Walter is in the middle of opening an email from Otto that had just arrived when his landline rings. Stuck between trying to type up an effective response in german with one hand and reaching over his stacked Civil War lecture printouts that were currently blocking said phone,with the other, Walter has less attention available to pay to the figure that slid through his office door. Subsequently, Senor Uhl's words get lost in the gruff Trollish that emits from the receiver, and the tense panic that grips him when he realizes they have his number… his school's number. They shouldn't be calling him. Walter bites back a curse as his contact said her piece and hung up.
"I'm sorry Uhl what did you say?" He asked, hanging up and smiling as he shifted back into a comfortable position at his seat.
"I asked if you are ready?"
"Ready?"
Grabbing a pen Strickler scribbled on a post-it a reminder to have words with Yumi about breaking Changeling protocol.
"Did you forget about the Parent/Teacher conference?"
The scratching of his pen stopped.
Uhl took must have taken his silence for confirmation for he cocked his head to the side and pulled a pamphlet from his shirt pocket as he did so.
"It's the first one of the year." Uhl smiled.
He walked towards Strickler's desk and placed the paper on it, before striding back to admire the masks lining the wall.
"Ah," Walter smiled,"That would explain the sudden influx of Lincoln's that I've found hidden in essay papers collected this week."
Opening up the brochure He glanced at the schedule inside.
"Again?"
"Every year."
"Lawrence and Janeth are holding a betting pool with the rest of the faculty over whether the parents are more 'Difficult' than last year… are you interested?'"
Strickler shook his head, "No,Tonight will be fine, the parents will be fine."
His coworker sent him a disbelieving smile and made to leave.
"Oh by the way," Uhl paused at the doorway, "we voted that you'd be the one to handle the introductions."
"Wait what?" Walter snapped his gaze up and twisted the brochure violently in his hands.
But Uhl had already left.
A thirty minute introduction with all the parents, tedious, yes, but nothing he couldn't handle.
They're arguing again.
He has the beginnings of a headache and in truth he should have known better.
"Will they be learning about World War 2?" One of them asked.
"What about the SAT's?" Another yelled from the back. And before he could answer, the room erupted with questions from distressed parents.
"How can they qualify for the national merit scholarship?"
"When will the test be administered?"
"We want our boy to attend Stanford. Can you guarantee a score to get him in?"
"That is not something I can . . ."
"How can we guarantee it?"
Walter could feel a vein beginning to pulse aggressively behind his left eye.
"You can always bribe someone on the College Board." He stated dryly.
To his horror some of the parents brightened considerably at his words and began murmuring amongst themselves.
Walter quickly held up his hands. "No!"
They turned to glare at him again and Walter forced a polite smile to remain on his face.
"I . . . it was a joke. . . dont," he shook his head, "Don't do that." These people were unbelievable, Roman senators hadn't been this difficult calm down, and some had actively tried to assassinate him.
"Please do not concern yourselves. The PSAT will be administered in the student's second year." Walter continued.
"The official test will be in October of their Junior or Senior year. Your children will have plenty of time to prepare."
For the briefest of moments it seemed that the parents were finally placated, and Strickler let out a breath he did not know he was holding.
"Should I hire a tutor?"
"That is a valid option."
Another Parent huffed irritated, "But what about. . .?"
Oh for the love of Meraxes' sagging gronk noks.
Walter bit his tongue to stop himself from cursing out loud and inhaled deeply to prepare himself to answer another asinine question.
Yet to his relief, his classroom door opened with a force that vibrated room, effectively silencing everyone.
Coach Lawrence swaggered in, clipboard in hand. "All right everybody, you went over time by almost an hour, so that means your individual conferences with the other teachers has been shortened to thirty minutes."
Walter could see that Janeth and Uhl were behind the doorframe sniggering into their hands. Damn them,They'd planned for this. He sent them a glare, and they quickly looked away attempting to appear innocent.
The rest of the evening passed by in a blur. Without the assurance of superior numbers, the parental hive mind had collectively been extinguished.
Walter had been more than happy to pick off their numbers one by one.
"Your son has potential, but he needs to put in more effort in his school work."
Id est the boy needs to actually turn in his work. For most it should have been obvious but if the look on Steve Palchuk Sr. was anything to go by, the idea was a novel one.
"Right, thanks for the suggestion Mr. Strickler."
With a nod, more to himself than anything, Palchuk had stood up from the piano stool and left.
