Chapter 2

2

F inley Farrow circled the classroom as her fifth-grade students began saving and closing their PowerPoints. They had been working in pairs, some creating slideshows elaborating on causes leading up to the Civil War. Others had focused on sharing information about major battles, while the last group focused on creating presentations of outstanding leaders of the era.

"Remember, you'll have time on Monday to finish embedding your research. Presentations will start Tuesday."

She had been teaching for six years now, and she had come to a crossroads. While she enjoyed what she did, her photography pulled at her, demanding more time from her. Finley photographed weddings and other events held at Lost Creek Winery for her close friend Harper Clark, who ran the event center at her family's vineyard. She also had a growing side business, photographing others in the community for milestone events. Engagement and bridal portraits. Senior high school portraits. Newborns' first photo sessions. Photography was bringing far more satisfaction to her than teaching.

It would disappoint her parents if she left education. Sam and Dianne Farrow ran the Bluebonnet Montessori Academy in Lost Creek, and she knew one day they would like her to take over the center. Her brother Ches had spurned the education field totally and operated Hill Country Water Sports with his wife Sally. They had two children whom Finley adored, and Ches had told her he was glad he had stood up to their parents and made his own decision about what he did for a living. Running his own business made him happy.

She, on the other hand, had always been a people pleaser, never wanting to rock the boat in her family, and later being a model student in the classroom. While she had excelled in her elective classes in high school, which had included photography and graphic design, it was assumed that she would major in education in college. Finley had rebelled a bit, choosing elementary ed as her major versus early childhood education, wanting to have her own classroom and gain experience and not immediately step into a role at Bluebonnet Montessori. She wanted to find her own identity, both personally and professionally.

Would she have the guts to leave education totally behind?

"Miss Farrow, my cousin is getting married next month. Are you going to take pictures at her wedding?"

"Will she be getting married at the winery, Lisa?" Finley asked.

Her student nodded enthusiastically. "I get to be a flower girl. Amy said I'm too old to be one, but I don't care. I want to be one."

"It's an honor that your cousin asked you to be in her wedding, Lisa. It doesn't matter what Amy or anyone else says. If you are happy and your cousin is happy, that's all that matters."

She tried to teach more than academics to her students, giving bits of life advice such as this over the course of a year with them. Instilling core values in her students was important to her. An individual not being swayed by the opinion of others was merely one of those lessons. She tried to build up her students so they were confident and caring people, even if they were only ten and eleven years old.

The bell rang, and Finley dismissed her class for the day, wishing them a good weekend. Josh asked if she would be at his soccer game the next morning at ten, and Finley told him she would stop by for a few minutes.

"Remember, Miss Farrow, I'm the goalie for the Tigers. That way you know where to look for me. Field three."

"I'll see you at the game, Josh," she said brightly, turning to see Brian Withers still seated, a sullen expression on his face.

A parent conference had already been scheduled with Brian's parents for after school today. It was meant to discuss his lack of academic progress, but it would be more intense after events which had unfolded today.

"Brian, let's go to the office now. Your parents will be here soon."

He stood, glaring at her, and she ignored the hostile look, escorting him to the main office.

Sheila, the school's secretary, greeted her. "Mr. and Mrs. Withers are already in the conference room, Miss Farrow. I'll keep an eye on Brian for you."

Turning, Finley told the boy, "Wait here, Brian. I'll speak with your parents first, and then we'll have you come and visit with us."

"They won't care what you say," he said belligerently, oozing attitude like a fifteen-year-old.

She stared intently at him, not speaking, until he sat in the chair, staring at the floor. She went down the hall, passing the teacher mailboxes, and tapped lightly on her principal's open door.

Mary Miller glanced up. "Ready for our conference?"

"Thank you for clearing your calendar so you could sit in," she said. "I've met with them before, and they've been… difficult."

"What happened today is very serious. You know I will always have your back, Finley. Hopefully, the Withers will work with us on this situation."

