Black Forest

Meet & Greet

St. Cosmas Conservatory: Friday: 5 p.m.

White-knuckled, nervous but unsure why, Tatum and the principal spoke at the same time.

"I'm sure this is –"

"Children, this is not –"

"– just a simple misunderstanding."

Orlon shrunk lower into her seat. It was going to be one of those meetings. Where her sister disagreed with everything and Shiloh play tennis deflect.

The principal folded his hands atop his desk. He'd changed over the past year, in small increments: one less grey streak here, a pound or two there. Now he looked like almost an entirely different person. Jet-black hair and a sixty-year-old wrinkles, a hoop in his left ear (the secretaries giggled about it over their sandwiches), still the same tie with the school crest just above the tie pin.

Shiloh was staring at the hoop now. Head tilted to one side.

But Tatum wasn't flustered – didn't even notice. She plowed ahead.

"This isn't her fault."

"Someone has to be at fault," the principal said.

"Yeah – yes – sure. But O's an angel. And aren't you supposed to have rules against this kind of thing? I mean, go ahead and tear down the sign above the cafeteria." Tatum folded her arms across her chest. "Because that shit is useless."

Principal Schipel rotated the ring in his ear, lips pursed.

"Is something the matter, Miss Adams?"

Orlon jumped. Dammit, he was talking to her. Around and around went the hoop. She tugged at her uniform tie.

The cut above her lip still burned.

"I – I – it's really just –"

"If there's an outstanding matter to be resolved, we can take a moment. That isn't, as a matter of fact, why I called you all in here."

"Oh?" Shiloh was paying attention now. "Wait, what's up?"

"Really I'm fine," Orlon said.

Standing, the principal pointed to the long line of posters decorating the wall behind him, where blissful students kicked soccer balls, shared notes, strolled on lush gardened walks and beamed over cafeteria food.

"Do you know what these represent?"

Tatum took off her glasses. She pinched the bridge of her nose, her exhale a whiny shush-shush. "Of course, sir."

"I know you know," he said. "I'm asking your sister."

Orlon slunk further into her seats. Her cheeks stung. This wasn't a problem. Didn't have to be a problem. Shouldn't have been a problem.

Mortification overtook fear. If she didn't say anything, it would all be true – that she was an idiot, useless. A charity case and a mercy acceptance.

"Non est ad astra mollis e erries via," she stammered.

"Insert Latin motto here," her brother said under his breath, head down, fiddling with his keys.

"There is no easy way from the earth to the stars," Tatum pressed. "Seneca."

Their principal smiled, benign. "Correct. When you came to this school you were extended an invitation – an opportunity – to fill your minds with knowledge. To abandon ignorance and embrace learning. It's not supposed to be any easy path. But we try to smooth the way by preventing interpersonal conflicts. By combating anything that interferes with the quality of your education."

"Conflicts?" Shiloh said. "Try attacks."

Principal Shipel flattened his hands on his desk and leaned over Orlon. "We're family here. I promise that matters will be dealt with."

This close was too close. She shrank back.

"My family is sitting beside me," she said. "There's not a problem."

He scrutinized her for a moment. In the way that adults do when they pretend to be expert lie-spotters but really have no clue. Finally, he leaned away and the space around her widened and she could breath again.

"That brings us to the matter of finances," he said.

"Problem?" Shiloh asked.

"We've called your parents several times but have failed to reach them. I thought I would make you aware, so that you can discuss the matter when you return home. We're missing the past two semester bills. Without them, I'm afraid you will not be allowed to return for the winter term."

Tatum was out of her seat, looping her book bag over her shoulder. "Done. We'll discuss it. Thank you for your time, Principal Shipel."

"Wait a minute," Shiloh said. "Is something wrong?"

The principal's gaze moved between the siblings. Stopped for a moment on Orlon, the slice on her lip and the torn red circle underneath her eye.

"You tell me," he said.

Orlon tried to stand, almost couldn't. Shiloh caught hold of her hand and helped her up, graceful as ever, glowering. He strode to the door, yanked it open. Let Tatum pass him. He squeezed Orlon's hand again and – with a mocking salute – closed on Shipel's wave. 

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