Chapter 1 - Mandated Reporting

Hunter and Matthews were both sleeping in Jon's class.

That was nothing new. Some days, Jon let them sleep for as long as he could get away with. He didn't have the heart to do anything else: he couldn't easily punish one without punishing the other if they were both sleeping, even if Hunter was down because he hadn't eaten dinner the day before or because something bad had happened in the trailer and he'd spent the night outside, while Matthews was just sleeping because he always followed Hunter's lead.

Today was pretty bad, though. Apparently, Shawn had come in and put his sweater down on the desk, then buried his face in the sweater, out within seconds. Jon hadn't seen his face for the entire class. Cory had only lasted the first five minutes.

Jon understood it, but he couldn't ignore it, not when they were both plenty smart enough to make a good life for themselves if they worked at it. He wasn't doing them any favors in the long term by letting them sleep in class everyday. And neither of them responded as well to sympathy as to consistency. So when he got to the most important content of the class, he tapped a hand down on Mathews's desk loud enough to startle them both awake.

"Detention, both of you," he said. "Two days."

Matthews muttered a quick, "Sorry," while Hunter groaned. Jon looked over and breathed in to scold him for attitude, when he noticed his black eye.

Jon tried to deny it in his mind, tried to deny what he knew without even thinking about it. Tried to tell himself the kid had probably just gotten himself into a fight, even though Jon definitely would've heard about a fight, with the way kids talked. Told himself the bruise could be from anything. There was no reason to make any assumptions. But he'd smelled alcohol on Chet Hunter's breath before, and even if he hadn't, the truth was written all over Shawn's body language. The way he snapped to attention for a moment when Jon tapped the desk but immediately shrank back down, touching the skin under his eye lightly before angling his face away from Jon, so it was harder to see the mark. And then, the way he laid his head right back down on the desk—eyes open this time, fixed on the board, but the left side of his face down, covered.

"Hunter, see me after class," Jon said, and he went back to teaching before Hunter could put a voice to the betrayed look of injustice that came over his face.

Jon taught without thinking about the words he was speaking; he'd taught this lesson before, and it was easy enough. His mind was on Hunter. When the kid's dad had come back, Jon hadn't questioned Shawn moving back in with him. It was the right thing, the natural thing, and it was what Shawn had always wanted. Besides, Jon was struggling with the sudden life change, the responsibility, the commitment, the midnight police station visits. Over the year Shawn had spent with him, Jon had spent dozens of sleepless nights worrying that there was nothing he could do for the kid. In the weeks that followed Shawn's departure, though, Jon had lain awake in a much quieter apartment with much darker thoughts.

The remainder of the class period was a blur. Shawn approached Jon's desk as everyone else left. To his credit, he didn't try to run. He always showed up for detention when it was assigned, too.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Turner?"

"Yeah, thanks for stopping by." But then, Jon didn't know what to say. Shawn still had his face angled away, as though that hid anything. "Hunter, are things OK at home?"

There was the tiniest edge to Shawn's incredulous laugh. "Yeah, great. My dad's back, you know, and my mom… We're all together again."

"You're sure everything's OK?"

"W-why wouldn't it be?"

"No reason. Just, I couldn't help but notice…" Jon frowned. "Look. You have my number and you know where I live. I just wanna remind you, I'm here if you need anything."

Shawn's eyes flashed. "My parents are good people."

"No one's saying they aren't."

"I tripped. Hit my head on a countertop."

"I get it."

"I'm a klutz. Ask Cory if you don't believe me."

Jon raised his eyebrows. "I lived with you for a year, kid."

Shawn's nostrils flared. "I'm happy now, okay? Can't you just be happy for me? Why do you have to ruin everything?" His voice cracked.

Jon sighed, taking a step closer. "Who're you trying to fool, Hunter?"

Shawn looked behind himself, at the empty room, then back to Jon. "If you tell anyone..."

"Shawn, I'm a mandated reporter."

Steadily, Shawn's face grew redder. "I thought you were cool, man! You're going to the police?"

"Legally, I have to."

"You can't prove anything."

"I can't keep this to myself, either."

"Just...keep your damn mouth shut, Jon."

"You know I can't do that."

Shawn's breath was speeding up. "If they take me away, I'll never forgive you."

Jon didn't let the hurt show on his face. "I wouldn't expect you to."

Shawn stared at him for a long moment. Then he shook his head and turned to go, muttering "I hate you" on the way out.

Jon had had to make two phone calls to CPS since he had started teaching. He hated doing it. He heard enough from students not to judge quickly, even when parents employed methods he never would've chosen, but when he was fairly certain a kid was in danger, he made the call. He didn't have a choice.

Both of the last times he had called in, he had never found out what happened to the kid or the parents. That made it easier. For better or for worse, he couldn't imagine that that would be the case with Shawn. Whatever happened, he would know about it.

