Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks 1)

“I… sorry,” I huff.

I take a deep breath, trying my hardest to keep calm, but as I start to feel less stressed, a door to the left of me opens and out walks a tall man with dark brown hair, his wide frame filling the space. “Mr. Carter?”

This must be Mr. Lofton. I clear my throat and stand up, pulling the sleeves of my suit jacket down while pushing my shoulders back before stepping forward.

“That’s me,” I say, walking toward him and holding my hand out. He grunts and shakes it in greeting before turning and walking back into his office.

I follow him in, taking a seat in the chair opposite the large, pine wooden desk that he’s sitting behind.

“So… Mr. Carter. What can I do for you today?”

I clear my throat and straighten my back in the chair. “I want to talk to you about my son, Clayton Carter.”

“Okay.”

His dark brown eyes watch me closely, studying me, and all I want to do is stand up and tell him that he’s doing a shit job at running this school. But I don’t, I keep it inside as I outwardly try to portray that I’m calm and not burning up inside at his lack of awareness for his students. “I feel as if his education needs aren’t being met.” He frowns at me, the chair creaking as he leans forward. “All of the tests he’s being given are too easy for him.”

“And what would you like us to do about that, Mr. Carter?”

I can’t believe he’s asking me what I want to be done about it. It’s his goddamn job to know what to do, not mine.

I sit up straighter, clasping my hands on the wooden arms of the chair as I try to tamp down the rage that is slowly growing inside of me. “Clayton is exceptionally smart for a boy of his age. He needs to be challenged more.”

He snorts. “Mr. Carter, if I had a dollar for every parent that thought their child was gifted, I’d be a very rich man. Here at—”

My brows raise and I push forward, my rage rising to the surface at his flippant tone. “First of all, don’t talk to me like that.” My voice comes out deep and I feel my heart thumping hard in my chest.

“I—”

I don’t give him a chance to say anything as his face pales. “Second of all, show some goddamn respect to the people who pay your salary.”

I keep my eyes connected to his for a beat as I take several calming breaths before slowly saying, “Your job as the head of this school is to make sure that every child's educational needs are met. I pay a lot of money for my kids to go here.”

“I know that,” he says quickly.

“Good.” I nod. “Now…” I lean back in my chair. “What are you going to do about meeting Clayton’s educational needs?”

He lifts a folder from in front of him, opening it and leafing through the pages, scanning through it as if reading. “H—his…” he stutters before clearing his throat. “His teachers have already brought this to my attention this week.” I raise a brow, knowing that he’s full of shit. Even if they did bring it to his attention, he hasn’t done anything about it which makes me doubt—yet again—how he’s running this school.

“So, you’re telling me that this was brought to your attention, yet you haven’t contacted me to talk about it?”

“It… It was only this week.” His gaze falters as my eyes continue to bore into his.

“And you think that’s acceptable?” I ask, my voice gruff as I get more irate with him.

“I… You’re here now.” I raise a brow and motion for him to tell me what’s been said. “They’ve suggested that after the end of the school year, we move him up a grade and re-evaluate a couple of months later. Over the summer we’ll send home the work for the curriculum that they’ve been working on in the grade above so he’s caught up, but there would be no point in moving him so late in the year.” He looks up, smiling at me as if he’s solved all of my problems. “I’ll make sure to make a note on his file so that the new dean keeps an eye on his progress.”

“New dean?” I ask.

As far as I know, none of the parents have been told about this change, but to be honest, with his attitude, not only toward running this school, but also toward the people in his office, I’m not surprised he’s leaving. Probably not of his own doing though.

“Yes.” He shuffles uncomfortably in his chair. “She’ll be starting in a couple of weeks’ time. But rest assured, Mr. Carter, I will make sure that the ball is rolling by the end of the day.”

I stand up, nodding my head as I button up my suit jacket and head to the door, needing to get out of this stuffy office.

“Thanks for coming in,” he says, standing as quickly as he can—which isn’t quick at all—and following me out of his office before extending his hand toward me.

I look down at his outstretched hand, grinding my teeth together as I put my hand in his, shaking it. “Thanks for seeing me.” What I really want to do is call him a few choice words, but I keep them to myself because he’s doing want I wanted: making sure that Clay gets the education that he needs.