Under An Adirondack Sky

“Growing up without a dad—and a mother who rarely recognizes him—hasn’t been easy. I’m not making any excuses. He was wrong and acted like a delinquent.” Aiden’s large hands splayed across the table. “But he hasn’t been given the structure and discipline he needs at this school. Lunch detention in Ms. Day’s office isn’t a real punishment, when Connor mentions playing video games and eating Skittles.”

An awkward hush fell and Rebecca’s cheeks warmed as the math teacher smirked. “We do those activities during my lunch groups, not lunch detention,” Rebecca clarified, striving to maintain a professional tone as she imagined throttling the clueless guardian. He’d know that if he actually listened to his brother. Attended one of her requested meetings.

Aiden’s chest rose and fell sharply. “And what is lunch detention, then? M&M’S? You’ve been enabling his behavior.”

“And how much time have you spent addressing his actions?” she challenged, her control slipping through her fingers like sand. Darn it. She was not some easy, soft touch the kids took advantage of. Her gaze roamed around the table, taking in the shuttered expressions of her colleagues.

Was she?

“That’s your job,” he said through gritted teeth. When his cell phone buzzed again, he yanked it out of his pocket and punched it off, his eyes never leaving Rebecca’s.

“No. It’s—”

“A village.” Mrs. Carpenter interrupted Rebecca smoothly. “It takes a village to raise a child. We all need to work together. It’s why we’re here today. For you, Connor.” She reached over to pat the boy’s hand and he yanked it away, knotting his fingers on his lap.

“And Connor goes to Ms. Day’s when he acts out because, as a behavioral therapist, she’s the best person to defuse his outbursts,” she finished.

Rebecca subsided back against her chair, fuming, though grateful for her principal’s support. Guardians like Aiden drove her crazy. They pushed her near the line she could not cross. She bit the inside of her cheek and focused on the sting instead of what she really wanted to say to the jerk who’d fooled her last night into thinking he was a nice guy. That he cared. Wanted to hear about her problems.

Oh no. Had she really complained about her control-top panty hose?

“Right,” Aiden said, after a beat of silence, not looking as though he agreed at all. “The facts are that, according to Connor, Marshall started the fight by picking on our youngest brother, Daniel, when he arrived to walk home with his brother, and I believe Connor. Please readmit him and reassign him to his old therapist. He knew how to be tough on my brother.” Aiden ran his hand through his thick, short waves. His eyes met Rebecca’s, then slid away, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw.

“Hear, hear,” murmured a few of the other teachers.

“And his failure to help Connor was the reason he was transferred to me,” Rebecca insisted. “Although we’ve only been working together a short time, I believe I’m making progress with him.”

“Some progress...is boxing one of your methods?” chimed in another teacher, Mr. LaValley. “I agree with Mr. Walsh, Connor should be sent back to his original therapist.”

Connor’s head snapped up and Rebecca sent him a reassuring look. No. That wouldn’t happen. A guardian requesting a transfer from her caseload looked bad for her tenure prospects. More importantly, Connor, who struggled to build rapport with adults, would have to work with someone he already disliked. It’d taken almost three weeks of patience, good humor and losing badly to him at card games for him to open up to her...a bit.

“Well, we certainly know who ended the fight.” Mr. Anderson scowled. “I didn’t see Marshall picking on Connor’s younger brother or hitting back. And I certainly didn’t deserve the violence I received.”

“I say we vote,” chimed in Mr. LaValley. He looked down the table at Connor, who was unraveling the metal spiral binding from his notebook. “Connor, you’re in my study hall five minutes, tops, before you’re causing problems and I don’t see that changing. Do you?”

The youth ripped out a length of the wire without acknowledging the teacher, and Rebecca winced. She hated that Connor was required to be present in order to hear these remarks. Superintendents’ hearings deliberately included students so they could understand how their behavior affected the staff and school. Yet it rarely motivated students to make lasting changes, in Rebecca’s opinion.

Murmurs of agreement circled the table and the teacher continued. “Other kids can’t work with that kind of troublemaking going on. We’ve given Connor too many chances, let him off easy. Let’s vote.”

Rebecca scratched her ear, trying not to squirm at the man’s condemning stare or the labeling they heaped on Connor. He’d slid so low in his chair he looked ready to fall under the table. Poor kid. How could he ever see himself positively when so many adults told him otherwise? Someday, if—when?—she had tenure, she’d fight to change the way these hearings were conducted.

Rebecca cleared her throat. “I’d like to propose a third alternative to readmitting Connor or expelling him.” The meeting and the teen’s fate were spiraling in the wrong direction. If she didn’t act fast, she wouldn’t be able to help him or disprove her detractors. If he succeeded, so did she, and they’d both be permanent school members.