After a long period of time on hold, during which he was reminded several times to call 911 if this was an immediate emergency, a curt female voice on the other end said, "Name?"

"Jonathan Turner. I'm calling to report a case of suspected child abuse."

"Name of the child?"

"Shawn Hunter. That's S, H, A, W, N."

"Name of the parents?"

Jonathan gave them to her, along with some other information from the school files he had pulled up before leaving the campus: address, phone numbers. He told them he was Shawn's teacher, that he had been for a little over two years, and he gave the school's information, as well.

Finally, she asked, "And what did you witness that made you suspect child abuse?"

"Shawn came to school with a black eye. I'm worried his father might have been involved."

"Was it an unusually shaped bruise? Did it resemble a belt buckle or some other object?"

"No, it was just a black eye. But when I checked in and asked him if everything was OK at home, he became defensive."

"Did he tell you his father hit him?"

"No, no, Shawn wouldn't be that open. But, uh... I know his father has a problem with alcohol, and between that and Shawn's body language when I talked to him, it seemed worth a phone call."

It was quiet on the other end for a moment, but he could hear a pen scratching on paper, so he knew she wasn't ignoring him. Finally, she asked, "Is, uh, Shawn the type to get into fights?"

Jon swallowed. "Maybe," he said, "but… look, I'm worried about the kid. Can you just send someone down there to take a look?"

"We take every call seriously, Mr. Turner, and we always investigate. Do you have any other evidence to report?"

Jon was about to tell her no, but something about the way she said it gave him pause. He could tell she didn't believe him, didn't think it was enough of a case. If he didn't know the Hunters himself, he wouldn't have suspected abuse on the basis of a black eye and the smell of alcohol on Chet's breath, either. CPS might send somebody to investigate, but they probably wouldn't dig very deep.

Maybe that was okay. Come to think of it, Jon didn't exactly know what he wanted to happen. He wanted Shawn to be safe, but even if Chet was beating him, Jon was sure that Shawn would be far more devastated to lose his dad than to take a beating every now and then. Maybe Jon was wrong about all of this.

But if he wasn't wrong, he wanted to make sure that someone found out, that someone did something.

"Yeah," he said finally. "But not physical abuse. Neglect."

"OK." Pen scratching again.

"Kid comes to school in clothes that don't fit right, he looks underweight and he sleeps in class."

"Um... Mr. Turner, the address you gave me is for a trailer park."

"I know. And I get it, poverty isn't the same as neglect. But Shawn's parents also leave him home alone for extended periods of time."

"Is this while they're at work?"

"No, I'm talking more like weeks at a time."

"Did Shawn tell you this?"

"Yeah. About a year ago, Verna took off with the trailer, and Chet hunted her down and left Shawn behind." He felt awful saying it, like he was prying into someone else's affairs, where he had no business. At the same time, he felt sick confessing that he had kept this to himself for this long.

"By himself?"

"He was staying at a run down motel. By himself, yeah."

"A year ago, this was when he was... 14?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Did he tell you about this back then, or more recently?"

Jon swallowed. He was hoping to keep his part out of it. "Shawn showed up at my apartment half starved. I gave him... a roof and a bed. That's it."

"For how long?"

"Ah." Jon took a deep breath. "A year."

No pen scratching this time.

"I...I guess I should've reported it then."

A heavy sigh. "We appreciate you doing the right thing now, Mr. Turner."

Jon tried to imagine what Shawn would say if he knew about this conversation. He suddenly felt the need to backpedal. "Look, they came back for him, and he's real happy to be home now. I don't know if there's something that can be done for them, counseling or something, but… The kid's been through a lot, I'd hate to see him lose his parents again."

"Removing a child from the home is always our last resort. We first try to provide resources to keep families healthy and whole."

Jon let out his breath. "That's good to hear."

"If it were just a matter of that bruise, I wouldn't be too concerned. However, a year of abandonment is serious. I want to remind you that willful neglect is still considered abuse, and if you hear of it for any other student again, mandated reporter laws require you to report within 72 hours."

His stomach started turning again. "I understand."

"Do you have the form to fill out for the police report?"

"Yeah, I picked up a copy at the school."

"Good. Usually, this is the part where I'd be telling you to fill that out, and it would be over with, but given the circumstances, I think there's a good chance you'll be hearing from somebody with more questions."

"I don't understand." His heart rate picked up. "Did I do something wrong?"

"That remains to be seen. But I expect you'll be a part of the investigation."

Jon's voice caught. "I just gave him a place to sleep. That's all."

"It sounds like you did the right thing, Mr. Turner, and you're doing the right thing calling."

"Yeah," Jon said, but the word came out little more than as a whisper. He should have handled this whole thing better. He was supposed to have figured all of this out by now.

A pen scratching again, then she said, "Get that report mailed in the next 72 hours. And I wouldn't leave the state if I were you."

"Understood."

"Take care, Mr. Turner."

"Thanks," he said, and he hung up.