“Unfounded”

I never suspected I would find myself here again. How many years has it been? Thirty?

And there she is, my own daughter, my flesh and blood, announcing that she wants to attend this high school.

I have never told her my story connected to this place. After all, I graduated from a different one. She knows nothing about the false accusations or the blackmail: either you resign quietly, or you will be expelled and never admitted to any other school. She has heard no rumours about me, though perhaps one day she will. I wonder what kind of stories will be told about her.

She fell for the same promise I once did: high-quality classes and a great tradition. Will she also be diligent but ordinary? Will she also be a non-smoking, non-drinking outsider?

“I will support her no matter what,” I hear myself say aloud.

“Of course you will, Babs, and so will I,” says my husband, casually stirring the tomato soup that has started to boil.

“Come on, Jim. This soup doesn’t need that much heat,” I point out.

“I’m just trying to give it the warmth it deserves,” he replies calmly.

We have always been a strange but loving family. We met in our thirties and, surprisingly, fell for each other almost immediately. After trying to build a career and switching between several, I eventually became a police officer. A law degree and specialized courses helped me become a good investigator. Jim, on the other hand, has always been the athletic one, treating his muscles as a form of persuasion. When it came to criminals, he chased and caught them. I extracted the truth, no matter how dirty.

Our beloved daughter, Nora, since turning eleven, has subconsciously started confiding more in Jim than in me. My questions tend to have layers upon layers, even when I mean no harm. But Nora feels as if she has to dance like an acrobat to avoid being hurt by those layers, and she is a rather poor dancer.

“Nora would like us to submit her documents to the school, Babs,” Jim says just as I finish the last spoonful of warmth. It feels as if someone has served me sour ice cream.

“K.”

“K?”

“Skibidi boom K,” I add.

I’m desperately trying to bring some joke to the table because the dish I’m to be served in some time will surely be heavy.

How old would my former principal be now? She was in her forties when they tried to expel me, so she must be an elderly lady by now. I have already investigated the school’s website. None of the teachers I once had are still there.

“Maybe it’s time for the talk?” Jim asks, looking me straight in the eyes.

“Come on. She takes after me, so you won’t be a grandpa anytime soon, I’m sure.”

“You know I mean a completely different talk.”

The warmth of our meal has completely faded, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I know Nora will pass the exams and be admitted to the school. I am also aware that a similar story might unfold, because her father and I are soft-hearted, pointless idealists who believe that good will prevail and evil will be punished.

Even though our lives have shown us otherwise.

***

Every good story has this moment when nothing extraordinary happens. Days slowly go by, but deep down the reader feels that a bomb will be dropped at any moment. As a good manifester, I eventually made it happen. After three months of Nora studying at my former school, I received a call. The principal wanted to see me, and it was of urgent importance.

My heart skipped a beat.

The night before the meeting, I didn’t sleep at all. Jim tried various ways to improve my mood but was also aware that my school story needed closure. I promised him that whatever happened, I would handle it, and then we would celebrate together. Even if the reason for the celebration turned out to be Nora’s need to find a new high school.

After the sleepless night, I decided not to drive. I took a day off and came to the school by bus, like an ordinary high school student. Despite the many years that had passed, the exterior and interior design hadn’t changed much. The principal’s office was exactly where I remembered it. The corridor was busy. Students moved between classrooms or read and repeated notes aloud.

“Good morning. I’m glad you could make it,” the principal says, welcoming me.

“Um, yes, you told me this was important,” I smile uneasily.

“Well,” she begins after closing the door, “about Nora’s behaviour…”

Unfortunately, Babs’s behaviour is unacceptable.

“Huh? Why my behaviour?”

“No, no, we’re talking about Nora’s behaviour. She doesn’t fit in easily.”

Yes, Babs has caused a lot of trouble and put other students in danger.

“What danger are we talking about?” I ask hastily.

“I wouldn’t say it was danger, quite the opposite. Many school groups form because students smoke or drink alcohol together. Nora, in turn, openly questions bonds formed in that way,” the principal smiles.

Of course. I believe it was Babs who started this stupid, dangerous series of games. She made Mary drink a bottle of tequila.

“Huh?”

“Yes, it’s good that she isn’t an addict, but I’m concerned because she questions not only her peers but also teachers,” the principal adds.

It is unbelievable that Babs dares to question the authority of teachers who are worried about Mary’s current condition.

