Kitty is very sociable

Apparently.

That comment came from everyone. With a kind of resigned smile and a lop-sided grin. The one you use when your no good boyfriend does something no good in front of your best friends.

When she's in class, added Mr. Harrison the gym teacher.

Having said that, Mr. Harrison spent five minutes telling me what a great kid Kitty was while searching frantically on his page for her name (and identifying squiggle I imagine). Then he found the name finally and said 'oh yes, Kitty' in a 'that's who she is' tone of voice. He paused for effect and looked up at me (he's very young. Very fit)

... Kitty's very sociable.

Apparently, I said. This being my fourth teacher.

But not all the time, he announced triumphantly, having something to say finally about a student he couldn't remember! I have... mmmmm..... four skips!!

My heart missed the corresponding number of beats.

If I was her I would definitely not be skipping her gym class.

And she could do with doing her homework a bit, said Ms Nichol.

She says she doesn't get any homework, I told her.

Ms. Nichol looked at me sympathetically. She was young too. All made up with bright red lipstick. She should be an elementary teacher really, she's wasted in a high school.

She gets lots of homework, she en-un-ci-at-ed clearly to me.

Apparently.

But her first history project was fantastic, she said.

I made a mental note to pass on the congratulations to the project manager. Himself was very proud of the imaginary island he spent a week building.

But the essay part of it was very weak.

I hung my head IN SHAME.

And she's missed two big project deadlines, said two of her other teachers.

When I got the dates they corresponded exactly with when Himself went back to work.

There was a lot more.

I went to see the dreaded Ms Dodson, who is old and evil and nasty and has a voice that gives Kitty a bad headache, which is why she's been skipping class.

Apparently.

Terrible things headaches.

Himself and I have a big one now.

Ms Dodson was lovely of course, a small soft-spoken woman in her forties who knew exactly who Keisha was and pointed out where she sits and didn't say she was sociable.

She's a terrible chatterbox isn't she, she said.

I nodded numbly.

I've been going easy on her up till now, but I'm done with the chatting in the corner so I am going to move everyone around to try to stop it.

Kitty comes home every day and moans and moans and moans about this woman. She doesn't talk in her class ever and she is being picked on.

Apparently.

I didn't want to moan at that point. I just wanted to crawl into her lap and weep with gratitude. A teacher who cared. Perhaps she's just older and wilier when it comes to parents. I didn't care at that stage. I needed positive affirmation that it was all going to be okay.

The drama teacher looked like a drama teacher. I took an instant dislike to her.

Well, Kitty's no actress, she said.

She saw my face.

Of course, that's not what my class is about.

Of course, I mumured, gratified that I can still drop them with a glare.

Even if it is only a drama teacher.

Ms. Martin so obviously didn't care a whit about Kitty that I didn't stay long with her.

We'll get her out of her shell, yet, she called after me in a motivational Mallory Towers kind of voice she probably perfected in drama school.

I kept the thought that maybe the other teachers wouldn't like that so much to myself.

I wandered the halls looking for the Lifeskills teacher.

Parents were milling everywhere. An imposing African Nova Scotian in a suit was patrolling the halls in vice-principal like fashion. He kept smiling at me. I wondered whether I should go over to him and talk about Kitty. Then I figured I'd end up on the fund-raising committee so I didn't.

Bad parent.

In one of the queues I met a guy who is a widower with two teenagers. He looked wrecked. It's so hard to be the good guy and the bad guy, he said.

I tried to think of something but he rushed on. She won't do a thing I say and I try to be her confidant but sometimes I need to punish her and I find it really difficult to switch gears, he said.

And she knows that and she's playing you, I added, helpfully I thought.

He looked horrified. Would she do that?

I said, there isn't a daughter alive doesn't play her father.

He sat chewing on that until he was called in to see Ms. Martin.

Who just loves his daughter.

Apparently.

I've just noticed the word apparently contains the word parent.

It should contain the words towering rage.