J—

"The reason I'm calling, Mrs. Kim," the man on the other end of the line explains, "is that Mashiho threatened to cut a boys penis off at lunch today."

"Mashiho wouldn't just say something like that. I'm sure the other boy did something to prompt my son."

"This isn't the first time something like this has happened."

"You're right. And the last time he threatened someone, a kid opened five ketchup packets and squeezed them out on Mashiho's head."

"Regardless, we have a zero tolerance policy and I was able to justify not giving Mashiho any punishment last time because your son didn't retaliate against the other boy in a physical manner. This time, however, I have a lunch table full of boys that heard Mashiho's unprompted threat. Perhaps it's time to seek professional help."

"What?"

"I think it's time we stop pussyfooting around the fact that your son is a bomb ready to explode. It's time Mashiho sees a psychiatrist. We have a list of doctors the district uses if you'd like recommendations. "

"Maybe what Mashiho needs is a little more positive attention and understanding at school, Mr. Butler."

I recognize the frustration in the long sigh coming over the phone. "This is an official warning. If Mashiho doesn't straighten his act out I'm going to have to get the authorities involved. I can't follow the old adage of let boys be boys and look the other way. Not in today's environment."

"I'm not asking you to look the other way. I'm asking for fairness and a little bit of understanding."

"Here at Sylvan middle school, we treat all of our students with fairness and understanding. It would serve you well to remember that."

I'm not sure but I think that dick of an assistant principal made some sort of threat. He's had it out for my son since he started at the school. He's made comments about how boys without fathers tend to be wild troublemakers.

"In my opinion, you've been too understanding. Too permissible when it comes to your son's aggressive behavior."

"That's not your call to make."

"Perhaps, if he had a strong male role model around to teach him how to deal with his violent tendencies . . ."

I bite my tongue and tune the fucker out. Maybe the asshole thinks I should've married the first warm body I bumped into after I lowered my husband's casket into the ground. Too bad this conversation isn't taped. The superintendent needs to hear this first hand. I can write a long letter to him and the entire board detailing how this man has mishandled my son from the day he walked into that school.

Even if I do and he gets reprimanded, he'll turn it around and claim that I misinterpreted his statement and all the fucking bullshit he's thrown my way. He'll pull the man card and say I'm over sensitive because I'm letting my emotions get in the way of reason.

That's his go to. It's the same shit he's pulled with other mothers. He only speaks civilly to men, and even that's not guaranteed. There's a whole conglomerate of parents working actively to have him removed without pay. The sooner the better.

I look at the clock on my dashboard. It's a quarter to five. Mashiho should've been out of practice fifteen minutes ago. Mine is one of the last cars in the parking lot. I don't want to smother him and be one of those helicopter mom's, but I'm worried. Especially after the phone call I got earlier in the day.

I check my phone for a missed message, but there isn't one. I don't know what's going on and the last thing I need is for him to get into some sort of trouble. Not today.

I get out of the car and start up the steps leading into the school as a young woman in sweats and a T-shirt walks out.

"May I help you?" She stops and asks.

I barely give her a cursory glance as I answer, "I need to go inside and see Ms. Manoban."

"Can you tell me what this is reference to?"

Shit. I don't want to get into this, but I know those damn doors are locked, and I need to get in.

With my eyes on the school entrance I begin. "She's the wrestling coach and my son hasn't come out of practice yet. I want to make sure everything's okay and that there aren't any problems."

"There aren't," she says in a tone that's too light, and too airy for me to take her seriously.

Condescending prick. She doesn't understand I don't have time for games or mindless chit chat. I need to find my son ASAP. I take a deep breath, so I can explain that I need in there and time is of the essence.

Standing strong and tall I meet her eyes. Green eyes that are alive and vibrant. Eyes so powerful I feel them take hold and pull me close. Eyes that stare back with an intensity that peels back my skin and looks deep inside, behind the facade I keep in place for the world to see.

I look down and reset. I never had a reaction like this before, especially in a woman, and it threw me for a loop. I wasn't prepared. I didn't expect it. Now I know better. I won't be taken by her and rocked to my core this time. I gather my strength determined to do this right.

Only I don't.

My eyes open and find hers still locked on me. Two warm pools of liquid jade that I want to fall into and drown in. The air leaves my lungs in a hurry. The wind is knocked out of me by a simple look. The heat and depth of her eyes turn the look from simple to mysterious and mystifying. I stand captivated by those eyes, unable to do anything but stare at her and her perfectly sculpted features.