She didn't think Brian's parents would be interested—much less cooperative—but followed Mary to the conference room.

Mr. and Mrs. Withers looked up, wariness in her eyes and hostility exuding from him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Withers," Mary said. "I am Mrs. Miller, your son's principal. I know you've already met Miss Farrow."

The two women took a seat, and Mr. Withers said, "I don't know why you've called us back here again. We've already met with this teacher, and nothing's changed. Brian keeps bringing home failing grades."

"You told us you would work with him," Mrs. Withers said accusingly. "Well, that hasn't happened. We haven't seen a lick of improvement."

"I've told you that I'm here every day to tutor Brian, whether he comes in before or after school. He rarely attends tutoring and when he does, he doesn't put forth his best effort."

Finley spoke in her most professional voice, wishing she could say that Brian Withers was lazy, rude, and unwilling to put in the work to learn how to be successful.

"I don't know what you expect from us," Mr. Withers said, glaring at her. "Unless you tell us we're supposed to hire some damn tutor and pay for it out of our own pocket. We pay enough taxes as it is. You tutor the boy. You make him learn what he's supposed to learn. He's already been held back once."

She defended herself, calmly saying, "I am always here and open to helping Brian, giving him as much support as he needs. He is distracted in class often and even falls asleep at times recently. You might want to work with him on setting an earlier bedtime."

"It's hard to keep him off his phone," Mrs. Withers complained. "And those video games. He's playing them all the time."

"He's twelve," Mr. Withers said. "He knows when to go to bed without us nagging him."

Mary stepped in, gently saying, "Even twelve-year-olds need rules, Mr. Withers. Rules you set, which they must follow. You might want to limit Brian's screen time. Set a bedtime for him so that he gets a reasonable amount of sleep."

The man looked offended. "If you people did your job and made things more interesting, Brian would want to learn."

Mary's look could have frozen over Lost Creek Lake on a hot summer day. "I will have you know that Miss Farrow is one of the most outstanding teachers I've had the pleasure to work with. I have personally sat in her classroom on numerous occasions and seen the creative, engaging lessons she presents to her students. We are at a point in the academic year where Brian needs to start pulling his own weight," the principal said crisply. "He is in fifth grade and should no longer be spoon-fed. He must learn to put in the effort and work to meet with success so that he can move on to the middle school next August. At the rate he is going, Brian will most likely be retained in fifth grade."

Mr. Withers slammed his hands on the table. "You can't hold him back. I told you that already happened a few years ago. Before we moved here. My boy needs to get to the high school so he can play football. He's going to be in the NFL someday."

"Brian may be a talented athlete, Mr. Withers," Finley said, having had this conversation with more than one parent over her teaching career. "While wishing to play professional football is an admirable goal for Brian to have, he is still a boy. He will need a backup plan in case something happens. Sports injuries do occur. His interest in football might wane."

"My boy is going to be an NFL linebacker," Mr. Withers reiterated.

Her principal had had enough and said, "That won't happen if Brian is in jail, Mr. Withers."

The father's jaw dropped, and Mrs. Withers leaned forward, asking, "What do you mean by that?"

Mary glanced to Finley. "Brian has been bullying other students. This only came to light today when one of my students came to me."

Mr. Withers snorted. "You mean some tattletale said something about my boy. Well, I don't believe it. Kids lie all the time."

"We talked with several children, and they all spoke about how Brian has bullied them. Physically. Verbally."

"Boys will be boys," Mrs. Withers said, trying to smooth things over. "Yes, they get into arguments and fight a bit."

"It's far beyond that," she said. "Brian's verbal abuse is out of hand. He's also been taking items from other students. We went through his backpack and locker today, and?—"

"You searched his things?" Mr. Withers said, his voice raised. "That's a violation of his rights. I'll sue your ass and this entire district's. We'll walk away with millions."

"Unfortunately, Mr. Withers, you are mistaken," Mary said. "Legally, a student is not an adult and does not have a set guarantee of rights as outlined by our constitution. Schools operate under the basis of in loco parentis ."