“Oh my,” I exclaim. I start to realize that the principal is telling me one story, but I seem to be hearing a slightly different one. Still, I don’t intend to explain myself now. This is about my, our, dearest Nora. My trauma needs to stay quiet, at least for a while.

“I can see that you take your daughter’s situation very seriously, which is good. Let me explain what happened, according to everyone involved. Then I’ll need to ask you some questions, and we’ll try to find a good solution together,” the principal says calmly.

I don’t care that there is no proof of Babs’s guilt. There is no proof of her innocence either. So what if she attended all the classes? How does that prove she didn’t cause Mary’s current condition?

“Yes, of course. Please, go on,” I say.

“During the long break a few days ago, I went for a walk around the school. I heard raised voices nearby, so I came closer. I saw Nora talking to some of the popular students from her class who were smoking cigarettes. She was warning them about the history teacher, who allegedly often smokes with them. She told them that the teacher intends to learn their secrets and then use them against the students. She gave the example of Lisa and said she would come to me and ask for help because Lisa is afraid and feels that the teacher behaves inappropriately toward her.”

So the story repeats. I wonder whether Nora will meet the same destiny. Maybe I can share my Metallica songs with her. They helped me back then.

“And you don’t believe Nora, do you?” I shoot back. That was my police self speaking. My lawyer self immediately began outlining the necessary steps if the story were to repeat itself, because if it does, the ending will be different. Or maybe I really am skibidi.

“To be honest, I see a lot of potential in Nora. The fact that she doesn’t take anything for granted and keeps an open mind is inspiring. Nora herself told me that she understands I might not believe her. She said I could expel her and make her further education impossible. But if that happened, she believes the system wouldn’t be worth it anyway, and she would rather become a plumber, an artist, or even a police officer like her parents,” the principal smiles.

I can’t help it. Tears come to my eyes. The pride. She is so much wiser than her mother ever was. If my parents were here, they would be proud too. There must be some wise people in Jim’s family, not mine.

“By all means, I stand by my daughter,” I say, looking the principal straight in the eye. “If you decide to expel her, there will be official proceedings and an attorney involved. I will not let this school hurt my daughter.”

“Yes, I understand. I don’t intend to expel Nora, but we do need to resolve the situation. The teacher claims he was joking and was unaware that Lisa felt uncomfortable. According to his testimony, he treats her like a younger sister. He also admitted to blackmailing students, but said he did it to stop them from smoking and drinking. Nora herself pointed out that this was a possibility. However, even if the teacher is telling the truth, we must protect the students from any potential retaliation. And Lisa, above all, needs to feel safe,” the principal continues.

***

An official investigation followed and lasted a week. It was impossible to prove malicious intent on the teacher’s part. At the same time, every party involved was telling their truth. The principal organized a meeting with all parties present and invited a mediator. The mediator presented each perspective. The conclusion was that certain boundaries had not been clearly defined and had been crossed.

It turned out that everyone had meant well, but the means they chose differed. The principal decided that the teacher would no longer be involved with Lisa’s or Nora’s groups. The girls were instructed on how to recognize and protect their boundaries and not to jump to conclusions too quickly.

“Mum, I’m so glad this is over and that I don’t have to find a new school,” Nora says with relief.

“Me too. Actually, they showed a lot of empathy in handling the situation,” I admit.

“Yes. The principal told me she was given a kind of instruction card by the former principal,” Nora adds.

“What instruction card?” I ask.

“The former principal told the current one that many years ago there was a similar story, and it ended badly. From the context, I understood that the principal back then wasn’t interested in hearing the other person’s story, and someone was deeply hurt by the school. Interesting, isn’t it, Mum?” Nora’s piercing gaze hits me so hard that I almost collapse.

“Oh, really?” I smile, praying my tears don’t show. “Do you remember what your dad and I have always told you?”

“To come immediately when called, not ‘in a minute’?” she guesses.

“Audiatur et altera pars,” I say proudly.

“Which means?”

“That before coming to conclusions, we must always hear the other person’s version of the story.”

“I’m sure there was no Latin on that card, even though I never saw it,” Nora laughs.

This time, I stood my ground and didn’t walk away from the challenge. Nora’s story ended well, and I didn’t burden her with my past. After all, I’m her mother. I’ve decided that my child will not carry my trauma in her backpack of experience. And my own backpack feels so light today.