Chapter 12: The Whole Video

I called my principal from the kitchen with Conroy's coffee going cold in my hand.

"Della," she said, and her voice was sorry before she began. "The video is on every parent's phone. The district called at six."

"It's been cut. That isn't what I said."

"I believe you. But the foundation board votes Thursday on a paid leave for you."

"Who's on it?"

"Constance Rutledge chairs it."

I hadn't known that.

I had taught fourth grade for six years, and I had never once looked at who sat on the committee that bought our books.

"She's already told them how worried she is," my principal said. "She's been very kind about it."

"I'm sure she has."

I hung up.

Conroy stood at the sink with his arms crossed over his bare chest, in yesterday's jeans, listening.

"She'll take your classroom," he said. "And she'll do it nicely."

"I know."

"What do you need?"

"The real video." I put the mug down. "Somebody filmed it from the back row. The man with the phone. Whoever he is, he has the whole thing."

The doorbell rang.

We looked at each other.

Conroy put on his shirt and went down the hall ahead of me.

On my porch stood a thin man in a Rutledge Marine Supply fleece, holding his cap in both hands.

He was about twenty-five, and I had seen him Friday standing by the register.

"Ms. Schuler?" he said. "I work in the warehouse. I'm sorry to come to your house."

"Come in."

"No, thanks. I just." He took a phone from his pocket. "I filmed it on Friday, start to finish."

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