Crossroads. Irene Hannon

there wouldn’t be much opportunity for that, she admitted with a pang of regret. Any future contact with the principal would be related to Bruce. Because to Mitch, she was just another mother dealing with a problem child.

      Except at the end of the interview he had called her “Tess,” she realized suddenly, stopping abruptly. That was a good sign. Wasn’t it? Didn’t it mean he thought of her as a person in her own right, not just as a mother?

      Tess wasn’t sure. Wasn’t even sure if she wanted him to think of her that way. It was too scary. And complicated. And probably unwise.

      She knew all that intellectually. And accepted it.

      But for some reason, her heart just wasn’t listening.

      “So how was your day?”

      “Okay.”

      Tess sighed. So far the new dinner-hour-together rule hadn’t spurred the conversation and sharing she’d hoped for with Bruce. It was the old “You can lead a horse to water…” scenario. And Bruce wasn’t drinking. But she wasn’t going to give up.

      “Did you look into the art club?” she asked, trying again. Chris Stevens had run through a list of supervised after-school activities at the meeting, and Tess had suggested the club to Bruce, who’d always shown strong artistic aptitude and interest.

      “They’re a bunch of geeks.”

      “How do you know?”

      At his disgusted look, she let it drop.

      They ate in silence for a few moments before she worked up the courage to introduce a new subject. “Guess who I interviewed today?” she asked, her tone a little too bright. When he didn’t respond, she plunged in. “Mr. Jackson.”

      That got his attention. “Why?”

      “He just received the governor’s award for excellence in education.”

      “You’re kidding!”

      “No. He’s doing good work at the high school.”

      Bruce gave a disdainful snort. “Right.”

      “So you don’t think he’s a good principal?”

      Bruce shrugged. “He’s too ‘in-your-face.’”

      “Meaning?”

      “He’s always hanging around with the kids. And watching what we’re doing. I thought principals were supposed to stay in their office and run the school.”

      “Maybe he’s trying to change the rules.”

      “Why?”

      “I asked him that in the interview.”

      “Yeah?” Bruce looked interested. “What did he say?”

      “He said that when he was a cop, he saw a lot of kids on the street who were in trouble. But by the time the police got involved, it was usually too late. He said he wanted to find a way to help kids before they got to that point. That’s why he became a principal. And why he’s changing the rules, I expect.”

      “He was probably a better cop than he is a principal,” Bruce said.

      “Do all the kids think so?”

      He shrugged. “The geeks seem to like him. The guys I hang around with don’t. Except maybe Tony Watson. But he’s got problems. I think he figures Mr. Jackson can help him.”

      “What kind of problems?”

      “Stuff at home. His parents don’t get along. I think his dad drinks, and his mom’s never around. She travels a lot for her job.”

      “Doesn’t sound too great,” she agreed. “So what does Mr. Jackson do?”

      “He just talks to him. After school sometimes. Tony seems to be okay for a while after that. But it never lasts long. I feel sorry for him.”

      “Maybe you could invite him over some time.”

      Bruce gave her another disgusted look and changed the subject. “I saw your name on the sign-up sheet for the food booth at the school carnival. Did you really volunteer?”

      “Yes.”

      “Why?”

      “I thought we could spend some time together there.” Which was true enough. But she’d hoped it would also give her a chance to meet some of his elusive friends.

      He looked appalled. “Mom! Even if I go, I was going to hang around with the guys.”

      “I don’t expect you to spend the whole day with me, Bruce. But I thought we could have a hot dog and soda or something when I finish working. And what do you mean, even if you go?”

      “I’m not sure about it. I have to check with the guys.”

      “But what do you want to do?” she pressed. “You used to like carnivals, especially the rides.”

      He shrugged. “That’s kid stuff.”

      But that’s what you are! she wanted to cry out. Just a kid. Instead, she reached for his empty plate. “I don’t know. I still like carnivals, and I’m no kid,” she said, striving for a conversational tone.

      He considered that. “Well, I might go. For a while.”

      “I hope so. It would be fun. And you know what else I was thinking? Maybe this weekend we could go to the art museum. I hear it’s great, and there’s an exhibit right now that I thought you might especially like. It’s on the—”

      “I’ll have a lot of homework this weekend,” Bruce cut her off.

      “You have to have some time for fun, too.”

      “Joe’s having a party Saturday night at his house. Maybe I could go to that,” he said hopefully.

      “Maybe. Will his parents be home?”

      “Oh, Mom!”