She met Aiden’s speculative stare dead-on. Imagine. Blaming her for Connor’s poor choices—which were really just a cry for attention, a pattern of behavior he’d fallen into after being overlooked at home. Aiden might have inherited a lot of responsibility ten years ago when he’d been—she glanced at the file—just twenty-one, but that didn’t excuse a lack of caring. He needed to be a brother to Connor, not just a provider. Show up for more of Connor’s life than just the bad parts.

If he didn’t approve of her tactics now, just wait until he heard her plans.

“Psychologists in nearby districts and I are piloting a cutting-edge program that gets kids out of the city for a couple of weeks, in the Adirondacks, where we’ll provide therapy as well as teamwork, trust and esteem-building activities.”

“He’ll miss classes.”

“How will our budget pay for that?”

“Who’s supposed to supervise this? Not us.”

Comments exploded around the table and Rebecca’s head throbbed. Cold/flu, take two.

“The program starts during summer break so that it won’t interfere with academics,” she replied, noting when the guidance counselor caught her eye and nodded slowly. “As for the budget, we’ve received a generous grant, so it won’t affect school programs already in place.”

She returned her principal’s broad smile. They’d been particularly proud of receiving government funding for their request. Even better, there would be a stipend for Rebecca that would offset her financial woes this summer. Most important, success would make her tenure nearly undeniable. “As for supervision, a psychologist from each of the participating schools will attend, as well as trained staff at the camp and a few parent chaperones.”

“Where is it?” asked the guidance counselor. She pushed her slipping glasses back in place, suddenly looking interested.

“Tupper Lake. There’s a hundred-year-old farmhouse on the 230-acre property, which includes the west branch of the Ausable River, forested land and open fields, all owned and donated for this use by the Sikes family. We’ll use it as our base camp and all activities will be conducted around it.” Rebecca warmed to her topic, despite Aiden’s chilly expression.

“And how is that supposed to be a punishment?” grumbled Mr. Anderson.

“Connor needs to be accountable for his actions, not taken on vacation,” interjected Aiden. He drummed his fingers on the table.

“It’s not a punishment or a vacation,” Rebecca said evenly, after counting backward from ten. And taking a sip of coffee. And unnecessarily shuffling through her papers.

Control. Patience. Understanding. The tenets of her profession. “It’s behavior modification.” She pressed on, ignoring the subtle looks being exchanged between the study hall and math teachers. “Moving to the wilderness is a significant life change. It removes adolescents from their emotional comfort zone and requires different skills for self-care.”

“Making s’mores?” scoffed Mr. Anderson.

“Learning to make their own food is a part of it.” Rebecca had planned to present the program during a faculty-wide meeting, sell the skeptical teachers on it before recommending students. Now, she had to speak on the spot. Never her strong suit.

She pretended to sip her coffee again, even though there was nothing in her mug. At last, she set it down and took a deep breath. “The simplicity of the wilderness environment helps teenagers to recognize the results of their behavioral choices and encourages them to employ different coping strategies,” she continued, reciting the words she’d written in the grant proposal. “The challenges and activities we provide, in conjunction with group and individual therapy sessions, help students to address personal issues, increase self-esteem, achieve success in a safe environment, engage in healthy relationships and develop leadership potential.”

Connor stopped chewing his nails and stared at her.

“Leadership,” guffawed Mr. LaValley, until the guidance counselor tapped the table in front of him with her pen.

Mr. Williams leaned over the table, his crisp red tie dipping into a puddle of spilled coffee. “I’m liking the sound of this, Ms. Day. What efficacy statistics can you share?”

Rebecca released a small breath at his encouraging smile. “Studies show that outdoor behavioral health care results in clinically significant reductions in severity of behavioral and emotional symptoms. In similar programs, 83 percent of participants made a clinically significant improvement, with the most progress shown in the thirteen-to fourteen-year-old range, like Connor.”

“This is ridiculous!” Mr. Anderson declared. “So kids just go camping when they act out? Put on some ridiculous—” he squinted down at the paperwork “—talent show at the end?”

Connor’s eyes slid the man’s way, then back to her before dropping again. He looked interested. For once. Her hunch was right. This retreat could be good for him.

“It’s a showcase that allows the students to demonstrate their growth through personal and creative expression. While it looks like fun and games, trust me, it’s work,” Rebecca insisted. “Physically, mentally and emotionally. Connor deserves this last chance.” She glanced around the table, noting the softening expressions of her peers and a small, upward curve on Connor’s mouth. Aiden, however, looked ready to walk.

A muttering broke out and Rebecca’s stomach clenched. What if they turned this down? It was her last chance to prove her worth to the district.

“All in favor of him attending, please raise your hand.”

Four of the nine hands rose and then, with a shoulder shrug, the study hall teacher raised his palm, adding to the tally.