"Don't speak Greek to me," Mr. Withers spat out.

Mary waited a moment before continuing. "It is a Latin phrase which means ‘in the place of a parent.' It speaks to the dedication of caring for and educating children in the public schools. We, as educators, take on some of the responsibilities of a parent while your child is in our custody during the school day. We enforce rules such as our dress code. We require students to be at school by a certain time. And students are expected to obey their teachers and not obstruct the learning process."

"Lockers are property of the school district," Finley added. "They are merely loaned to a student for his or her use during the school year. Since we legally own what is on our property, we have every right to open and search a locker at any time."

The principal let this information sink in with the Withers. Finley watched Mrs. Withers began shrinking in her seat. All the fire seemed to have left Mr. Withers now, and he deflated.

Mary elaborated on the items which had been found in Brian's backpack and locker and said that everything not belonging to Brian had been returned to their proper owners.

"This weekend, I will be calling the parents of each student Brian stole from, as well as those he verbally threatened," the principal continued. "I cannot guarantee if they will press charges against Brian or not. I will do my best to ask these parents to be reasonable, especially since what was taken has now been returned, but even if the police are not brought in to investigate, your son still faces consequences here at school."

Mary paused. "I hope Brian will understand how serious his actions are. He will, on Monday, begin serving time in our in-school suspension unit."

"You mean you're sticking him in a room by himself. He's got to teach himself when he can barely read or add?" Mr. Withers demanded, his face having gone beet red.

"A certified teacher will be with Brian at all times," Mary assured the pair. "While our counselor will also meet with Brian to discuss his poor choices and bad behavior toward other students, it might be best if you sought professional counseling, as well. I have a list of resources you can reach out to."

Mr. Withers came to his feet so quickly that he knocked over his chair. "I don't have to put up with this. We're pulling Brian from this crappy school."

Finley came to her feet. "That would be a mistake, Mr. Withers. Brian is still young and impressionable. I believe he can turn things around, with your support and ours."

"No," the man said. "Do whatever you have to do to unenroll him, but don't expect my boy to show up and sit in your jail on Monday. And don't sic the cops on him, either. Nobody got hurt." He stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

His wife, whose gaze had dropped during her husband's outburst, finally looked up. Her eyes met Finley's. "I'm sorry. I'll do what I can. But Brian takes his cues from his father. As you can see— he has a temper —and he always thinks he's right."

Mrs. Withers rose. Finley went to the woman, placing an arm about her.

"Do you need any help, Mrs. Withers? We can put you in touch with our school resource officer." She hesitated. "Or even a women's shelter for domestic violence."

The woman flinched. "I'm fine," she said abruptly. "We're fine."

She watched Mrs. Withers leave the room, and her heart sank. She didn't know if Mrs. Withers was physically or verbally abused by her husband— or son —but she now suspected it to be the case.

Turning to Mary, Finley asked, "What are we supposed to do?" Tears of frustration spilled down her cheeks.

Mary nodded sadly. "It's a problem I'm seeing more and more these days. I know your students will most likely feel relief when Brian's seat is empty come Monday. But I worry about that boy. And his mother."

"Should we request a welfare check?"

"We have no proof of anything wrong going on, Finley. Just one loud, obnoxious father and one little boy who will more than likely continue to emulate his father. I believe more than a few of the parents will want to file charges against Brian, and I can't blame them. Most of those would be Class C Misdemeanor Theft since a lot of what he forced students to hand over was under one hundred dollars. But a few of the items would fall into the Class A and B categories."

Mary shook her head sadly. "Brian will most likely be placed in the juvenile justice system. It might actually be the one thing which saves him." She rose and embraced Finley, saying, "Call me if you need to talk."

"Okay," she said glumly, needing to put today behind her.

Returning to her classroom, Finley readied a few things for Monday's lessons before slipping into her coat and throwing her purse strap over her shoulder. She went to her car. Only two vehicles sat in the parking lot now. The other was Mary's. With it being the start to a weekend, other teachers had quickly cleared out, going home to their families or stopping at Hill Country Hangout for happy hour. Feeling drained, she merely wanted to go home and forget about today.

