Eight

Herb Willow waited outside the principal's office, wondering why he'd been summoned. The office secretary, Belinda, said Trent had been having private chats with all the staff, that it was no big deal, but Herb was worried it was something more than that. Herb would describe himself as a glass-half-empty kind of person, always expecting the worst, and most of the time life did not disappoint.

The door opened.

"Come in, Herb, have a seat," Trent said, guiding Herb to a chair across from his desk. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," he said flatly.

Trent said, "That's good, that's terrific. Just taking some time to talk to everybody, one-to-one, to see how they're doing, if there's anything I can help you with."

"I'm fine."

"And more specifically, to tell you that the board is offering counseling sessions to anyone who feels they would benefit."

"Are they, now."

"Sometimes, in the immediate aftermath of a traumatic incident, people think they can handle it, but then as time sets in they start feeling the effects. Nightmares, flashbacks, stuff like that. PTSD."

"Oh."

"The thing is, I figured what happened might have affected you more than some of the others. Not that we aren't all shook up about it."

"I'm not following."

Trent sighed. "Well, Herb, as you know, you were a likely target."

"You're referring to what Mark LeDrew is alleged to have said before he blew himself up?"

"Alleged?"

Herb nodded. "Yes. Alleged."

"I don't think what Mark said is in dispute."

"Did you hear what he said?"

"I was around the corner, not quite close enough to hear the entire conversation between Richard and Mark."

"So you didn't hear it," Herb said. "We've only got one person's word."

Trent was quiet for a moment, moving his tongue around the inside of this cheek, before he said, "So what are you saying? That Richard fabricated the conversation?"

"Well, either Mark said those things to try to assassinate my character, or he never said them at all and Richard Boyle made it all up for the same purpose."

Trent said nothing.

"Have you any idea what I've been put through the last few days? Police have interrogated me. As if I were a criminal. I have been persecuted. People are whispering behind my back. Did I try to blow up this school? Did I threaten to kill anybody? No. But the way they came at me, you'd think I had."

"So Mark was lying."

"If he said those things, yes."

"Or Richard is lying."

Herb shrugged, as though the answer was obvious.

"Why would Richard do that?"

"He doesn't respect me. Never has. Doesn't value the contribution I make to this school."

Trent said, "So, in the midst of a crisis, in a life-or-death moment, Richard Boyle decided this was his big chance to cast you, of all people, in a negative light."

"He didn't have to come up with it in the moment. He could have thought of it after."

Trent took a moment to collect his thoughts. "Herb, let me lay it out for you. I not only believe Mark said those things, and that Richard retold them accurately, I believe what Mark said was true. I've heard how you talk to your students. You puff yourself up by putting them down. You went too far with Mark LeDrew. Actions have consequences. I'm not saying it's your fault he came here intending to kill us all, but it's possible you lit the match."

Herb stood. "If you speak to me in this manner again, question my professionalism, I'll want my union rep with me. Maybe even a lawyer."

Trent sighed. The meeting was over. Herb turned and walked out of the office.

Herb held himself together until he got back to his classroom. His heart was hammering in his chest, droplets of sweat were beading up on his forehead. Once there, he closed the door, dropped into the chair, and flattened his palms on his desk until he had his breathing under control.

Another panic attack.

God knows, if there was anyone who could have benefited from those counseling sessions it was him. He'd been on an emotional razor's edge since learning what Mark LeDrew had said. Couldn't sleep, couldn't focus, nearly ran a red light the day before. But talking to somebody, spilling his guts to some school board shrink, would amount to an admission of culpability, wouldn't it?

Better to put up a good front that he had nothing to be concerned about. Tough it out.

But Jesus Christ on a cracker, he could have died Monday. If it hadn't been for that son of a bitch Richard, Herb might have finished his day in as many pieces as LeDrew did. Hard to get your head around. My God, he thought. What would have become of Margaret?

Okay, sure, maybe he'd been a little rough on the kid back in the day. But hadn't his intention always been to make the boy shape up? Make him tougher? Mold him into someone better than he was?

