Page 41 of One Last Shot

“What happened this time?” I ask. The question isn’t addressed to anyone in particular, and Stella jumps in to answer first.

“He tripped me at recess and I fell down and skinned my knee.” She points to the bloody scrape above her knee socks. “So when I got up, I pushed him and he fell down.”

I look up at the principal. “So she’s told her teacher multiple times that this kid is being mean to her, and each time nothing happens because the teacher didn’t see him do anything. And then he trips her, and she gets hurt, andshe’sin trouble for defending herself?”

“She’s in trouble because we have a zero tolerance policy for physical violence.”

“But you don’t,” I say.

“Yes,” he replies, heat creeping into his face behind that ginger goatee, “we do.”

“If that were true, then there would have been consequences each time he’d hurt Stella. But there haven’t been.”

“I can’t comment on previous instances that I’m not aware of.”

“There have been plenty of other instances of him pulling her hair, poking her between the ribs, flipping up her skirt,” I recite the instances Stella has told me about and he looks surprised that I know the specifics. “And when she’s told her teacher about it, nothing has happened. Whatever training your teachers have had on how to help your students work out their differences, it’s failed in this case. She’s asked adults for help in navigating the situation and they haven’t helped her. So tell me,” I say as I lean back in the chair and fold my hands demurely in my lap. “What was she supposed to do? Continue to take his abuse while her requests for help go unanswered?”

“Are you suggesting that she should be allowed to hurt people?”

“Not at all. In fact, we’ve talked about many different ways she can handle the situation. She’s tried avoidance and redirection, and clearly those have not worked. Neither has asking her teacher to step in. So what other options did this first grader have when he tripped her and hurt her?”

His jaw hangs open for a minute. “I’m sorry, it sounds like you’ve been working with Stella on this issue for a while. Didn’t you just start as her nanny this week?”

Stella and I look at each other and burst out laughing, which clearly makes him uncomfortable.

“She’s not my nanny, Dr. Leonard,” Stella says as she bites back a smile, and my shoulders tremble with a cold shiver as I consider how different this meeting and its aftermath would be if that horrible witch Irina were here instead of me. “She’s my uncle’s best friend.”

“Best friend from childhood. Just in town for a couple weeks,” I say, as much to set Stella’s expectations as to explain this to her principal. “I’m just helping out because Miss Stella here is in between nannies and Aleksandr is in Philadelphia for the first two playoff games.”

“When he came in the other morning with you and added you to the emergency contact form, replacing Stella’s previous nanny, we naturally assumed you were her new nanny.”

“Naturally. Now, about that question I asked,” I say, keeping my voice friendly while hopefully letting him know he’s not getting off the hook that easily. “I really would like to know howthe schoolwould like Stella to handle these physical attacks in the future. Because obviously allowing her to be abused at school like this isn’t an acceptable option forus.”

He tugs at his bow tie. “I will make sure Stella’s teacher is aware of what’s going on so she can take swift action if there’s another incident.”

“Which I’m sure there won’t be once you get done talking to the boy in question, right? With his parent too?”

The tiniest bit of spit flies off his tongue when he says, “We will handle it.”

“Excellent.” I stand and take Stella’s hand.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“I was told Stella is being sent home for the day. I’m taking her out to celebrate being a strong young woman who doesnotlet boys push her around.”

“But ...” His mouth hangs open just enough that I’m tempted to reach across the desk and push it closed it for him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want the honor of asking us to leave?” My voice is all sweetness but we both know it’s an act. “By all means, go ahead if it will make you feel better.”

He just shakes his head and flicks his hand to shoo us out of his office.

“When I get older, I want to be brave just like you,” Stella tells me as we walk down the hall hand in hand.

“You already are the bravest six-year-old I know,” I tell her. It doesn’t matter that she’s theonlysix-year-old I know. I could know a hundred other kids her age and I think she’d still be the bravest because of everything she’s been through. Most people have no idea how much courage it takes just to keep living after losing a parent and she’s lost two.

She squeezes my hand three times, and I squeeze back.

“Stella? Petra?” We both turn toward the voice behind us, and a woman I’ve never seen in my life stands in the hall. “What’s going on?” she asks.

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