Page 27 of Pumped

I have to force myself to walk instead of jog through the hallways of Ivy’s school. When I got the call from the school’s secretary, I nearly had a coronary.

First, because Everest is the primary contact in case of emergencies. His gym is closer to Ivy’s school than my hospital, so if anything happens, he can get there faster than I can. But if they’re calling me, it means they can’t get a hold of him. Why the fuck isn’t he answering his goddamn phone? I was finishing up a fucking surgery on a cat when the call came through and I still managed to answer it.

Second because the fucking secretary wouldn’t tell me what happened. She just said there was an altercation, that Ivy was physically uninjured, and that the principal wanted to talk to me when I got here. Physically uninjured is a hell of a low bar if she was trying to ease my worry. News flash, it didn’t work.

I spot Ivy the second I’m through the office door. “Ivy!”

“Uncle O!” She flies off the chair and across the room. Her face is tear-streaked and her eyes are red and puffy. Her hair, which I’d tied into pigtails this morning, is a disheveled mess.

I bend down just in time for her to launch herself into my arms. Her little body is so small against my chest and she clings to me so tightly my heart breaks. She cries with her face pressed to my neck. My poor girl. What happened? Who do I need to yell at? Who do I need to get fired?

I hoist her up into my arms and carry her over to the secretary’s desk. “I’m Owen Lambert, Ivy’s uncle. I was told the principal wanted to speak to me?”

“Mr. Lambert?”

I spin around at the soft female voice calling my name. The principal looks to be in her forties, with kind eyes and an apologetic smile.

“I’m Ms. Livingston, the principal. If Ivy can wait out here, we can speak in my office.”

“No!” Ivy hugs me even tighter, wrapping her legs around my waist. I don’t even need to hold her up at this point. She’s hugging me so hard, it’s like she’s stuck to me with glue. There’s no prying her off.

“It’s fine,” I say, rubbing Ivy’s back.

Ms. Livingston hesitates for a second before acquiescing. She gestures to a chair in front of her desk and I perch on the edge of it, holding Ivy in my lap.

“It was a boy in Ivy’s class,” Ms. Livingston says, sitting down behind her desk. I appreciate her getting to the point without beating around the bush. “He made fun of Ivy for what happened with her parents.”

Horror descends upon me. Some kid didwhat?! I knew that bullying is something we might have to deal with at some point, but none of the parenting books I’ve read mentioned it would start in grade fucking one.

I’m still trying to process what this all means when Ms. Livingston continues. “I’ve already spoken with the boy’s parents and they will be taking corrective action. He’s been senthome with his nanny for the rest of the day and he’ll also have to serve detention for a full week during recesses.”

I sputter in disbelief. “Detention? That’s it? This is bullying. Shouldn’t it warrant a harsher punishment? Like suspension or something?”

Ms. Livingston nods sympathetically, but her tone is firm when she speaks. “If the student’s behavior continues, that is an option. But there are intermediary measures we can take to teach and promote positive behavior. I want to assure you that we are taking this situation very seriously. As are the boy’s parents. They were quite dismayed when I spoke with them on the phone. They asked me to extend their sincerest apologies to you and Ivy.”

My jaw is on the floor. Their sincerest apologies? Are they fucking kidding?

What good are apologies when the damage is already done? Ivy’s already been hurt. Her self-esteem has already taken a hit. Who knows what kind of long-term impact this will have on her sense of self and mental health. Is an apology going to fix any of that? Can an apology turn back the clock and prevent this all from happening in the first place?

I grit my teeth and draw on the patience I usually reserve for unreasonable pet parents. “What about changing classes? So Ivy doesn’t have to sit in the same room with that bully for the rest of the year.”

Ms. Livingston’s expression tightens just a fraction, but it’s enough for me to pick up. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. It would be more disruptive than constructive, not just for Ivy or her classmate, but also for the other students in the affected classes.”

The desire to bang on the desk and demand that she do more has me nearly vibrating with anger. Ivy’s already been throughso much and now she has to put up with this bullshit? But I push down the urge to yell.Keep it professional, Lambert.

One thing at a time. First, I need to get Ivy out of here and settled at home. Then assess the damage and figure out the appropriate remedies. Any changes that need to happen at her school can only come after everyone’s had time to cool off and think things through.

With a game plan in mind, I shift forward, making to stand. “Is there anything else?”

Ms. Livingston looks like she has more to say, but she wisely shakes her head. “Not at the moment. I’ll be sure to keep you in the loop should there be more developments with Ivy’s classmate.”

Ivy and I take our leave of the principal’s office, grabbing her coat and pink unicorn backpack on the way out. I carry her all the way to the main entrance of the school before setting her down on the floor.

Her crying has subsided, but she’s still sniffling and the collar of my coat is wet with tears and snot.

“Hey, sweetie.” I brush her hair back from her face, then pull out my handkerchief to wipe her nose. “That boy was mean, huh?”

She nods, looking so sad and dejected. My heart hurts for her, so much so it’s hard to breathe.

---