The War Cloud

5

The Westchester School in Bedford, New York, was a public charter school, one of America’s finest. Sachs sent Jennifer here because she didn’t want to compromise herself as a champion of public education by enrolling her daughter in a private school. But she couldn’t find an acceptable public school in Washington. So Aunt Dina and the Westchester Middle School seemed to be the answer, even if Jennifer called all public schools, local or charter, “government schools.” Only now, Sachs wondered if she had sacrificed her relationship with her daughter on the altar of her idealism.

The verdict was waiting for inside. A sullen Jennifer, arms folded across her chest, sat in the office of Principal Mel Boyle. The school clock said 11:44, a few minutes faster than her own watch, so Sachs was running eight minutes late. Eight minutes of hell from the look on Jennifer’s face.

“So why aren’t you in Washington, putting other children first?” Jennifer asked without looking up.

“Shhh,” Sachs replied with a smile. “Mom’s playing hooky.”

Principal Melanie Boyle, a Barbie blonde in slacks and heels, walked in. “Nice to see you again, Madame Secretary.”

“Principal Boyle,” Sachs said, greeting her.

“Doctor Boyle,” the principal corrected her. “Everybody’s gathering in the gymnasium. We so appreciate your visit, although I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Sachs didn’t know if Boyle meant her impending job execution or if she was referring to Jennifer. “Is there a problem?”

Boyle slid a file across her desk. Sachs could see the big fat “F” circled in red. “This is Jennifer’s U.S. Constitution final,” Boyle explained. “Not only could she not name all of the current members of the president’s Cabinet, she couldn’t even name one. Not even the Secretary of Education.”

Boyle raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow.

Sachs studied the exam for a minute and then put it down.

“Well, I’d probably miss that one, too, if the answer wasn’t me,” she said. “But you know all the rest, Jennifer. What’s going on?”

“Globalization,” Jennifer said with all seriousness. “The U.S. Constitution is obsolete. To quote Socrates, I’m not a New Yorker or an American, but a citizen of the world.”

If Principal Boyle wasn’t just as serious as Jennifer, Sachs would have burst out laughing. But she kept a straight face and addressed her daughter. “Maybe, darling. But most of the world’s democracies have constitutions based on oursunless you want to live in a police state, and condemn the rest of humanity to the same fate, you’d better learn which way is up.”

“What planet are you from, Mom?” Jennifer made a dramatic, sweeping gesture with her hand, the back of which still bore an admission stamp from some event. “Look around you. Have you seen this government school? This IS a police state. My Bill of Rights didn’t keep the government from sucking in your tax dollars, nor Ms. Boyle from opening my private locker and going through my diary, or kicking me out of the school dance last Friday.”

“School dance?” Sachs repeated, looking at Jennifer. “You never told me about a dance. Did you go with—”

“She was wearing thong underwear,” Boyle declared, cutting her off. “Highly visible underwear, I might add.”

Sachs stared at her 13-year-old daughter, trying to process this ambush of zingers from Boyle. “You were wearing a thong?”

“Well, duh.” Jennifer was non-apologetic. “Everybody at the dance could see my thong after Ms. Vice Squad here lifted up my skirt.”

Sachs stared at Boyle. “You looked under my daughter’s skirt?”

“Whatever,” said Jennifer. “Can we get going already?”

“We should move along,” Boyle helpfully agreed, clearly looking to delay the inevitable, ugly parent-teacher conference with Sachs. “Everybody’s in the gymnasium.”

Sachs looked at both of them, not sure whom she was more furious at. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s not keep them waiting. I’ll deal with you later, ladies. Both of you.”