Aside from the eyes that can be mistaken for gemstones, her jaw is strong. Solid. And her nose turns up just a bit at the end. All of this perfection is framed by dirty blonde locks that look a hair too long as the front hangs below her eyebrows and just above her eye lashes. It's not so long that it hides her face, just long enough for me to want to run my hand through it and brush it back to get a better view of her playful eyes.

As if she knows the reaction she's having on me, her thick, full lips curl into a smile. The type of smile you see on commercials for breath mints or mouthwash. Fresh and clean with straight white teeth. The type of mouth you want to meet with your own to feel the tingle of her warm peppermint breath. Shit.

I don't know how much time passes while I'm held there staring in her eyes. I'm unable to move. Or speak. I'm lightheaded from a lack of oxygen. I force myself to pull in a deep breath before the light dims around me and I fall at this woman's feet. This woman? I can't believe that.

It's more than her smile that melts me like chocolate in the sun. It's not her kind but mischievous eyes either. It's both of those things. And neither.

It's her.

Her presence. The whole damn package including the kind, concerned look on her face that makes me want to stay and talk to this beautiful stranger.

Where the hell did this come from?

I don't understand this reaction it's foreign. Like my mind short circuited. It's faltering like an overused battery, unable to turn over. I close my eyes and shake off thoughts about this woman and refocus them where they should be. On Mashiho.

"I'm Lisa Manoban," the woman says, offering her hand to me.

Lisa. What a perfect name. It means something random and unexpected. Like this meeting. It says something more personal to me. Lisa is a risk that connotes a positive outcome.

I'm really fucking losing it.

"You? But you're so young."

I'm mortified by the tone of my voice, as if being young is something bad. Offensive.

She smiles again. This time I notice more than her perfect smile. I notice how her green eyes reach into my soul and knead the pain and darkness there. It's being massaged. Manipulated. It hurts, but the pain is what reminds me that I'm still alive.

My heart beat picks up speed. I don't want to look away from her. I avoid it as long as I can, wondering if my hair is a mess, and cursing myself for not putting make-up on before I left the house.

I'm flustered and angry at myself. Why? Why is this woman, this woman that's so young I'm not sure she's legal, having this kind of effect on me?

"I'm going to pretend you meant that as a compliment," she says stroking her thumb across her bottom lip. Bringing my focus to her full pouty lips once again. "Even though the look on your face says you're troubled."

"No. Of course not." I compose myself and regain some semblance of the woman I am. The woman I was before this conversation started. "I just thought the coach . . . I mean you . . . were one of the teachers in the school. I expected her . . . you . . . to look different."

"Different how?"

Her head tilts, her brows furrow as she contemplates me or what I'm saying, I'm not sure which. I think she's even more handsome wearing this serious face than she was a moment ago flashing her dazzling smile.

Handsome? Shit where did that come from?

"Older. You know, kind of soft around the middle."

"Ah, fat and out of shape." She jokes. Her tongue peeks out of her mouth and wets her bottom lip before a smirk covers her face. "I can't say I'm upset I've left you with a better impression than the one you imagined."

Her eyes shine playfully as she looks me over. Why is she looking at me with hunger in her eyes? Suddenly I'm insecure about my ripped jeans and the old, washed out, possibly stained, shirt I'm wearing.

"I don't like when things are one sided."

Is she flirting? She can't flirt with me, aside from the age difference between us, she's my son's coach, and I'm a married woman. That last thought cuts off my breath and threatens to choke me. It rips into my heart like a samurai sword. Sharp. Cold. Deadly.

I'm not married. Not anymore. I'm a widow and have been every day for the past two years.

"Mom! What are you doing?" Mashiho shouts before I have a chance to respond.

Guilt overwhelms me. My eyes fall to the ground as I scramble to find words to explain my actions. I sure as shit can't tell my son that at this very moment, I'm having unsavory thoughts about his hot coach.

"Hey, Mash. Cut your mother some slack," Ms. Manoban comes to my defense. "You're late and she's worried about you. You left the gym over ten minutes ago. What took so long?"

"Nothing." My son looks away. He's lying.

"I can't help if you don't tell me what's going on."

"Mr. Johnson stopped me on the way out. He wanted to talk for a minute. Turns out his idea of a minute is everyone else's idea of ten minutes."