When she entered her house and hung up her coat, she smelled the sweet scent of a cake, remembering that she and Emerson were due to have dinner with the Clarks and Tennysons. Though she was in no mood to do so, it was probably what she needed to pull her from her doldrums.

Entering the kitchen, she saw Emerson pulling ingredients to make the frosting for the naked cake sitting on the counter.

Mustering a smile, she asked, "What did you make for dessert this evening?"

"I didn't have time to try anything new," her roommate said. "You're getting a regular chocolate cake from me."

"You won't find any of us protesting with chocolate involved," she said, taking a chair at the kitchen table.

Emerson sat next to her. "What's going on, Fin? Is it Brian Withers again?"

Briefly, she told her friend about what had happened today and the Withers' decision to pull their son from school.

"How could I have missed the bullying? Was I so focused on Brian's lack of academic progress that I couldn't see anything else? I've witnessed students being bullied before and addressed it right away, but this time? I didn't have a clue what was going on."

"You have the oldest group of students in the school. My third graders are much more likely to tattle if someone is mean to them or takes something of theirs. Fifth graders close ranks when adults are around. It must have been bad, though, for the dam to break."

"You wouldn't believe the things we found in Brian's locker," Finley said. "Money. Jewelry. Shoes. Books. Two cell phones. A tablet. Being held back a year, Brian always has been physically bigger than his classmates. I'm just upset because my babies were hurting, and I didn't see it."

"No one loves her students more than you do, Fin. Those fifth graders think you walk on water. I see how they treat you at school and how eager they are to come and talk to you whenever we're out in public. They adore you. They don't blame you for what Brian Withers was doing."

Her gaze met Emerson's. "I think I'm ready to quit teaching," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"The feeling will pass. This incident with Brian will blow over."

Finley shook her head. "I've been thinking about this for almost a year, Emerson," she confessed. "Teaching isn't what I thought it would be. I keep thinking if I left, though, how I'd be disappointing my parents."

"Your parents want you to be happy. Yes, they might feel a little bit disappointed, but they'll support you in whatever you want to do." Emerson paused. "It's photography, isn't it? You want to pursue it full-time."

She nodded. "I find such joy in taking photos of others. Telling their stories in a way no one else can. I think what convinced me wasn't what happened today with Brian and what happened with his parents. It's when I put together that exhibit for the library that just went up."

Finley had taken to driving around the Hill Country with her friend Ivy, who was a painter. Every now and then, Ivy wanted to drive through the area, stopping to take pictures with her phone or even sketch the landscape. Finley had begun tagging along on some of these trips, taking pictures of the land. Mesas. Wildflowers. Valleys. The Guadalupe River.

She had begun experimenting with black and white film. Some of her best wedding and newborn portraits had used black and white film. She had done an entire series of black and white landscapes of the Hill Country and asked Dorothy Prigmore, the city's librarian, if she might place them on display at the library. Dorothy had readily agreed, having seen Finley's work, both when Finley had photographed her current senior in a series of outdoors portraits, as well as her son's wedding last month.

"I find that through photography, I can express myself in ways I never will be able to do in the classroom. I still love teaching and being with my kids." She hesitated. "But I don't think I'm meant to do it for the rest of my life."

She reached and took Emerson's hand. "I'm scared to death. I don't know if I can make a living from my photography. Sure, it's a great side business now and brings in quite a bit of extra income, but I don't know if it's enough to live on."

"I've got the rent covered, Fin," her longtime friend assured her. "Don't worry about paying it."

"I won't live off your charity, Em."

"Follow your heart. That's my advice. You won't be happy otherwise."

She would finish out this school year. She owed that much to her students and Mary. It was only the end of January, so she had a few months before she needed confirm her decision and turn in her resignation to Mary.

In her heart, though, Finley knew the decision had already been made.