Chapter 4 - The Woman in the Office
Emily took Leo home that afternoon.
Before leaving, she gave Susan permission to receive a copy of every current accommodation document.
She also did something Principal Vance did not expect.
She photographed every page.
In front of him.
“I should have done this the first time,” she said.
Vance attempted to recover control.
“Mrs. Miller, I strongly recommend that we schedule a formal meeting before accusations become public.”
Emily looked at him.
“Public?”
“I’m saying misunderstandings can damage people.”
“So can ignored medical plans.”
Vance did not answer.
Susan walked Emily and Leo to the front entrance.
Outside, autumn rain had begun falling.
Emily opened an umbrella.
Before Leo climbed into the car, Susan crouched beside him.
“I need to tell you something.”
Leo looked at her cautiously.
“I was wrong today.”
He looked down.
“I thought you weren’t trying.”
His shoulders tightened.
“I’m sorry.”
Leo said nothing.
Susan continued.
“You never have to prove you’re sick enough for me to believe you again.”
Leo finally looked at her.
“My hands don’t always do what I tell them.”
“I know that now.”
“Sometimes my legs too.”
Susan felt another wave of guilt.
“Does it hurt?”
“Sometimes.”
Emily watched silently from beside the car.
Leo whispered, “Principal Vance said kids who miss tests get moved down.”
Susan’s eyes sharpened.
“Moved down where?”
Leo shrugged.
“He said I might not stay with my class.”
Emily’s expression changed.
“He told you that?”
Leo looked worried.
“I wasn’t supposed to say.”
Emily knelt.
“Leo, look at me.”
He did.
“You are never in trouble for telling me what an adult said to you.”
Leo swallowed.
“He said you already worry too much.”
Emily closed her eyes.
Susan saw anger replace exhaustion.
“When?”
“When you had work.”
Emily looked at Susan.
“There were two mornings when I had to open the store early. Vance offered to let Leo wait in the office before class.”
Susan understood.
Private access.
No witnesses.
“What else did he say?”
Leo looked toward the school doors.
“That the tests were important because bad numbers make teachers lose jobs.”
Susan felt her stomach twist.
Vance had placed adult fear onto a seven-year-old.
“No teacher’s job depends on you hurting yourself,” she said.
Leo seemed surprised.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Emily helped him into the car.
Before leaving, she said to Susan, “He wasn’t always afraid of school.”
Susan nodded.
“I want to help.”
Emily looked toward the building.
“Then find out who the woman was.”
That evening, Susan remained at school until almost seven.
Most classrooms were dark.
The custodians worked quietly at the far end of the hall.
Susan sat at her computer and searched old staff newsletters.
District visitors.
Testing coordinators.
Special education consultants.
Leo had said another lady had been in Vance’s office.
Someone concerned that “if people found out, the scores wouldn’t matter anymore.”
At 6:42, Susan found a photograph from the previous year’s district awards banquet.
Raymond Vance stood beside a woman with short auburn hair and rectangular glasses.
Caption.
Dr. Catherine Monroe, Assistant Superintendent for Academic Performance.
Susan knew the name.
Everyone did.
Monroe controlled district achievement initiatives.
She had personally congratulated Jefferson Elementary after its reading scores increased eleven percent.
Susan printed the photograph.
The printer had barely stopped when someone spoke behind her.
“Working late?”
Susan jumped.
Guidance counselor Marcus Reed stood in the doorway.
He was forty-three, quiet, and generally avoided school politics.
“Apparently.”
He noticed the photograph.
“Monroe?”
Susan studied him.
“Do you know her?”
“Everyone knows her.”
“Has she been here recently?”
Marcus hesitated.
That hesitation answered the question.
“When?”
He stepped inside and closed the door.
“What’s this about?”
“Leo Miller.”
Marcus’s expression changed.
“You were involved?”
“In what?”
He rubbed his jaw.
“Susan, I’m not sure I should say anything.”
“That sentence has become very popular today.”
Marcus sighed.
“Three weeks ago Vance asked me to pull Leo from the intervention roster.”
“Why?”
“He said Leo’s absences during assessments were creating data irregularities.”
Susan stared.
“Leo wasn’t absent.”
“Not from school. From testing blocks.”
“Because of medical episodes?”
“That’s what I assumed.”
“What did you say?”
“I refused.”
Susan leaned forward.
“And then?”
“Vance removed him himself.”
“What does that mean?”
“His supplemental support minutes disappeared from the system.”
Susan frowned.
“You can do that?”
“An administrator can override scheduling.”
“Why would he remove support from a child who needs more flexibility?”
Marcus looked at the photograph of Catherine Monroe.
“Because intervention rosters are part of the district reporting package.”
Susan understood only partly.
“Explain.”
“If Leo remained coded as receiving intervention plus medical testing accommodations, his scores would be flagged for additional review.”
“And?”
“And Jefferson’s improvement numbers might look different.”
“How different?”
“I don’t know.”
Marcus walked toward the window.
“But I know something happened last year.”
“What?”
“Jefferson jumped from sixty-eighth percentile performance to eighty-fourth in one testing cycle.”
Susan remembered.
There had been banners.
A newspaper article.
Vance received an administrative excellence award.
“I thought the new reading program worked.”
“So did everyone.”
“Didn’t it?”
Marcus looked at her.
“Maybe.”
That word landed heavily.
Susan held up Monroe’s photograph.
“Was she here?”
Marcus nodded.
“Twice this month.”
“Why?”
“Closed-door meetings.”
“With Vance?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone else?”
“District data coordinator, once.”
Susan sat back.
This was larger than Leo.
She hated that thought.
A child had suffered in front of her, and already the adults around him were becoming numbers, systems, rankings.
She forced herself back to the boy.
“What happened three weeks ago?”
Marcus thought.
“Vance called Leo into his office after lunch.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“How long?”
“Maybe twenty minutes.”
“Was Monroe here?”
Marcus looked at the photograph again.
“Yes.”
Susan’s pulse quickened.
“Would Leo recognize her?”
“Probably.”
Susan took a picture of the photograph and texted it to Emily.
She did not ask Leo directly.
She wrote one sentence.
Does this woman look familiar to him?
Three minutes later, Emily replied.
YES.
Then another message arrived.
He says she was the woman in Vance’s office.
Susan stared at the screen.
Marcus whispered, “What did he hear?”
Susan repeated Leo’s sentence.
“If people found out, the scores wouldn’t matter anymore.”
Marcus went very still.
“What?”
“You recognize it?”
“No.”
But his face said otherwise.
Susan stood.
“Marcus.”
He looked toward the closed door.
Then back at her.
“There was a teacher last year.”
“What teacher?”
“Rachel Collins.”
Susan remembered.
Fourth grade.
Resigned suddenly in March.
The staff had been told Rachel relocated because of family issues.
“What about her?”
Marcus spoke quietly.
“She questioned test records.”
Susan’s skin prickled.
“What happened?”
“Vance said she was unstable.”
“Was she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is she now?”
Marcus pulled out his phone.
“I haven’t spoken to her in eighteen months.”
“Can you find her?”
“Probably.”
A sound came from the hallway.
Both stopped talking.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Approaching.
The doorknob turned.
Principal Vance entered.
He looked at Susan.
Then Marcus.
Then the photograph of Catherine Monroe on Susan’s desk.
Vance smiled.
May you like
But there was no warmth in it.
“You two seem very interested in district history tonight.”
