“Kids, no.” He shook his head. “Parents, maybe.”
She giggled. And he loved the sparkle in her eyes as her gaze connected with his. “Ryder—”
“Joking, Princess.” He laughed. “Not that it’s not tempting.”
She nodded. “Yes. Very.” Her expression shifted then, from amused to intense. Her gaze fixed on his, carefully searching. “You don’t owe us anything, you know?”
His hands fisted. “Don’t start that again, Annabeth—”
“Stop, Ryder.” Her smile grew tight. “Greg wouldn’t expect you to babysit Cody and me. Stop doing what you think he wants you to do.”
Yes, he’d promised Greg he’d look out for them, but... How could he explain that he did it because he needed to? Taking care of them made him feel better, too, as though he was important to someone. “That’s not why I do it.”
Her forehead creased slightly. “It’s not?”
“Time for checkers before I go.” Grandma Florence sat up, her sudden declaration sending the kitten scurrying across the kitchen and into his box.
He smiled as Cody’s squeal of delight came from his bedroom. “Think Cody heard you, Flo.”
Two seconds later Cody came barreling into the kitchen with his checkers box. “Ryder, you can play the w-w-winner,” Cody said.
“Deal,” he agreed, squatting in front of the dishwasher. “Gives me time to see what we need to fix this thing.”
“Ryder,” Annabeth started to argue.
He opened the dishwasher and peered inside. “Got a flashlight, Princess?”
“Ryder,” she tried again, her tone sharper.
He smiled. “It’s a little dark in here.” He held his hand out.
“Here.” Cody gave him a flashlight.
“Thanks, champ.” Ryder clicked on the flashlight, inspecting the motor in the base of the near-ancient dishwasher. “It’s the least I can do to pay you back for dinner.” He heard her little grunt of frustration and grinned. “Why don’t you go put your feet up for a second, relax.” He could be just as stubborn as she was. And if she wouldn’t tell him what was eating her, he’d take care of what he could.
“You don’t seem to understand how important this is.” Winnie Michaels dabbed at the mascara running down her cheeks. “They’re fifth graders, for Pete’s sake. And it’s one lil’ bitty ol’ point, Annabeth.”
Annabeth kept her I’m-listening expression firmly in place. The principal before her, Davis Hamburg, had told her it was important to convey sincere empathy while never losing control of the situation. She’d been repeating this over and over for the past thirty minutes, but Annabeth and Winnie had been in the same class growing up and they hadn’t exactly been pals. Annabeth had been one of the lucky recipients of Winnie Michaels’s especially effective public shaming techniques. Winnie used to call her Annabeth Banana-breath and encouraged more than a few of her posse to chant along during gym class or recess. She received more than her fair share of banana bread, banana muffins, banana skins and browning bananas throughout her school years. It was ironic that the one thing Annabeth had craved when she was pregnant was bananas.
“That’s just it, Ms. Michaels. Kevin was two points from passing. He’d have to get his grade up to audition for a solo in the spring concert,” Mrs. Schulze, the music teacher, calmly explained.
But Annabeth didn’t say a thing. Kevin Michaels was a pain in her rear on a daily basis. He lied, cheated and picked on the younger kids—Cody among them. But when push came to shove, none of the kids would turn him in. Out of fear, she suspected, and there was nothing she could do about it. Kevin was just like his mom.
Winnie stared at her.
Annabeth stared back.
“I never thought you were the spiteful type,” Winnie spoke softly. “That you’d punish my son for our childhood rivalry.”
Mrs. Schulze looked acutely uncomfortable, glancing back and forth between the two of them expectantly.
Annabeth’s eye twitched. “Once Kevin gets his grade up—”
“He’ll be in middle school.” Winnie shook her head, opening her cavernous purse and digging around inside it. “This is his last concert here.” She pulled out a pair of gloves, three tubes of lipstick, a scarf, two phone chargers and a bag of what appeared to be pulverized goldfish crackers.
“He’ll still perform in the chorus, Ms. Michaels,” Mrs. Schulze tried again.
“With all the little kids.” Winnie sighed. “It’s embarrassing.”
“There are only four solo parts, Winnie,” Annabeth spoke calmly. “Over thirty kids signed up to audition for the solos.” She glanced at Mrs. Schulze, who nodded. “All of the other students will be in the chorus, that’s most of fourth and fifth grade. Even if Kevin’s grades were passing, there would be no guarantee he’d get a solo.”
Winnie pulled out a wadded-up handkerchief and blew her nose. “Well, I think this is unfair, that’s all there is to it.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Annabeth continued. “Did Kevin turn in the extra-credit assignments Mr. Glenn gave him?”
Winnie shrugged, shoving her things back into her purse. “You tell me, Annabeth. Since you know everything.”
Annabeth resisted the urge to bury her head in her hands.
“This was a waste of my time, plain and simple. You don’t like Kevin so you’re singling him out. I don’t know why we had this meeting,” Winnie sighed.
Because Winnie had called and called and been so rude to the school secretary that Annabeth had given in. She knew it was useless. Parents signed a grade contract at the beginning of every year, they knew that only passing students were allowed to participate in extra-curricular activities—from field trips to school performances. Why Winnie thought Kevin was different was a mystery. But she’d keep her mouth shut and her concerned expression in place until she was alone in her office.
“I know people on the school board—” Winnie started in.
“I encourage you to bring your concerns to them, Winnie,” Annabeth interrupted, stealing the other woman’s threat. “If you feel the grade contract is unfair, the school board should review the policy.”
Winnie pushed herself to her feet, scowling at Annabeth, then Mrs. Schulze. “I will. I will tell them my concerns. About you. And the way you’re running this school.” And with that Winnie Michaels stormed from her office.
“Can I get you anything, Ms. Upton?” Mrs. Schulze asked. “You look a little green around the gills.”
Annabeth smiled. “I’m not a fan of confrontation.”
“Well, you handled it like a pro. I’m sorry Kevin isn’t up for a solo—” Mrs. Schulze broke off, crossing her arms over her chest. “Actually, I’m not. I’m not the least bit torn up about it.”
Annabeth allowed herself a small grin. “It sounds like you have plenty of kids to audition. I’m sure you’ll pick the best for the parts.”
Mrs. Schulze nodded. “You go on home and get some rest. Don’t let this hiring nonsense get to you. Everyone at the school knows you’re the one for the job.”
“Thank you, that means a lot.” Annabeth shrugged. “Let’s hope the school board agrees.”