Chapter 8
766 Words
Kingsley POV
I bite the insides of my cheeks and bounce my right leg mechanically while I think.
Bentley, that little s**t. What kind of best friend goes behind my back to take my little brother to
the worst place possible? Not a very good one.
I'll have to deal with him breaking my trust later. As for now, I don't know what to do about
Grant.
The kid was out of line, but I couldn't punish him. I almost felt bad when he asked if I was going
to ground him. Of course not. Any kid would be curious and worried about their mother. Hell, I
was myself.
I visited the jail a few times, just to be close to the woman who partially raised me before doing a
one-eighty. I never actually saw or talked to her, but it was comforting to know she was there.
For just a moment, I was able to pretend I was waiting for her to come out of the store from
buying groceries. That she wasn't an addict.
Fifteen years is a very long time and she won't age well behind bars, I know that much. Maybe
she'll find God or something like you hear about from people who have nothing there but church
and the Bible. None of us ever were religious.
I suppose I would be the most out of my whole family. I believe there's a God. I believe he
thinks he's almighty. I believe he is too. I also believe people are p*****s. Sometimes you gotta
be mean. God isn't afraid to do that. I respect that. Grant is an atheist and my dad fell out of his
religion when he started his own first job.
Surprisingly, Bentley is pretty religious. He's part of the reason I found myself praying for my
mom alot. Not in the way you'd think.
I prayed for her to get caught.
I wanted her to be forced to stop and never pick up another drug again. What I didn't account for
was fifteen years in the slammer. Sometimes I blame myself for her situation.
A ringing pulls me out of my miserable thoughts and I sigh, walking across my bedroom to pick
my phone up from where it charges on the nightstand.
I swipe, holding it up to my ear and rumbling out a 'hello."
"Hello Mr. Etton? This is Buckner Acadamia, the dean speaking."
I sigh audibly and pinch the bridge of my nose. Grant. What did that little s**t do now.
"Is Grant in any trouble?"
I just want to get this over with. My threat of military school was real, but that doesn't mean I
want to send him.
"Not of his own doing sir. We're having to call up all the parents of the seniors who are in Mr.
Alshote's class. He's been having a lot of medical issues lately and is being hospitalized for the
time being. There aren't any available substitutes that can teach for the entire second half of the
year, so the seniors can't graduate. Hopefully we'll have enough teachers for summer classes, but
graduation will have to be held back for several months."
Bullshit. He can't graduate at the same time everyone else does?
"Why don't you just put the kids in a different class?"
It seems like any easy enough solution, but the dean doesn't agree.
"The other classes are full."
I groan and regret putting him in this school. He seems to actually like it though with that girl on
his brain and he hasn't acted out yet.
I bite my lip and squeeze my phone tightly. Grant is graduating on time if I have any say in it.
Even if I have to do this s**t myself.
"I'll fill in for Mr. Alshote until the end of the year. Those kids are graduating on time with the
rest of their peers."
It's a demand.
The dean pauses for a moment and stutters.
"I-well, do you have a teaching degree?"
I roll my head in an exasperated circle.
"No. Do you?"
The dean is silent for a moment.
"I don't need to have one to teach students," he says finally.
"And substitutes don't need teaching degrees either. I'm not taking over forever, just sitting in. I
did go to school you know? For a very long time," I say sarcastically. "I think I can handle
teaching."
It takes about ten minutes of arguing, but the dean finally agrees and says he'll see me Monday.
Though indeed he will, I can't imagine what I've just gotten myself into.
- Writer