"Isn't Mr. Johnson the school psychologist?" I ask.

"Mom! I don't want to talk about this now!"

"Hey, now." Ms. Manoban starts, with her hand on Mashiho's shoulder. "That's no way to talk to your mother. She's doing her job. Cut her some slack."

I'm choked up listening to the way this too-young-to-be-a-teacher-woman diffuses Mashiho's anger. It reminds me of Hanbin. My heart shrieks at the thought. Anytime Mashiho gave me a hard time, his father would get involved and turn the flame down on both ends of the fire.

"Sorry, Mom." I know he doesn't mean it. He's saying it because Ms. Manoban told him to, but it is an apology. Sincere or not, I'll take it. For now.

"That's better. Now, did you tell him what that boy said?"

Staring at the ground Mashiho draws a line in the cement with his toes. "No."

"What did he say?" I jump in. I knew it! I knew Mashiho was provoked.

"I'm not talking about this."

"It's okay Mash. You can tell your mother." Obviously Ms. Manoban knows something I don't.

"No. All I need is for you to teach me how to fight. I mean really fight. Then I can kick his a—"

"Mashiho!" There is a stern warning in Ms. Manoban's tone.

My son looks up at this woman who holds influence over him and complies, even though his eyes rage with anger. He takes a long, deep breath before speaking.

"I didn't start this. Why am I the only one who's getting in trouble?"

"Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?" Frustration sounds in my voice.

"Please don't," Mashiho implores, his eyes wide and pleading.

I'll be honest. The fact that my son has entrusted a complete and total stranger while shutting me out hurts. It fucking eats away at me like vultures picking at a dead carcass. He's the only thing that keeps me holding on most days, and he clearly doesn't want me involved in this part of his life. In any part of his life lately. I'm beside myself. No. I'm outright fucking pissed at both of them.

"Someone needs to fill me in!" I shriek.

I sound like a shrew. I bet Ms. Manoban thinks this is why Mashiho doesn't want to tell me. She probably doesn't blame him. At this point, I'm not sure I do.

"Let's take this down to the parking lot." Ms. Manoban nudges her head forward after glancing behind us.

"This whole thing is bullshit!" Mashiho practically shouts as we walk toward our car. "I didn't do anything! They started."

"Why don't you get in while I talk to your mother for a minute?"

"What? No!"

"Mashiho, I'm not asking you! Get in the car or you're benched for our first meet."

The breath leaves my son fast and furious like a punctured balloon.

I press a button on the key fob to unlock the car. With a loud huff and a slam of the door, Mashiho leaves us alone to speak.

"I'm sorry," I say, looking at my sulking son in the car. "I don't know what has him so up in arms right now. He's usually not so rude and disrespectful."

"I understand." Ms. Manoban assures me. But, still I feel the need to explain Mashiho's behavior. Only I can't. Because he doesn't talk to me and no one will tell me what's really going on.

"Has Mashiho mentioned anything about a girl named Ella?"

I shake my head. "No. This over a girl? I can't believe him!"

"You might feel different when you hear the whole story."

I stop my tirade. Blow out a frustrated breath and listen as Ms. Manoban explains.

"Ella's father just died."

"Oh no." I cover my mouth afraid to hear where this is going next. Tears fill my eyes. It's an automatic response. I hear something sad and heartbreaking, I cry. The wind blows, I cry. No matter what life throws at me, my response over the last two years is to cry.

"He was a police officer and it seems he was ambushed in his patrol car."

I squeeze my eyes closed fighting to hold back the tears, determined not to look unstable. Now it makes sense why Mashiho fought so hard to keep me in the dark. He didn't want my mind to race back to Han like it just did. Like it always does.

"Mashiho's been trying to help her through this difficult time. Turns out, there's a boy in our school whose father was recently arrested for sexual assault. I can't tell you his name. But he claims Ella's father was the one that arrested him and that the murder was retribution for putting the other man behind bars."

None of this makes any sense. We don't live in that kind of neighborhood. Han's murder was one of a handful that happened in our town over the last five years.

"I'm sorry, I still don't understand what this has to do with my son," I say, wiping away the disobedient tears that fall from my eyes.

"Are you all right?" Ms. Manoban asks, placing her hand on my shoulder.

I nod, wishing she didn't touch me, because this little gesture of comfort is one that I haven't had in forever, and I welcome it. It's physical contact with someone other than my son. It's nice. And sweet. And just one more reminder that I have no one, no source of comfort waiting for me back at home.

