II
The snow is sticking when the final bell rings. Students flood the halls, excitement building for the holidays. Just a few more days and we'd all be free from the constraints of bells and lockers.
"Mrs Swan," the secretary knocks on my door.
"Miss Cox sent a student up. Fighting in class," she says.
Patricia was in her mid-50s. She always smelt like orange zest and mint. She wore clothes that looked like they were from a Goodwill reduced rack and I'm fairly certain she terrifies some of the children.
"Send them in," I place my phone in my desk drawer and turn my 'don't fuck with me' face on.
I wasn't expecting this student. I was preparing for the class clown or the know-it-all who pushed my teachers to my limits.
"Blake," I greet him, "take a seat."
He's in the third grade. A great student typically with little trouble caused. A few awards in his time here and impressive report cards. His small face is covered in guilt, eyes cast downwards as he takes his seat before my desk. I think my stern approach won't work, so I switch to gentle.
"What brings you here?" Under the desk I wiggle my toes into the high heels I'd taken off.
Rounding the desk, I move to lean against my desk beside him. Crossing my legs at my ankles I try to appear welcoming.
"Fight," he mutters.
"You got into a fight," I say, "who with?"
"Cassie," he mutters.
"Cassie Good?" I ask.
Wordlessly he nods.
"You know better than to hurt a girl. What did you do?" I cross my arms casually.
"Pulled her hair," he puts his little elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, his face covered.
Eight was a tough age, clearly. Had this been a crush or a fight over who gets the next turn using the clay? You never really knew what you were going to get. Considering I'd seen very little of Blake in my office I knew it wasn't something trivial. Something had triggered him to react in this way.
"Okay. Well," I say, "why would you do that? Did she say something to hurt your feelings or was she not sharing with you?"
"She hurt my feelings," he answers, "I was sad already. My parents had a really big fight last night and then this morning again. I think they might break up."
The nosey part of me wants to get more of that gossip. His mother was a brat. Always involved in the parents with the school. Bitching at the school gate wearing Gucci her husband unwillingly purchased. She's made several children cry… some parents too. Her expectations are wild and unrealistic. Pushing her children. The rumour mill around here was in overdrive constantly.
"I'm sorry to hear that, buddy," I say, "you know that my door is open whenever things get hard. But violence is never the answer to any problem. You know I need to call your parents now. There will need to be a consequence and you'll have to say sorry to Cassie for not keeping your hands to yourself."
"She said my parents don't love me," his hands flew up frustrated, "she heard me tell Thomas that I thought they might break up and she just said that! She just kept speaking and saying things. Daddy told me that I shouldn't let people be mean to anyone."
I've hit the right nerve.
"I'll be speaking with her tomorrow," I make a mental note, "but when people say things we don't like we need to keep calm and walk away. That's what your daddy meant. Tell someone who can help resolve the situation. He didn't mean use your hands to solve the situation, I can assure you of that."
"I know," he nods.
"Okay. Well, how about you go take a seat in the playroom and I will call your parents," I stand, "perhaps there's some homework you can do while you wait."
"Yes, Mrs Swan," he nods.
There's a small room outside my office with toys, an activity desk and books for students. It keeps them quiet and lets me continue with my work while I wait for parents I've had to call for discipline.
His mother doesn't pick up. Tanya Cullen is probably getting a manicure or flirting with their pool boy.
My hopes for a relaxing evening slipped by the minute. Checking my database I find his father's details. The father had little to do with their education thus far. He hadn't really been to school drop-off, hadn't attended recitals or a parent interview. I knew who he was - Edward Cullen. The town's local celebrity surgeon. People actually came from Seattle to have him cut and fix them. He and his wife had moved here a few years back because he wanted to raise his children nearby his own family. I'd spoken no more than two words to the man despite the size of Forks. He's busy operating and I'm busy educating his children. We stay in our lanes. He just sends his wife across to mine whenever a parental concern is required for said children. Even then, I'll often just get their nanny.
Blake and his little sister, Lucy, had a nanny often chaperoning them to and from school.
In my experience of education, I'd met a handful of parents I could stand. Especially at this school. Tanya Cullen topped my list.
How'd I become the principal of a primary school? I worked my pussy off. I taught for a good few years out of college and worked my way up. I got here sooner than I thought I would. But regardless I was here before 30!
Children were difficult to be around for most people. I love them. They're the only ones in a room that can make the best of any situation. Purity and innocence, not yet marked by the burden of bills, politics and sex.
Their little faces when they can recite all their times' tables, when they win the spelling bee, when they fail but learn from it. It's my passion.
When I met my husband I was excited by the premise of starting a family. A dream that slowly crashed and burned out before my hopeful eyes. A dream I'd given up seeing through with him.
Doctor Cullen picks up on the third ring.
"Cullen speaking," his voice is smooth.
Speaks with certainty and a 'don't fuck with me' tone that's much harsher than mine. A large and in charge force.
"Doctor Cullen," I say, "I'm Mrs Swan. The principal here at Pine Elementary School."
"Oh. My wife isn't answering?" He sounds annoyed.
God forbid his child to inconvenience him.
