So he driven home, helping her inside when her legs seemed too weak to carry her. Now she sat motionless on her bed, staring at the wall. The hoodie pulled back over her head. Meanwhile, across town, Principal Thomas Wexley had called an emergency meeting in his office. The blinds were drawn, and his secretary had strict instructions not to interrupt.
"This is a nightmare," Wexley muttered, loosening his tie. At 58, he'd hoped to coast through his final years before retirement without incident. "What the hell were you thinking, Evelyn?" Ms. Ror sat stiffly in one of the visitor chairs, her posture defensive.
I was enforcing the dress code as instructed. The girl was being defiant. The third person in the room, Harold Brennan, the school district's attorney, cleared his throat. Let's focus on damage control. The video doesn't show the actual haircut.
We can frame this as a miscommunication. Miscommunication. Wexley's voice rose. She shaved a student's head. Partial video evidence," Brennan countered coolly.
"Her word against the students, and we have the new dress code policy to back us up." Ms. Ror nodded. "The girl claimed to have some medical condition, but there was nothing specific in her file about hair exemptions." "Was there anything about alipcia?"
Wexley asked, remembering a conversation from months ago. "Not that I saw," Ms. Ror answered. "Too quickly." Brennan tapped his pen against his legal pad.
Here's our approach. We acknowledge a disciplinary incident occurred. We say proper procedures weren't followed, hence the one-day suspension, but we don't admit to any specific actions. We cite student privacy laws to avoid details. And if the parents push, Wexley asked, we suggest private mediation, Brennan replied.
Keep it out of the courts. Offer counseling for the student. Maybe a transfer to another classroom. Wexley nodded slowly. Fine.
Draft the statement. I want this contained by tomorrow morning. As the adults plotted, Ariel sat in her darkening bedroom. Her sketchpad lay open beside her, but the pencil remained untouched. The characters she'd created, brave, colorful heroes who overcame obstacles, seemed childish now.
Meaningless. She ran her hand over her scalp again, feeling the uneven patches where Ms. Ror had been particularly rough with the clippers. The physical sensation was strange, but it was nothing compared to the hollowess inside her. In her mind, she kept replaying the moment when the first braid fell to the floor, the sudden exposure, the laughter in Ms.
Ror's eyes, the helplessness. Eric knocked gently on her door. Dinner's ready, sweetheart, he called softly. Ariel didn't respond. She hadn't spoken since climbing into his car that afternoon.