Page 6 of A Love Most Fatal

3

VANESSA

“Now, Artie is just an awesome kid,”Nate starts, his voice in teacher-talking-to-parent mode. “He’s a joy to be in class, and exceptionally smart. I am very impressed by him, and that isn’t something I say about all of my students.”

I think about Willa’s text, the one that said Artie was failing this class and that I needed to “do anything you need” to fix it. Whatever Willa thinksthatmeans.

“If he’s so excellent, then why is he failing?”

Nate nods, as if he was expecting this question, and pulls a paper out of the file folder in front of him. He slides it across the little desk to me, and I scan it briefly. Artie’s grades. Tests and in-class participation all A’s, but the mile long list of other assignments all zeros.

“No matter what I do, I can’t get Artie to turn in any of his homework. He seems to believe that homework is an ‘antiquated practice used to make young people miserable,’” he says, obviously quoting the little shithead, who I recognize as quoting Mary.

He’s twelve.

I try not to sigh.

“This argument is ringing a bell,” I say.

Artie is all of the things his teacher described; smart and joyful and wonderful, but he’s stubborn, too. No doubt he’d been digging his heels in about this all semester since Mary planted the seed in his head. Sometimes I believe some of the adults in my family would fit right into middle school.

“His grade has suffered, but further, he’s nearly started a revolution in the class, a quarter of his classmates also opting to not submit the quarter’s worth of assignments.”

If I didn’t think my godson was meant to play basketball, video games, and be the otherwise untouchable prince of the family, I would say that he was meant to lead. Perfect heir potential if he wasn’t too good for this world.

“I see.”

“And the thing is, I think he is doing the homework. He comes to class prepared to participate every day, but when it comes time to turn things in, he says he doesn’t have it.”

Now, I do sigh, because it sounds just like him. He does do homework, I’ve seen him do it as recently as last night, and he even helps his twin sister with hers when she doesn’t get it.

My phone buzzes in my bag again, no doubt Willa telling me to get on my knees for Artie’s cute, weird teacher to get him to give her son a better grade before the end of term.

“What grade does he need to finish the basketball season?” I ask.

“It’s his GPA, he needs at least a 2.5.”

“Seems high.” Higher than when I was in high school at least. Most of the athletes I knew were barely scraping by in their classes. But Artie’s in the seventh grade, what does he need a GPA for?

“Low Bs across the board. A couple of C-pluses would be fine. Totally doable,” Nate explains.

“And because of your class, he’s. . .”

“Sitting at a 2.2.”

Nate hands me a few more papers from the folder; his grades from his other classes, all much the same story. Except for his extracurriculars. He’s got an A in P.E. and painting. Good for him.

“As you said, he’s a great kid. If you suspect that he’s doing the work, is there a way you can give him partial credit?”

“I can’t give him credit for work that I have no proof that he’s done.”

“But you said he’s always prepared in class. He participates?”

“Yes, Artie is extremely bright, but his little cohort of anti-homework followers aren’t faring so well,” Nate explains.

He wants me to just agree and say that I’ll talk to Artie, I know he does, and trust me that’s what I want, too. I really,reallydo.

But if I don’t at least attempt to sway him, Willa will ride my ass to hell about not trying harder.