Rain Check?

After Shot ~ Principal

*Possible trigger warning as there is discussion over foster care.

Dempsey POV

"Be ready at seven."

I stare down at my phone, rereading the message that was sent to me five minutes ago, my eyes jerking between it and the glowing time on the clock. I'd like to say he's giving me ample to time to look decent, but it's now six fifty and I'm just pulling into the driveway.

I've been principal for all of two months. Pure exhaustion would be an understatement at this point, and I've been questioning whether or not I ever should've left the classroom. I enjoy the aspect of running the school, and still being around many of my previous coworkers. I'm trying to step up my game and be someone that keeps the teacher's thoughts and aspects at the forefront of my mind when doing my job, but it hasn't been easy.

The school district pulls for you to go in one direction, sighting statistics left and right in weekly meetings. The school board is built with people who truly don't know the first thing about teaching or education outside of the fact that they themselves have a degree but haven't set one foot inside a classroom other than meeting their own child's teacher.

My heart however, keeps me tethered to what I know. Children aren't meant to be a statistic. You can't compare one kid to another in the grand scheme of education. You can have hopes for each one, but how they reach their potential is never the same for two kids. It's our job to give them what they need to be successful, not what makes our job easier.

Our job is never easy. Being in the classroom with twenty plus children, it's sometimes easy to pinpoint and see the differences in each child. You start to really learn each one, their home life, where they thrive and where they struggle the most. There is a relationship built with each and everyone of them.

Being principal, with over three thousand students walking the halls every day, makes knowing the ins and outs of each one more difficult. I don't know which ones come into my school with empty bellies or hidden bruises. I have no idea which ones are sleeping with a pillow over their heads to muffle out the sounds of screaming parents. I find myself relying heavily on my teachers to make those connections and keep myself abreast, but it's tearing at my heart that I know there's so many more little ones that I can't help immediately.

Today was one of the harder days since the start of school. We received a phone call from child services requesting a meeting as soon as possible and not to let this particular student on the bus to go home. So the little boy hung out in my office after school hours until the woman who called was able to come at five o'clock. Our school closes at three-thirty. She then proceeds to tell me horrific news while I constantly glance over my shoulder at the innocent little boy who won't be going home any time soon.

Chris' car is no where to be seen, and I should genuinely be thrilled at the idea of getting out with him and enjoying time just the two of us. But I left this morning before either of the kids woke up and now I'm coming home to an empty house when I'd really adore holding each one of them a little longer and tighter before crawling into bed myself.

With one look at myself in our bedroom mirror I know there's absolutely no way that I can look presentable in the next ten minutes. My make up is pretty much gone, leftover mascara streaks my cheeks from crying the entire way home. Stupid cheeks are puffy and this time I can't blame it on pregnancy, either.

I splash water on my face, at least deciding I can just go out without make up at all.

"Baby!"

His voice always brings me happiness, the term of endearment lighting my heart years after the first time I heard him say it.