Page 29

“Thank you for agreeing to this meeting,” Mandy says, and I keep my eyes down on the paper in front of me.

Mrs. Sandburg, the assistant principal, is here along with Mandy and me, and the three of us sit on one side of the table while Travis Woods sits on the other. His daughter is in music right now, and Mandy slipped away from her planning hour to attend the meeting.

I have to keep my eyes on the paper. I made the mistake of glancing up one time when he first walked in, and his blue eyes burned into mine in such a way that I know if I look up at him again, I’m going to combust right here on the spot. It was like we were in that hallway at the Gridiron all over again, but this time I wanted to have a completely different conversation. Naked.

And just for the record, my thighs most certainly did not clench together when our eyes connected. No tummy flips or anything of that nature.

The last time I saw him was nearly a week ago, and I’m not sure my thighs have un- clenched since he grabbed my arm all hot and possessively. And in that week’s time, I still haven’t gotten my ball back from Owen, and he still won’t answer my messages even though I’ve tried daily to get in touch with him.

“Ms. Hartley and I have both spent time evaluating Harper over the last week, and we agree that while Harper seems to be above grade level in social sciences, and she’s certainly an excellent artist, she’s not at grade level when it comes to reading, which is causing struggles for her in both language arts and mathematics,” Mandy says. “Ms. Hartley, can you take it from here?”

I nod and read from my paper. “After extensive evaluations over the last week, I’ve noted mostly a processing speed deficit, though she’s also struggling with some phonological awareness. Her comprehension is on track when I read something aloud to her, but her processing time lags a bit. From what I’ve learned about her, the deficiency is definitely in reading and comprehending.”

“So what does that mean?” Travis asks.

“Phonological awareness is the organization of sounds—things like syllable recognition or rhyming. So, for example, I asked Harper how many syllables certain words have, and she was correct about sixty percent of the time. Processing speed deals with speed and accuracy of reading skills. It’s how quickly she can read, make sense of it, and respond to it. This is where she really struggled.”

“So what are you saying? She’s not performing how you want her to? She’s not smart? What? Just say it.”

I can’t help my horrified look when my gaze whips to his.

Shit.

That was a mistake.

My eyes move back to the paper, but I feel his gaze burning into me.

“That’s not what I’m saying at all, Mr. Woods. She’s an incredibly bright little girl. It’s not that she can’t do it. When children are first taught to read, they sound out words. Eventually this turns into recognizing groups of letters and being able to identify words by sight, and then only unfamiliar words need to be decoded. But Harper is still decoding words as she reads, meaning her brain doesn’t recognize words by sight. Her short-term memory can only hold so much information in it while she’s doing the hard work of decoding, so in the extra time it takes her to decode, she often gets frustrated and simply gives up even trying to understand what a text is saying.”

“Has she had previous struggles with this, Mr. Woods?” Mrs. Sandburg asks.

Oh jeez. Wrong question.

“Her parents died a few weeks ago and named me custodian. I have no fucking clue whether she’s had previous struggles. She’s struggling now, and that’s all I know,” he snaps at her.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she replies, folding her hands in front of her.

“What does all this mean?” he asks, turning back toward me.

Be professional, Hartley. I start a chant in my own head as I force my gaze back to his. “It means she’s going to continue to struggle and potentially give up unless we can intervene now.”

“How do we intervene?” he asks.

“The number one thing you can do at home is create a stable routine for her and include nightly reading practice for at least fifteen minutes as part of that routine,” I say, and I sort of brace myself because I can feel the anger vibrating off him from where I sit across the table. “I can send home additional practices, too, but even just hearing someone else read aloud to her as she follows along with a text can have a huge impact for starting to recognize sight words. I’ve created an IEP for her that allows for extra time on tests and other assignments as needed so she can have all the processing time she needs. Ms. Miller can also read directions aloud to her so she knows what to do, and she can modify assignments as necessary to help Harper feel higher levels of success. Voice to text and text to voice apps on tablets are great tools to help, too, but reading practice at home will be among the most important activities you can do with her to help her overcome these struggles. She will have them her entire life, but the more practice you put in with her now, the easier these things will become for her as she goes through school. I’d also recommend some after school tutoring. If you’re interested, I’d be happy to give you some recommendations or I can work with her one-on-one myself a few days a week.”

I push the proposed IEP across the table to Travis, and he barely glances at it before he picks up the pen and signs on the line at the bottom.

I notice the way he grips his pen.

It’s the same way Harper grips hers.

My brows crease together as I watch him sign. Oftentimes reading deficits are genetic, and I can’t help but wonder whether he struggles, too.

He shoves the paper back across the table toward me. “There. Are we done here?”

“Did you happen to have similar struggles going through school?” I ask.

He looks supremely offended. “Excuse me?”

I’m not sure why I press forward after the way he looks so offended, but I can’t help it. My curiosity and fascination with reading is getting the better of me. “It’s just…reading disorders are often genetic. There’s about a fifty percent chance if a father has it that a child will have it, too,” I say.

“So now you’re calling us both dumb,” he says flatly.

I shake my head. “I’m not calling anyone here dumb, Mr. Woods. I’m simply asking a question, and I have resources that can help both of you if you need it.”

He rises to a stand and glares across the table at me. He leans forward on his palms. “I’m twenty-fucking-eight years old, and I’ve gotten my ass all the way to the NFL without your stupid interventions, so you can take them and shove them. We’re fine without you. Have a wonderful day.”

He spins and walks out of the room, and all three of us are silent as he slams the door behind him.

“I’ll just go have a quick word with him,” Mrs. Sandburg finally says, rising to her feet and scurrying out of the room to catch him before he leaves.

“Shit,” I mutter when the door closes behind her.

“You think she’s going to go shoot her shot?” Mandy asks, nodding toward the door that just closed behind Mrs. Sandburg.

I grunt out a laugh, but then I shake my head as I nearly start to cry. “That didn’t go well.”

“Hey,” Mandy says, reaching over to touch my shoulder. “It’s fine.”

“That man is going to get me fired,” I wail.

She shakes her head. “That man wants to be inside you, my dear.”

I scoff at that. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh I do. The way he looked at you…whew!” She fans herself dramatically.

“Shut up,” I mutter. “He did not.”

“He sure the hell did, girlfriend. He wants you something fierce .” She nods her head. “Since we’ve already run into him once at the Gridiron, we’re going there for happy hour tomorrow night, and we’re staying until he shows up with his friends. Me-ow, girl. You need your kitty licked, and he’s just the boy who wants to do it. Angry bangs are the best bangs.”

“Whatever,” I mutter, but I do have a pretty strong feeling she isn’t going to let me out of happy hour at the Gridiron tomorrow.