The lady I’d spoken to on the phone was seated on the other side of a long hardwood reception counter, with a big Cloverfield crest hung on the stone wall behind her. “Can I help you?” she asked me in a polite voice that suggested she thought she probably couldn’t. I suppose teenage boys—or people who barely looked older than them—didn’t come in here alone very often.
“Erm,” I said, trying to speak quietly because I sounded more like a guy that way, “I’m sorry to bother you. I’m Min Lee. I called you about an hour, an hour and a half ago.”
Recognition dawned on her face, and it hardened. “Oh, Briana’s boyfriend,” she said, looking uncomfortable. “I was very clear that our policy is that we can only speak to a student or her parents…”
“I know that’s what you said,” I told her, and then reached into my pocket and took out an authority form that I’d put in front of Bree while she was semi-conscious. After she’d signed it, I was out the door before she was awake enough to try and follow me. “But, listen,” I said, unfolding the form and putting it on the desk in front of the receptionist. “Bree’s parents aren’t going to come in, and Bree is feeling really terrible this morning. I found this form on your website to allow other people to speak on a student’s behalf, and I thought that if I got Bree to sign it, you could speak to me instead.”
The receptionist glanced down at the form and pointed to two empty fields below Bree’s signature. “This form needs to be co-signed by her parents to be valid,” the receptionist said politely. “If it can’t be signed by the parents, we need a family court order. I’m sorry, students can’t sign for themselves, it’s policy.”
“But there are extenuating circumstances,” I persisted, pushing the form forward on the desk a little. “Her parents are not available to sign this. Surely there must be some sort of policy for situations like this?”
The receptionist looked genuinely apologetic. “I understand you’re trying to help, but I’m sure you can imagine how difficult it would be for the school if students were getting their boyfriends to act on their behalf without getting their parents involved.”
This was frustrating. “Her parents aren’t involved, that’s the problem,” I told her. “That’s the whole problem. Bree’s in a really bad place now, I can’t put her through this. Please, there must be something you can do, someone I can speak to?” She was watching me closely, so I repeated, “Please?”
The receptionist frowned at me for a moment or two, deep in thought, and then shook her head and sighed. She looked resigned. “I’ll check her hardcopy file. But I can’t promise there’s anything that would help you in there,” she warned me. Standing, she went through into a back room behind the desk while I leant on the counter and waited.
It felt like eternity before the receptionist returned, and when she did, it was with a very thick manila folder. She sat back down in her chair, spreading the folder open in front of her. The second she did so, a red slip of paper fell out. She retrieved it, holding it so I couldn’t read what was written there. I didn’t need to; her whole expression changed. “I’m so sorry,” she said, closing Bree’s file. “I should have checked while you were on the phone. I need to speak with someone if you’d mind taking a seat for a moment? I can’t promise anything.”
I exhaled. That sounded hopeful, though, didn’t it? I took the authority form and went to sit on one of the chairs opposite the desk while the receptionist picked up the phone and spoke in hushed tones to someone.
I strained to listen to what she was saying, but I couldn’t make out individual words. Say yes, I willed whoever was on the end of that line. Say someone will tell me what’s going on.
After she hung up, she turned back to me. “Thanks for your patience,” she said. “The Principal will see you shortly.”
I don’t think I’d heard more welcome words in ages. What a relief; no matter what the issue with Bree was, even if it was the fees, I was sure if I was able to actually discuss it with someone, I’d be able to negotiate a good outcome for Bree. Things were so tough for her right now, after all. “Thank you,” I said, sure my gratitude was audible.
The Principal certainly was out shortly, I was hardly waiting even a minute. I heard her coming down the corridor before I saw her: walking with short brisk strides as her heels clipped on the floor. I expected someone taller than her by the authority in her gait, but when she came into the room she was very short, and she had her greying hair pulled back into a bun exactly like Diane Frost’s. That made me nervous.
She came right up into the centre of the room, surveying the reception area until she saw me in the corner. Her eyes settled on me. “Mr Lee?”
I stood, despite my shaking legs. “Yes?”
She came over to me and extended her hand. “Hilda McDougall,” she said as I shook it. Her grip was firm. “I’m the Principal. Would you mind stepping into my office?”
I followed her and her clicking heels up the corridor into a large, bright office with a heavy desk in the centre. She invited me to sit in a seat opposite with a gesture. All over her office, on all the surfaces and all the walls, were photos of student sporting events, musical recitals and plays, all meticulously labelled and dated. Some of them were from the 90s—she must have been Principal for a while.
As I sat, she closed the door behind me and went to sit on the other side of her table. “I understand Bree signed something for you?”
“Oh!” I said, and felt around my pockets, “Yes.” I passed it across to her.
She put her reading glasses on and unfolded it, running her eyes over the page—I saw a ghost of a smile on her lips, probably from the fact that Bree had written ‘best boyfriend ever’ in the ‘Relationship to Student:’ field—and then she spent a few seconds checking something on her computer.
