Page 10 of Hate You, Maybe
“You all right there, Kroft?” Dexter asks. “Need CPR? You know I’m certified.”
I shake my head, pounding on my sternum and working to clear my throat.
Mr. Wilford’s caterpillar brows lift. “Are you able to continue?”
I nod frantically, even as panic rises in me. No sane person would entrust a massive grant to someone so easily flustered.
To someone like me.
“I’m ready,” I rasp.
“I’m ready, too,” Dexter says. He’s all straight white teeth and confidence. “Did you have any questions about my grant proposal?”
My stomach cartwheels, and I almost spew my breakfast burritoon Mr. Wilford's desk. Dexter going after the funding too is my worst nightmare. But I’ve been practicing my pitch all morning. All week. Allmonth.Ever since school started.
He can’t beat me.
Not this time.
“Much like my esteemed colleague here”—I lean forward, shoving my bag to the side of my chair—“I’m prepared to review all the reasons why the performing arts departmentdeserves this money. And we desperately need it. The truth is, the theater won’t be able to function without a major renovation soon.”
“With all due respect tomycolleague,” Dex says, “the gym is in disrepair, and all the athletic department’s equipment is antiquated. We’re talking about student safety here. And another year of?—”
“Let me stop you both right there.” Mr. Wilford lifts his hands to interrupt. “We’ll get to the grant eventually.” He settles back in his chair. “But there’s another more pressing matter we need to discuss first. Well, one pressing matter,plusan opportunity.” He puts a little pepper on the word “plus.”
“That’s great,” Dexter says. Again, all confidence and teeth. “Because opportunity’s my middle name.”
“My middle name is Candice,” I blurt. Then my neck heats, and a look of confusion passes over Mr. Wilford’s face.
Yes, I get it, sir. I’m behaving weirdly. But that’s only because there’s so much at stake. And I mean this all so much. My chin trembles ever so slightly, so I clamp down my jaw.
Be cool, Sayla. Be cool.
“As you know,” Mr. Wilford continues, “the Southern Accreditation Committee for Secondary Schools is coming here next month.”
“Yes, for their four-year assessment,” I pipe up. I wasn’t at Stony Peak during their previous visitation, but I was on the team of teachers who prepared for this one. Six of us spent all last spring compiling a two-hundred-page report, putting together a PowerPoint presentation, and scheduling classroom visitation.
The accreditation committee will be able to evaluate interdisciplinary lesson plans in every department. Performing Arts is responsible for a concert with the choir, band, and orchestra. And the theater club will perform ashort play. As for athletics, Dexter has arranged for all the varsity sports teams to offer separate showcases for the committee.
Our plan is immaculate.
“You’re correct, Ms. Kroft.” Mr. Wilford steeples his hands on his desk. “But I must tell you, I’m a little worried about things going smoothly with the sacks.”
I stare at him for a long moment. “The … sacks?”
“Yes.” Mr. Wilford nods. “That’s an acronym I’ve come up with for the Southern Accreditation Committee for Secondary Schools. SACSS is much less of a mouthful.”
Is it?
A laugh puffs out of Dexter. “Well, don’t worry. We’re all set for the SACSS,’” he says. “We’ve worked up excellent curricular strategies for each department.” For the record, Dexter was the head of the six-teacher team last spring. Because of course he was.
“Yes, I’m aware of the hard work everybody has put in,” Mr. Wilford says. “But our school’s curriculum is not the problem.”
“What is the problem?” Dex asks.
“In their previous report, the SACSS requested improvement in our faculty’s collaborative spirit, specifically. And Superintendent Dewey is worried that if we don’t show progress in that area, we could be at risk of being demoted to a temporary accreditation.”
“What happens then?” I ask.
