Matt & Zoe by Charles Sheehan-Miles Read Free Book Online

intimidate the teachers of this town like you and your football jock friends used to do when you were a kid.”
    Barrington flushes red. “Mrs. Young, you can’t—”
    “I’m seventy years old. I’d already been a teacher for decades when you were a pimply boy in my freshman English class. And I’m telling you now, if you don’t concede on something then you’ll have to figure out how you’re going to educate the children of this town without teachers.”
    Blakely’s mouth forms a prim line. “It seems we are at an impasse.”
    I sigh. “So you don’t have any alternative? No new proposal?”
    Blakely shakes her head. “No. This is as far as we go.”
    I look to my left. Tyler frowns and nods. I look to my right. Peggy looks resigned. I nod slightly, then say, “Miss Blakely, Mister Barrington. On behalf of the South Hadley Education Association, I’m informing you that you have a one-week deadline. If the school committee is unable to consider a compromise by next Thursday at midnight, then the union will vote on a strike.”
    Barrington jabs a finger toward me. “You’ll regret this, Matt. Don’t think I won’t forget it.”
    I swallow. Barrington likely isn’t making empty threats. I’ve heard rumors of retaliation against teachers he doesn’t like.
    Blakely stands. “We’re done here.”
    My chair scrapes against the floor as we all come to our feet. “Mister Barrington… Miss Blakely … Miss Greeley. Thank you for your time.”
    I don’t trust myself to say anything appropriate as I lead the others out of the office.

Chapter Five
    Miss Welch? (Zoe)
    “I don’t wanna eat my vegetables,” Jasmine says for the four-hundredth time. Just in case I didn’t hear her before. It’s been a little more than a week since I came home, and her grief is starting to turn sullen.
    I wave a fork in her direction. “I’m not arguing with you, Jasmine. If you want ice cream after dinner, you’ll eat.”
    Nicole, still in her uniform after a day on patrol, leans close to me. “You’re starting to sound like a mother.”
    That sets Jasmine off. She slams her little fist into the table, sending her plastic cup full of milk flying across the table. Milk splatters everywhere, including on me.
    “You’re not my mother!” She bursts into tears and runs out of the room. Moments after she runs out of the room, I hear the back door slam.
    I stare after her. I know I should follow. I know I should hold her in my arms and comfort her and do all that motherly stuff. She’s right. I’m not our mother, our mother is dead and we’re all alone.
    Nicole squeezes my shoulder. “It’ll get better,” she says.
    “I hope so.” I throw my napkin on the wet table and stand. “I’ll be right back.”
    I don’t hurry. Jasmine needs a minute to collect herself anyway. Instead, I dawdle to the back door and switch on the outside light, illuminating the space between the house and Dad’s garage.
    I still haven’t been in there. It sits dark and hidden in the twilight behind locked doors. I have a compulsion to call a contractor and have the thing bulldozed and taken away.
    Instead, I open the back door and step down the cinderblock steps to the gravel pathway behind the house. It’s still warm, and the scent of turned soil, hay and manure drifts my way. South Hadley, like much of the Pioneer Valley, is a weird mix of college town and rural paradise, with working family farms across the street from eclectic bookstores and coffee shops. Mom and Dad rarely locked the doors when I was growing up.
    The light is on in the stable, the building backlit by a sky washed with orange and red.
    A thought nags in the back of my mind as I approach. I never expected to be taking care of my little sister. Much less my little sister and a nine acre horse farm and three horses. This morning I met with Veterans Services and the admissions department at UMASS Amherst. Veterans Services is trying to get an exception to the normal