve accused you of looking the other way on the playground at times when children were being bullied by Cricket, suggest that you’ve intentionally embarrassed Avery, cited an advantage for Cricket having you as her teacher and a disadvantage for Avery. And…they’ve listed incompetence using notes from classroom observations. You’ve been very late posting grades and returning homework, and they’ve suggested that you’re unfit.”

The blow knocks the wind out of me. I grip the arm of the chair to brace myself. “This…this can’t be serious, Christine. This can’t be happening.”

“I wish it wasn’t.” She pauses, weighing something out before speaking again. “If you want to know my opinion, off the record? This has nothing to do with your performance—I have observed your class myself, and I’ve seen none of these behaviors. The grades and homework, as long as they’re in by the quarter, are fine. It’s your first year. I understand.”

“Then why?”

“Because your husband assaulted his son and embarrassed him quite publicly.”

I’m hot and cold and sweating, my heartbeat thumping in my neck. I’m almost too overwhelmed to speak. “He couldn’t press charges—the police said it was self-defense.”

“I’m sure it was. But your husband’s behavior is a reflection on you. I know it’s not fair. But…well, this is thorough, Cass. They’ve been working on this for a while, and I wonder…” Another sigh. This one sparks anger in me because she’s so resigned. She’s not going to fight for me. I can see it all over her. “Well, I just wonder if they’ve been putting this together since the whole thing began with the girls.”

I sit back in the chair hard enough that air puffs out of me from the impact. My eyes focus on nothing. Tears nip the corners. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“You’ll have a chance to defend yourself in front of the board, but until then, you’ll be suspended. They’ll be in touch with the date and time of your hearing.”

“And what are the odds that the board that put this together is going to acquit me?” I ask, already knowing the answer as I hold up the paper.

When she sighsagain, I imagine that I snap and throttle her. “I’m sorry, Cass. I really am. My hands are tied.”

I’m too hurt and angry and devastated to say anything at all. Even if I could speak, the words would be lost. They’d make no difference.

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