The problem is, I like the warmth of her hand on me. It's sending a radiating heat down my arm and through the rest of my body. For the first time since Han died that bone chilling cold running through my veins has stopped.

And I want more of this. More warmth and touching. More concern and comfort showered on me. I'll even go so far as to say I want a hug. An all-enveloping hug meant to shield me, protect me from the world. Someone's arms just to hold me, for a minute or an hour. What I want most of all right now is a real, solid, literal shoulder to cry on.

What the hell is wrong with me? I lost it. Just fucking lost what's left of my mind. I'm stronger than this. I've had to be and I don't just melt because a girl is good looking. I squeeze my eyes closed for a beat, clear my head, and pull myself together. I have to. For Mashiho.

"I'm sorry," I sniffle, and clear my throat. "I'm fine. I just . . . I'm fine."

As if she knows she is what set me off, Ms. Manoban removes her hand, stuffs it in her pocket, and continues. "The boy and a few of his friends sat with Mashiho and Ella at lunch today. According to the girl and your son, the other boy threatened to follow her home and rape her. That's when Mashiho threatened to cut the boy's penis off."

"And they were surrounded by the boy's friends which is why there's a table full of witnesses."

She nods. "Yes. I'm pretty sure they set Mashiho up to neutralize him. This way if anything happens, Mashiho's the one that gets in trouble."

"Didn't anyone else hear? Did the girl corroborate Mashiho's version of the story?" I ask running my hand through my hair.

"She did. Unfortunately she's the only one. The boys all said she made it up because she's looking for attention. I guess someone believes it's plausible due to recent events."

"Not someone, Mr. Butler."

"Unfortunately."

"But if this kid's father is in jail, shouldn't Mashiho get the benefit of the doubt?"

"It's not my call to make."

"You don't believe my son either."

I'm not asking her, I'm declaring it. And the very fact that I'm saying these words leaves me with the bitter taste of betrayal on my lips. I don't understand why this strikes so deep. I shouldn't care what anyone thinks. I believe Mashiho and that's enough for me. After all, it's him and me against the world.

"I didn't say that. What I believe and what I can prove are two very different things. I'm trying to give your son an outlet and an ear to work through some of these things. I shouldn't have given you as much detail as I did, but I think Mashiho did what he believed was right, even if the outcome wasn't the desired one."

I shake my head determined not to allow another tear to fall. "I'm proud of him. He tried to do the right thing."

"He did. But he needs to steer clear of this other boy for the time being. At least until Mr. Johnson's investigation is complete."

"Investigation?"

Ms. Manoban nods, and I can tell by the annoyed look on her face she thinks this is bullshit.

"The school has to take the threat seriously, so Mr. Butler referred it to Mr. Johnson."

"What about the threat to that poor girl? Are they investigating that, too?"

Ms. Manoban's face takes on a hard, stoic look. Her eyes trail off over to something in the distance. Her non-answer is all I need.

"Let's just work on keeping Mashiho focused and off the radar. I think that's the best shot of keeping him in the clear. I explained it all, but I'm not sure I got through to him. So it would help if you could reiterate the message."

"Just so we're clear, what do you want him to do if something else happens? If it escalates?"

"Let's not think about that just yet."

"Please, Ms. Manoban, I need to know. What will happen to my son?"

"Depends on what happens and what witnesses report."

"So if this punk is in a group of his friends and they surround my son and beat the shit out of him, Mashiho could still be the one to take the fall?"

Ms. Manoban looks at me long and hard before answering. "I'm doing my best to make sure that doesn't happen."

The ten minute ride home from school is spent in silence. Not exactly silence. I hear the buzzing of my son's phone alerting him to new text messages. They come in non-stop. Before he finishes typing a response, two or three more texts come at him.

"Who are you talking to?"

"I'm not talking."

"Fine. Who are you texting with?"

He shrugs. "Just some kids from school."

"The boys that are causing the problems?"

"No, Mom. Geez, just stay out if it."

"I can't. I'm your mother and I'm worried about you."

"Don't be. I got this."

That's it. The last thing my son says to me on the ride, through dinner and for the rest of the night. He shut down and he's freezing me out. I'm so stressed over the whole situation. And angry. Angry at the school, at Mr. Butler, and angry at my son for how he's treating me.

God, how I wish I had something besides a bottle of wine to warm me up and keep me company.