"She isn't," I shake my head, "we've had a bit of an incident with Blake this afternoon. I was hoping you could come down and talk?"
"Looks like I'll have to. My wife isn't going to," his voice is tense, "could you ensure Lucy isn't waiting around for him? He is meant to meet her at her classroom every day this week to get the bus home. My wife has decided school pick up and drop off aren't for her lately. My nanny is off sick."
"Certainly," I say, "I'll keep them entertained."
"Thanks, Mrs Swan," he sighs, "I'll be there as soon as I can."
We sit for an hour waiting. The kids occupy themselves. Lucy plays with blocks, Blake reads a book with his head low. Every so often I pop my head in to check they don't need anything, to see if Blake needs help. They both politely shake their heads when I ask if they need me to get them anything. Cute kids.
The moment their father enters Blake's back tenses.
"Kids," he greets them.
My mouth is fighting hard. To not let out a sliver of drool. Jesus Christ, what a man. Tall, fit, ruggedly handsome. A jawline that could give paper cuts, eyes that are deep green, and copper hair I'm itching to tug on. Mothers at the school gates constantly checked him out. I did it too. How could you stop yourself? He's perfect. It's a crime his wife is such a twit. If this was my man I'd ensure he didn't leave the house for other women to gaze at him the way I was doing right now.
I watch him bend to place a kiss on each of their heads, ruffling Lucy's hair. Blake shrinks slightly from something his father says into his ear. I don't hear it. I'm too busy staring at his ass.
"Mrs Swan," he straightens and holds his hand out to me.
"It's good to see you," I shake his hand, "come through and we can have a super quick chat before you head home."
"You guys keep doing that," He motions at their activities, "I'll be two minutes."
Leading him into my office I try to compose myself as he shuts the door. Professionalism as I take a seat in my chair.
"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," he sits, "I'm sure you have Christmas shopping to get finished."
"Don't mention it," I wave my hand, "it's in the job description."
His smile is sad. My attempt to soothe did nothing.
"What am I lecturing him about on the car ride home?" He rests elbows on the arms of his chair, leaning forward slightly.
"I think the lecture should wait," I advise, "he's clearly feeling guilty and knows what he did was wrong."
"What did he do?" He lets a slow breath out of his nose.
Jesus. How is the temper making him sexier? How did his patients not go into cardiac arrest every day?
"He got into a fight with another student. It's to my understanding she was taunting him after learning you and your wife are having marital issues. He is sensitive and attentive," I say, "he believes you are your wife may split which is why he acted out. I'm going to set him up with the school counsellor tomorrow and speak with the student who sparked the conflict."
"Christ," he hangs and shakes his head, "he hurt a girl?"
"I don't believe he meant to hurt her," I defend, "his body language and words screamed remorse."
"Okay," he nods, "so what do I do?"
"I'm not trying to pry, but perhaps be cautious when it comes to the interactions you have with your wife around your children. They take in a lot more than you might think," I suggest, "even a subtle mutter under your breath can spark an alarm in their little brains. They don't know what it means. He may have a friend who has split parents and he is concerned it could happen to him."
"His mother is… difficult," he props a leg over his knee, leaning back into the chair, "I let my frustrations get the better of me at times. She shouts, I shout. She throws a glass, I sweep it up while called her a bitch."
"Throws a glass?" I raise an eyebrow concerned.
"He was at soccer practice. Our environment isn't dangerous," he quickly backtracks.
I still make a mental note.
"I'm married too. It's not easy," I say, "their welfare is my top priority."
"As it is mine," he nods, "they're both my whole world. It's just my wife is... you know."
I flash him my rings and smile in understanding. He had no clue how much I got it.
"How long?" He motions to my hand.
"Two years," I answer, "yourself?"
"Almost seven," he runs a hand through his hair, "she was eighteen when she fell pregnant. I wanted to do the right thing."
"Noble," a course of admiration ripples down me.
He's a kind man underneath the expensive Ralph Lauren suit. My mind wonders what else is under there and - stop it.
"Mrs Swan," he begins.
"Bella," I smile, "call me Bella."
"Bella," a smile to match mine, "I appreciate the effort you have put in toward my son. Helping him through a rough patch. We'll have our own chat at home."
"If there's anything you need, I'm a phone call away," I stand, "I hope you'll have a beautiful Christmas, Mr Cullen."
"Edward. You must call me Edward," he holds his hand out for me.
One last shake of my hand. A grip firm. A grip I want to feel elsewhere.
"Merry Christmas," he says, "I hope that husband of yours spoils you."
He won't.
"Merry Christmas," I smile.
I watch him help his children put their coats and backpacks on. Lucy waved shyly at me. Blake offered me a curt nod. Both are ready to high-tail it out of the principal's office.
"Goodnight Lucy and Blake," I wave goodbye, "if you need anything Blake come and chat with me. My door is always open."
"Thank you, Mrs Swan," Blake offers me a small smile.
Edward gives me one last wink that sends me spinning and a thankful wave.
It'll be what I picture tonight when I sip my red wine and wonder what it would be like to have a husband like that instead.
Thank you for reading.
x