The Christmas Deal

Connor hadn’t been crying, and Logan hadn’t seen him shed a tear since. The kid was empty, although when Logan had clumsily tried to squeeze his shoulder, Connor had exploded with rage. It was apparently all he had left.

Ms. Patel quietly stated the fucking obvious. “It was extremely traumatic for him. We’ve endeavored to give Connor the support he needs, but he’s simply not cooperating. His biological father isn’t in the picture at all?”

Logan huffed. “Waste of space. Took off down to Florida years ago. Every once in a while he shows up with expensive presents and a bunch of bullshit stories. For a smart kid, you’d think Connor could see through him. The guy has zero interest in being a father.”

“When was the last time you were in touch with Mr. Lisowski?”

“Dunno. After Veronica died. I don’t know if Connor’s talked to him.”

“A few texts, apparently. You don’t feel he can be any help in this situation?”

“Fucked if I know.” He winced. “Excuse my language again.”

She waved off his apology. “I’d need your permission to speak to Mr. Lisowski about Connor since you’re the legal guardian. I understand Connor’s mother had been a foster child? No family?”

“Right. If you think he can help, call him, but he probably won’t answer. Mike couldn’t care less about the kid if he tried.”

She picked up a gold and silver pen and wrote in a leather-bound notebook. Logan watched her pen making loops and swoops before she capped it and looked back at him. “I understand you’re currently out of work?”

Anger flared, a hot burst in his veins. What she meant was: I understand you’re a useless sack of shit? He barked, “Look, are we going to talk about whatever Connor did, or what?”

“Yes, of course.” She folded her hands again, calm as anything. “You know that Connor’s full scholarship is incumbent upon him keeping his grades at a minimum of a B average. And even more importantly, it requires him to behave in an orderly, respectable manner. To not put himself or any of his classmates in harm’s way.”

Fuck. “What did he do?”

“Connor dropped his backpack down the gap in the stairwell from an upper floor.”

“Oh.” That didn’t seem so bad? “Did he break something?”

“The bag hit another student in the lower leg and caused significant pain and bruising. If it had hit him in the head, it very well could have killed him. This is no laughing matter or a ‘boys will be boys’ situation. Perhaps that recklessness would fly in a public school, but this is Rencliffe, Mr. Derwood.”

All he could do was nod like he was back in the principal’s office. “I understand. It was a stupid thing to do. It won’t happen again.”

She sighed, sitting back with a squeak of leather. “I sincerely hope not. We’ve attempted to engage him repeatedly, but he’s sullen and uncooperative. Connor has a brilliant mind. He used to be one of our best students. We’ve been cutting him a lot of slack, but he needs to curb this destructive and harmful behavior. Not only toward his classmates, but himself.”

Logan went very still. “What do you mean? Is he, like, cutting himself or something?”

“Not that we know of. But he’s skipping classes, showing up late, and not completing assignments. Getting into fights, as you know from your discussion with Mr. Howard a few weeks ago. Connor’s going to fail his courses, and we know it’s not because of his intelligence. The term exams are next week, concluding on Friday, December twenty-first, followed by the holiday break.”

“Right.” The colorful ceramic tree in the corner of Ms. Patel’s office seemed to mock him with its cheery lights and glossy snow. The holidays were supposed to be a magical time for kids, and what would Logan be able to give Connor? A roof over their heads if Logan was lucky.

“If Connor performs at a B level on his exams—which should be infinitely doable for him even without studying a word—and if he stays in line, he’s welcome back in January to turn things around.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Logan gripped the arms of the chair.

“Then I’m afraid Connor’s tenure here at Rencliffe will end. You should investigate the public school options in your neighborhood, although I sincerely hope it won’t be necessary.”

My neighborhood.

Where was that, exactly? The rented house he was about to be evicted from? He rubbed a hand over his face, a week of scruff scratching his palm. “Okay.”

“Mr. Derwood, I assure you we want Connor to succeed. It would truly be a shame if he squanders his limitless potential. He’s had a full scholarship here for two years because we believe in him. But he has to meet us halfway. It’s been months of acting out, and while we’re very sympathetic, we have to think of the other students. Connor has been too disruptive for too long.”