That was thirty minutes ago and so far his last appointment seemed to be a no show. Relieved that the night was seemingly over, Walter pressed his palms firmly into his eyes and exhaled, enjoying the silence.
"Hello?"
He snaps his head up so fast that for a moment vertigo hits him and he has to pause to regain his bearings.
"Hmm?"
"Sorry," A tall red headed woman apologized from the office doorway. "Are you," she fumbled with a pamphlet, " Mr. Strickler?"
Guileless blue eyes looked at him questioningly.
Strickler blinked, stood up from his seat and smiled.
"Yes, please come in."
"I'm sorry, I had a terrible pothole incident and... well you don't care…" She murmured apologetically.
" I'm sorry I'm late." She repeats mildly as she comes forward to shake his hand.
"I'm Barbara Lake."
"Walter Strickler, Please sit down."
She does so and He begins the meeting.
As expected she isn't content with her son's current grades in his class. He understands, for some the transition to High school is difficult, especially when transferring in late from another school. While Jim is a bright boy, he is not his best student, and considering the scores of some of the other students in his class, he will not outcompete their standing. Still he likes the boy, who reminds him a bit of himself when he was younger, and he finds his mother to be… intriguing.
So he writes down a few websites that he knows to be helpful and accurate. Elaborates some more on his syllabus when she points out an apparent contradiction. Her eyes narrow slightly when he suggests that instructions are not up for interpretation and should be followed "to a T" but she nods nonetheless. He finds that conversing with her is surprisingly easily as the topics shift from one thing to another.
"And that Mr. Strickler, is the curious case of Mr. J. R. Hensler," She finishes the tale about her former history teacher with a slight chuckle.
He laughs.
"There's nothing of so infinite vexation as man's own thoughts."
"Ben Jonson?"
"John Webster"
"My next guess." She states brightly just as her cell rings.
"Hello? Oh Hi Jim" She stands and moves to observe the Masks lining his wall.
"No I'm still at the school." She looks surprised, "Really? I lost track of time."
At this Walter looks at his clock and realizes that they had been talking for two hours. She hangs up, turns and gives an rueful shrug.
"I have to go, it's been nice talking to you." Barbara states quietly as she moves to place the piano stool back in its original place.
He stands, "of course, it was a pleasure."
She waves as she heads out.
He takes that as his cue to leave as well, and grabs his jacket from the back of his chair.
He opens the desk drawer to grab his fedora and notices the files underneath it.
Principal Levit was always telling him to give extra credit if the students asked for it but they rarely did.
The thought about leaving it, occurs to him briefly, but he likes Jim and he's sure he can do better, he just needs the opportunity. He grabs the files.
As he walks out, he see's Mrs. Lake walking down the hallway looking for the exit. Some antiquated thought in the back of his mind urges him to ask, "Mrs. Lake, may I walk you out?"
When she jumps at his voice, he realizes that he was louder than he intended. Strickler pointedly ignores the heat rising up his neck, as he awaits her response.
Barbara looks at him then, really looks at him, with a level of scrutiny that he has no doubt aids in her in her profession. He resists the urge to look over his shoulder to check if there is something of interest in the hall behind him.
After a moment, she nods and smiles, a small, happy smile, and his genuine content at the sight surprises him.
He steps forward, holding out the files towards her as they leave the school and enter the parking lot.
"Here, these are papers that Jim can do for extra credit." Strickler says as he adjusts his jacket.
"I must admit though it will be hard, and time consuming, students have been known to grow resentful of the workload, they've formed unions, demanded better wages, it takes forever placate them, " Walter flashed her a smile, "but, If Jim completes it, he should be able to catch up with the others."
"Hmmm I don't know Mr. Strickler, I'm not sure I can handle the accusations from a union strike all by myself." She said teasingly turning to look at him. In night her eyes had turned as dark a blue as the sea after a storm.
"Let's share the blame then." he breathed.
Her smile is so slow in coming that for some time he thinks it will not appear. Barbara, takes the files from him and shuffles the papers in her hands, flicking through the titles.
"Thank you, Mr. Strickler that's really thoughtful."
"Call me Walter, please."
"Barbara," She offers in return.
They stop at her car and there is a moment in which she appears to hesitate and Walter focuses on rotating the fedora in his hands, the slightly frayed edges remind him that he might have to get a new one soon, but then she is opening the door and turning the ignition and rolling the window down before looking back up at him.
"Well," Barbara says, tapping each finger against the steering wheel. "Goodnight then."
"Have a pleasant evening." He replies, tipping his hat at her before placing it on his head and turning away.
.