Child of My Right Hand by Eric Goodman Read Free Book Online

wasn’t supposed to tell them?
    â€œAnd kids coming up to Simon in the hall and saying ‘Die, faggot.’ We consider those overt threats, and we take them very seriously.”
    Burroughs’s right cheek expanded outward under pressure from his tongue. “We all think it’s serious, Mister Barish. That’s why we’re here.”
    Jack could feel blood beating in his ears, rage building up inside him, and he struggled to keep the pressure he felt out of his voice. “We think it’s so serious that I’ve spoken to the Title IX administrator at the University, who’s informed me that since Ohio and federal laws, and I quote, ‘Guarantee students the right to a school environment free from violence or the threat of physical violence,’ and since this threatened violence is about sexual orientation and the school has been warned,” Jack paused, trying to regain control of his voice, “although I’ve never been party to a lawsuit, I will sue the district for every dollar I can if anything happens to my son.”
    â€œMister Barish,” Burroughs said, looking out through his round lenses as if from inside a cave, “are you threatening me?”
    Absolutely, he longed to say, feeling the telltale tendon bulging on his neck. Not threatening—this was schoolyard when he was growing up—Promising, cocksucker! Then he felt Genna’s hand on his knee.
    â€œOf course not, Dr. Burroughs. I’m sorry if I gave that impression.”
    Primordial throat and teeth-baring silence followed, during which Burroughs surely believed he had backed Jack down. Then, with her eyes the balmy side of blue, Genna said, “What we’d like, Dr. Burroughs, is for you, or the guidance counselors, someone, to meet as soon as possible with the football team, and tell them how inappropriate this behavior is.”
    Jack concentrated on Genna’s hand squeezing his knee..
    â€œAnd how swiftly and harshly Tipton High will deal both with violence or the threat of violence. Something like that.”
    Genna smiled at Burroughs—how did she manage it?—then at Jack, as if they were twelve, or maybe eight-year-old chuckle-heads. There was a knock, and Marla entered. “Sorry to be late.” She sat in the last remaining chair and crossed her slim legs. “Simon will be here shortly.”
    â€œBefore he arrives,” the principal began, “I wanted to tell Mister and Mrs. Barish…”
    That’s Doctor and Doctor Barish, Jack thought, but did not say.
    â€œâ€¦that there have been complaints about Simon’s behavior.”
    â€œFrom whom?” Jack asked.
    â€œOther students report he’s been holding hands in the hall. Kissing his friend on the cheek. That’s against school policy, regardless of gender.”
    Genna and Jack glanced at each other. He said, “What about kids banging into him saying, ‘Die, faggot’?”
    â€œI’m not excusing their behavior. Don’t think for a moment anyone is.” Burroughs glanced at the open file folder on his desk. “But I see that Simon went to a performing arts high school last year. He needs to understand that this is a very different place.”
    Genna said, “I’m sure he does.”
    â€œWe know about the Klan march,” Jack said. “That’s why we settled in Cincinnati in the first place.”
    â€œThat was before my time,” Burroughs said.
    Jack’s eyes swung to Marla.
    â€œIt was terrible,” she said. “There are a lot of ignorant people here.”
    â€œThose attitudes remain in the community,” Burroughs added. “They just go underground.”
    Like badgers.
    â€œWalk around the school sometime,” Burroughs continued. “Look at all the Confederate belt buckles. You’ll see what we’re up against.” His cheek bulged again, as if full of acorns for winter. “The