She turned away from the screen. “You’re lucky,” she said, actually smiling a bit at me. “In my past life I taught law. The receptionist wouldn’t have known to check to see if Bree was 18. Since she is, this,” she waved the authority in the air before placing it aside, “is acceptable. It’s not really our policy to allow students to sign forms for themselves, but being the Principal does give me certain flexibility to make calls like this.”
God, my heart was pounding. “Thank you.”
“So, I understand there are ‘extenuating circumstances’ about why you are here instead of Mr and Mrs Dejanovic?” she asked, leaning forward and lacing her fingers on the table.
I nodded. “Bree and her parents have had a falling out. She’s living with me at the moment.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Well, that explains why they don’t answer the phone and never return our calls or our letters,” she noted. “This is actually the first time in two years I’ve been able to discuss Bree with someone. I can’t even get Bree herself into my office.” It occurred to me that she wasn’t calling her ‘Briana’; I wondered if it meant anything. She gave me an appraising look, and I was glad I wore my suit. “I must say, though, it is very unusual to be discussing something as serious as I need to with a student’s boyfriend.” She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head in concession. “Oh well, I’m prepared to accept there are no other options at this stage.”
Discussing ‘something as serious as I need to’..? I swallowed. I did not feel good about her tone of voice.
She was looking directly at me. “Has Bree told you about the state of her school accounts?”
My stomach dropped. Oh god, that is what this is all about. I swallowed. “Yes, she has.”
The Principal nodded, sitting back and watching me sombrely for a moment before taking off her reading glasses. “Mr Lee,” she began, “Cloverfield prides itself on the social inclusion programs we run, and every year we send a hundred open-minded, responsible young women out into the world to change it. Making sure every single girl feels valuable and empowered to effect change is one of our primary goals.” She paused. “But we’re an independent school, we’re not government-funde
d. We rely solely on fees for the costs of tuition, maintaining the school grounds and programs like the ones you see on this wall here,” she swept her hand out, gesturing at the dozens of photos on the wall beside her. “Bree’s fees haven’t been paid for two years. We’ve allowed her to study here because there is a general awareness amongst the staff that Bree is facing difficulties, but recently we’ve started to get complaints about her.”
What? “Complaints?”
The Principal nodded once. “It used to be just about her uniform, but recently staff have come to me to express concern that Bree has several brand new electronic devices. One week she was wearing a new gold bracelet, now she’s wearing a new gold necklace—which aren’t part of the uniform code anyway, you understand. She wears her uniform to show them off as if there isn’t a uniform code and ignores requests to fix this. Furthermore, just a couple of months ago I had a very angry staff member in here making claims about Bree being deliberately inappropriate with a young man right outside the front of the school in an expensive car.”
My blood ran cold; I remembered that. “She just kissed me,” I said, feeling sick. “I wouldn’t have let her if I knew it was going to cause trouble for her.”
The Principal nodded once to acknowledge what I’d said. “When students are wearing their uniforms, they represent our college, and their behaviour is expected to maintain the good reputation we have in the community. Bree does not have a strong history of doing that. And, unfortunately for Bree, that particular staff member has a wife on the school board, and insisted I take Bree’s accounts before the board because of their non-payment. I was not in a position to refuse.”
Pale, I listened, waiting for her to continue. Fuck, I couldn’t believe I’d been so thoughtless about that. Why had I let her pash me in front of that Maths teacher? What the hell was I thinking?
After a pause, the Principal continued. “When I presented her accounts and the complaints about her, the board instructed me to either collect the fees and address Bree’s behaviour, or terminate Bree’s tuition.”
Hearing her actually say it was like being punched in the stomach. I gulped a breath. “So you’re asking her to leave?”
She tilted her head again. “We’re asking that her fees be paid,” she corrected me. “And unfortunately, we’re unable to make any more payment arrangements with her parents because they’re simply not kept. We need her fees in full, at least for last year. This year, I can be more flexible about.”
“How much is it?” I managed to ask, as if there was any chance in hell her parents could afford it.
“Last year was $21,550. This year is $22,230.”
That knocked the wind out of me. “Nearly $44,000?” She had to be kidding; who on earth could afford that?
She nodded once. “We’re an independent school, Mr Lee. Our fees are comparatively cheap, given the area we’re situated in.”
I wondered on what planet that amount of money was considered ‘cheap’. I sat back, taking a deep breath and trying to get my head around that number. $44,000? Fuck. “I don’t see her parents paying that,” I said honestly. “I’m not sure what you know, but they don’t have the funds to pay anything near that amount at the moment.”
“Ordinarily we’re prepared to work with parents who are struggling,” she said. “But, as I mentioned, Bree’s parents don’t return calls and they haven’t engaged with us. I’m sorry it’s come to this, but perhaps it’s for the best.”
How could kicking Bree out of school possibly be for the best? “What do you mean?”
The Principal gave me a pained expression. “I’ve known Bree for six years,” she said. “And she’s a lovely girl, no one would doubt that, but I think you’ll agree with me that academic performance is not a strong point of hers. At Cloverfield, more than 90% of our girls go on to university—usually one of the top universities. Perhaps Bree would be more at home finishing her HSC in a TAFE, or perhaps one of the local public schools? I’ve already spoken to the Principal at Eastern Beaches High School, he says classes are quite full there, but he’s prepared to transition her into one of them given her circumstances. She could start on Monday, in fact.”
