Page 115 of Broken Vows

Her expression doesn’t change.

“No sugar from me ever again,” I add. “Swear to God.”

“I’m less concerned about the sugar than I am about the language that was reported.”

“Language?”

Ms. Grover opens a drawer, pulls out a sheet of paper, and reads in a flat voice. “Quote, ‘I don’t give a fuck. Tell her.’ End quote.”

I blink. “Doesn’t sound like me.”

She looks up. I look back. The silence stretches.

“You’re saying the PTA made that up?” she asks.

“I’m saying she might have misheard.”

“Misheard that exact sentence?”

“Could happen.”

Her mouth tightens. “Mr. James.”

“Fine. Maybe I said it.”

“Maybe?”

“It was a stressful environment.”

“It was a bake sale.” She sighs and pulls out another document. “There was a motion to ban you from school property.”

I sit up a little straighter. “Bit dramatic.”

“It was voted on.”

“Jesus.”

“The vote went in your favor.” She turns the paper around. Three names under the ‘in favor’ column. The other side…the list keeps going. She flips the page. Then another.

“That’s good,” I say, “because I was thinking I’d help with the dance.”

Ms. Grover pauses. “The Spring Dance?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to help with the Spring Dance?”

“That’s what I said.”

Her gaze drifts briefly to my injured arm before returning to my face.

“We need chaperones.”

I frown. “What the hell is that?”

She closes her eyes for half a second. “Parents or carers who maintain safety, enforce the rules, and ensure a positive experience for the students.”

“So security.”