33
A Cry For Help
I spoke to Dylan’s foster mother,” Mrs. Evans said.
“What did she have to say?” Mr. Peters asked.
“She apologized for his behavior yesterday and said that she would deal with it.” Mrs. Evans rubbed her neck.
“What’s wrong, Mrs. Evans?”
She began slowly. “Apparently, Dylan came home last night screaming that the world would be a better place if he were dead.”
“That’s a real cry for help, Mrs. Evans. Is she worried he might hurt himself?”
Mrs. Evans lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know. She took it seriously though. They’re meeting with his art therapist again.”
“That’s good. Dylan seems to like her.”
“Anyway, I told her not to bring him back for a couple of days.”
“What are we going to do?” Mr. Peters asked. “He’s shown us that he is a danger to the other students. I know Albert isn’t innocent, but that’s irrelevant. Dylan could have given him a head injury. We cannot tolerate this anymore.”
“Did you speak to Albert’s parents?” Mrs. Evans inquired.
“Yes, I did. That was very difficult. His mother is very understanding because she knows what Albert can be like, but she wanted to know that this would not happen again. I told her that it wouldn’t.” Mr. Peters paused. “Can I promise her that?”
Mrs. Evans interjected. “We’ll keep those two completely separated. I don’t want them going near each other. I’ve asked Albert to come to my office this morning, and I’ll tell him to keep his distance. If he’s seen anywhere near Dylan, he’ll be the one punished, not Dylan. Albert needs to know that we want to protect him, but he must cooperate with us.”
The secretary peered into the office. “Mrs. Jules, the behavioral specialist, is here.”
“Send her in, please.”
She entered the room in a flurry. “I apologize, but I can’t stay long. I have a nine-thirty meeting at Nickle School. I just want to touch base.”
Mrs. Evans said, “Thank-you for coming on such short notice. I thought we should let you know what’s been going on.”
Mrs. Jules faced Mr. Peters. “Mrs. Evans told me about what happened yesterday. Other than that incident, how’s he been doing?”
“Little has changed.”
“Would you like him removed from the school?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Evans said bluntly. She glanced at Mr. Peters before continuing. “I’ve always supported the decision to keep him here, but I can’t anymore. He’s too dangerous.”
Mrs. Evans got up and opened the filing cabinet. “This is where I hid the knife we confiscated from Dylan.” She moved folders out of the way and pulled out an empty envelope tucked in the back. “The knife was in here.”
“So where is it now?” Mr. Peters asked.
“I don’t know. It was here last week. I’m the only one who knew it was here.”
“Did Dylan know where you put it?” Mr. Peters asked.
“There’s no way he could have known, but I don’t know who else would have taken it. I’ve left him alone in my office, but only for a few minutes at a time. I don’t know how he could have located it and taken it so quickly, but he must have. I forgot to ask Ms. Truss about it. I’ll ask her to look for it at home.”
“I’ll look into another placement for him,” said Mrs. Jules. “He’s too much to handle in a regular classroom, and all of the behavior classes are full right now. They only accept six to eight of the most troubled kids, and there are no spaces available. Can you keep him here until something comes up?”
Mrs. Evans looked to Mr. Peters, who nodded. “I guess we don’t have a choice.”
“He is to be watched constantly. He is not to be alone at any time. Follow the rules you set up with him. If there are any aggressive acts or threats of violence, send him home immediately. Do not allow the situation to escalate. How has that behavior contract been working, Mr. Peters?”
“I haven’t been consistent with that. It’s too hard to keep on top of it with all the things that have been going on.”
“Well try,” Ms. Jules said. “The main thing I am concerned with is that there is nothing positive in his life. I know it may be difficult to find things to praise him for, but he needs it. He needs to know that he’s doing something right.” Ms. Jules stood up. “I apologize, but I really need to get going. Phone me anytime. I’d like to be kept informed.”
When Mr. Peters entered his classroom, Jake was sitting at his desk.
“What’s up, Jake? You never come in before the bell.”
Mr. Peters sat down in the desk across from him.
“Yesterday… yesterday, when Ted pulled down my pants, everyone saw my boxer shorts.”
Mr. Peters tried to hide his smile. “That must have been embarrassing for you, but everyone has seen boxer shorts before. They’ll soon forget about it.”
“Yeah, but I was wearing my Bart Simpson shorts.”
Mr. Peters let out a snort.
“See, even you think it’s funny.”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Peters chuckled, “but it is kind of funny. Look, we all have funny shorts in our drawers. I’ve got a pair with hearts that say ‘I Love You’ all over them.”
Jake smirked at the thought of seeing Mr. Peters in his I Love You shorts. “Yeah, but there’s more. On the left butt cheek of my shorts is Bart Simpson’s face and on the other butt cheek is the word Kowabunga!”
“Oh boy.” Mr. Peters grinned. “This gets better and better. Well, how is that any different than a T-shirt? I’ve seen that same image on a shirt.”
“Yeah, I guess, but you know what I overheard some of the kids say today when I got on the bus? They said ‘Kowadunga’ as I walked by. Kowadunga, as in cow dung.” He paused. “Some of the little girls were pointing and giggling at me as I walked past them on the playground. You know how quickly things spread. I’ve lost all of their respect. They used to look up to me; some were even afraid of me. Now they just laugh at me.”
“It’ll pass, Jake. Don’t let it bother you. Just be who you are and they’ll forget.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. My dad has had the same nickname since he was eight. I’m going to be known as Cow Dung for the rest of my life.” Jake dropped his head and giggled.
“Well, I’m glad you still have your sense of humor. Now run along. Everything will be okay. One piece of advice—don’t show them that it bothers you.
Jake nodded and walked toward the door.
“Hey Jake!” Mr. Peters called. “Rock on, dude.”