Cutler 01 - Dawn

tennis courts, and Olympic-size pool. Jimmy whistled through his teeth.
    "Is this a school or a hotel?" he asked.
    Daddy pulled into his parking spot and turned off the engine. Then he turned to us, his face somber.
    "The principal's a lady," he said. "Her name's Mrs. Turnbell, and she meets and speaks to every new student who comes here. She's here early, too, so she's waiting in her office for both of you."
    "What's she like, Daddy?" I asked.
    "Well, she's got eyes as green as cucumbers that she glues on you when she talks to you. She ain't more n' five feet one, I'd say, but she's a tough one, as tough as raw bear meat. She's one of them blue bloods whose family goes back to the Revolutionary War. I gotta take you up there before I get to work," Daddy said.
    We followed Daddy through a rear entrance that took us up a short stairway to the main corridor of the school. The halls were immaculate, not a line of graffiti on a wall. The sunlight came through a corner window making the floors shine.
    "Spick and span, ain't it?" Daddy said. "That's my responsibility," he added proudly.
    As we walked along, we gazed into the classrooms. They were much smaller than any we had seen, but the desks looked big and brand-new. In one of the rooms I saw a young woman with dark brown hair preparing something on the blackboard for her soon-to-arrive class. As we went by, she looked our way and smiled.
    Daddy stopped in front of a door marked PRINCIPAL. He quickly brushed back the sides of his hair with the palms of his hands and opened the door. We stepped into a cozy outer office that had a small counter facing the door. There was a black leather settee to the right and a small wooden table in front of it with magazines piled neatly on top. I thought it looked more like a doctor's waiting room than a school principal's. A tall, thin woman with eyeglasses as thick as goggles appeared at the gate. Her dull light brown hair was cut just below her ears.
    "Mr. Longchamp, Mrs. Turnbell has been waiting," she said.
    Without a friendly sign in her face, the tall woman opened the gate and stepped back for us to walk through to the second door, Mrs. Turnbell's inner office. She knocked softly and then opened the door only enough to peer in.
    "The Longchamp children are here, Mrs. Turnbell," she said. We heard a thin, high-pitched voice say, "Show them in."
    The tall woman stepped back, and we entered right behind Daddy. Mrs. Turnbell, who wore a dark blue jacket and skirt with a white blouse, stood up behind her desk. She had silver hair wrapped in a tight bun at the back of her head, the strands pulled so tightly at the sides, that they pulled at the corners of her eyes, which were piercing green, just as Daddy said. She didn't wear any makeup, not even a touch of lipstick. She had a complexion even lighter than mine, with skin so thin, 1 could see the crisscrossing tiny blue veins in her temples.
    "This here's my kids, Mrs. Turnbell," Daddy declared.
    "I assumed that, Mr. Longchamp. You're late. You know the other children will be arriving shortly."
    "Well, we got here as soon as we could, ma'am. I—"
    "Never mind. Please be seated," she said to us and indicated the chairs in front of her desk. Daddy stood back, folding his arms across his chest. When I looked back at him, I saw a cold sharpness in his eyes. He was holding back his anger.
    "Should I stay?" he asked.
    "Of course, Mr. Longchamp. I like the parents to be present when I explain to students the philosophies of the Emerson Peabody School, so everyone understands. I was hoping your mother would be able to come as well," she said to us.
    Jimmy glared back at her. I could feel the tension in his body.
    "Our momma's not feeling that well yet, ma'am," I said. "And we have a baby sister she has to mind."
    "Yes. Be that as it may," Mrs. Turnbell said and sat down herself. "I trust you will take back to her everything I tell you anyway. Now, then," she said, looking at some papers before her on her desk. Everything on it was neatly arranged. "Your name is Dawn?"
    "Yes, ma'am."
    "Dawn," she repeated and shook her head and looked up at Daddy. "That's the child's full Christian name?"
    "Yes, ma'am."
    "Very well, and you are James?"
    "Jimmy," Jimmy corrected.
    "We don't use nicknames here, James." She clasped her hands and leaned toward us, fixing her gaze on Jimmy. "Those sort of things might have been tolerated at the other institutions you attended, public institutions," she said,