What on… “You’ve already made arrangements to kick her out?” I asked, my jaw open. “From Monday?”
“It’s for the best, Mr Lee,” The Principal assured me. “Her parents will only have to repay 18 months’ worth of fees instead of two full years. And Bree will fit in better in a public school, I think. They’re less focused on academic performance, and there’s no uniform code for her to be constantly breaking.”
God, I couldn’t….
I sat there with my jaw open, unable to process any of this. “But Bree’s been doing so well recently!” I said. “Couldn’t she apply for a scholarship or something?”
She seemed so calm. How could she be so calm about this? “Cloverfield scholarships require recipients to keep their grades above 85. Bree’s grades have improved—I suppose she has you to thank for that?—but they’re still hovering around 75. It’s not enough for me to justify awarding her with a scholarship.”
“So you’re kicking her out,” I said, breathless. “Just like that.” The Principal didn’t deny it.
God, I couldn’t imagine taking that news home to Bree. She was probably still in bed over the stuff to do with her parents, and now this? I shook my head. Poor Bree, nothing ever went right for her.
I couldn’t accept that it ended like this, I just couldn’t.
I was staring open-mouthed at the desk, when the Principal said very carefully, “If you don’t mind me asking, are you or your family in any position to assist Bree with paying her fees?”
I looked up at her. “I wished you’d asked me that question four months ago,” I said, and then sighed. “I was working in a high paid job. I’m a student now. I’m broke, I should probably have gotten a part-time job months ago.”
She wasn’t rude about it, but she did probe further. “A broke student who drives a prestige car, buys expensive electronics and jewellery for his girlfriend, and arrives to collect Bree’s marks dressed as you are? You can forgive people for thinking there’s money around that would be better spent on Bree’s schooling.”
“Well, you can tell those people things aren’t always as they seem,” I said a bit sharply, and then realised how rude that sounded. “I’m sorry, it’s just… Bree’s been working so hard the last couple of months. She’s just had to leave home. She doesn’t need this right now. You can’t kick her out. Surely you can wait three more months for her to finish her HSC?”
She didn’t budge even a fraction. “I’m sorry Mr Lee. The school board have given me instructions, I’m not at liberty to ignore them.”
“Can you at least give us some time? Maybe I could speak to Bree’s—”
“I’m sorry. I need payment before Semester two starts on Monday.”
I could hardly fucking conceive of what was going on here. “But Bree’s parents have no money, and they don’t care about her education. They’re not going to be able to pay it, and I have less than $500 in my bank account.”
She didn’t miss a beat and picked up the receiver on her phone. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll call Eastern Beaches to let them know Bree will start with them on Monday.”
I sat forward, holding my hand up to stop her. “No,” I said, “Please, she has friends here!”
The Principal was still holding the receiver. “Well, then,” she said. “How would you like to pay?”
I sat back, breathless. I can’t go home to tell Bree she’s been kicked out! I thought, that would destroy her, especially after last night. All that work she’d done to get her grades up, wasted. And what about Sarah and Gemma? They’d put in the hard work to ensure this didn’t happen, I didn’t want to feel like they’d wasted a large chunk of their free time and energy over the past two months for nothing. Everything we’d done, all of Bree’s hopes and dreams about—
“—Mr Lee,
if you don’t want Bree to be transferred, I need at least last year’s fees. How will they be paid?”
I couldn’t think straight. This was just… I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t have that kind of money.”
She didn’t look like she believed me. “Well, how much do you have access to right now? Do you have a credit card or an overdraft?”
“I have a credit card, but the limit’s only $10,000…”
She relaxed and put the phone receiver down. “Alright,” she said. “I can accept that as a deposit to release her marks,” she told me. “If you are able to provide the remaining $11,550 before next Thursday—that’s the next board meeting—Bree can remain the rest of the year with us, providing her marks stay stable and her presentation and behaviour improves. We can discuss this year’s fees at the end of semester. Is that suitable? If it’s not, I’ll need to start transferring her to Eastern Beaches immediately so the paperwork is ready for Monday.”
I just… I couldn’t…. $21,550? That was so much money, I couldn’t even imagine that—
“—Mr Lee? Do you want me to transfer Bree?”
“No…”
“Okay then,” she said. “I’ll get this arrangement organised.” She put her reading glasses on her nose again and swivelled back towards her computer, typing something up. The printer on her return sprung to life, spitting out a piece of paper. She plucked it off the tray and held it out to me. “Take this to the reception desk. They have an EFTPOS terminal there.”
I stared dumbly at it. Had I just agreed to—? I didn’t want Bree to be kicked out, but I couldn’t afford $21,550, I couldn’t. Since she wasn’t giving me much of a choice, I went to take the sheet of paper from her, numb and completely spun out, but she held onto it when I tried to pull it from her. We made eye contact. “I need you to understand I’m serious about this,” she said. “$10,000 today, $11,550 next week, no extensions. Bree needs to wear her school uniform properly, she needs to behave appropriately, and keep her marks above 75. Is that fair?”
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