Of course. That was why Herb Willow had said those things. That was his story and he was sticking to it. His intention was not to humiliate, but motivate. Everyone had their own teaching style. Some coddled. But not Herb. Not a chance. The way you got these dumbass kids to learn things was to badger them, shame them. You were doing them a favor whether they appreciated it or not. Years later, once they'd made something of themselves, they'd thank you.

But he had to tell Trent that Boyle had been lying. The politically correct, touchy-feely admin types would never understand his methods. And let's face it. The LeDrew kid really had been dumber than a bag of hammers.

But it did give Herb pause. How many other current and former students had he spoken to this way? He'd have to modify his approach. If he had to baby them, mollycoddle them, to keep the powers that be happy, well, fine, that's what he would do. Principles be damned.

If Boyle'd had any sense of decency, he would have kept quiet about what LeDrew had said. What was the point? There was nothing any teacher might have done that would justify LeDrew's intentions. Why even bring it up?

What a way to treat a colleague.

Later, on hall patrol—a mundane task that fell to all teachers to make sure there were no strangers in the school, walking around like some beat cop—Herb spotted a student sitting on the floor, back up against the locker, a book propped on his raised knees, a phone on the floor next to him.

"Hey," Herb said. "You can't sit in the hall. Don't you have a class?"

"I've got a free period," the student said.

Herb recognized him. Andrew Keenan, or Kanin, or something. Yeah, Andrew Kanin. Kind of a weird kid. Withdrawn, awkward.

"Go read in the library, or the cafeteria," Herb said. "Someone could trip over you here. You're a hazard."

"I'm sitting here in case someone with a gun or a bomb comes in. I'm close to a door." He pointed to a double set that opened onto the back field. "I'll be able to make a quick getaway."

"What if someone comes in through that door? You'll be the first person he sees."

Andrew's face dropped, like he hadn't thought of that. Dumb kid, Herb thought.

Herb asked, "What are you reading?"

"The Road," he said.

"That's that one about the dad and his son and the end of the world?"

"Yeah."

He hadn't read the book but was familiar with the late author's reputation. Herb couldn't recall seeing it on any approved reading list.

"Reading it for fun?" It wasn't a sarcastic question. Kids—and plenty of adults—loved apocalyptic storylines. Couldn't get enough of them. Herb could remember, when he was barely ten years old, being transfixed by a TV-movie called The Day After that depicted the aftermath of a nuclear explosion. He was unable to stop thinking about it for days and wanted to see it again, but almost no one had a VCR in those days. You couldn't record stuff.

"It's for Mr. Boyle's class," Andrew said.

"Oh," Herb said. "Mr. Boyle. Any good?"

Andrew shrugged. "It's creepy."

"What's so creepy about it?"

"Like, civilization is totally wiped out and it's about how they survive. People do some really awful things. Like eating each other." Andrew put the book into his backpack and picked up his phone. "I have to text my mom every hour."

"Okay," Herb said. He waited while Andrew typed a short note and hit the send button. "So this book, sounds pretty troubling."

"Yeah."

"Did you ask to be excused from reading it? Because if it's upsetting to you, if it triggers certain anxieties, you could get an exemption. It's not right, Mr. Boyle making you read something that upsets you."

The boy considered that. "I didn't know you can get out of stuff you don't like."

"Well, you can't do it with everything. A lot of us don't like math, but that doesn't mean we don't have to take it. But if something upsets you on an... I don't know, on an emotional level, something that's very subjective, then sometimes a case can be made for being excused from studying it. Like, let's say you had family in your past who were killed in the Holocaust, you might feel uncomfortable reading Elie Wiesel's Night."

"Who?"

"Doesn't matter. Just making a point." Herb sighed.

"Okay." Andrew tucked his phone into his pocket and turned to leave.

"Hey," Herb said.

Andrew stopped, waited.

"You might want to talk to your parents about it."

"About what?"

"The book. If it's... objectionable in some way, they might want to know. Just a thought." He smiled and added, "You didn't hear it from me."