The Incident (Chase Barnes Series Book 1) by John Montesano Page B
Authors: John Montesano
Ads: Link
really to blame? Is it Jake? Can it be the drugs?
Speaking of drugs- where did they come from? How did Jake get drugs? Who did he know to get him drugs? This is crazy! I’m done- NO MORE
I’m to blame! I’m to blame! I’m a terrible human being!
BLAME ME!
SEVENTEEN
I wrote back to Lindsey, asking if the nurse received a call or any type of contact from Esteban’s house about the reason why he wasn’t in school. Based on Esteban’s attendance record he was regularly in school and Lindsey told me his mother usually called and reported the reason for his absence. Lindsey previously mentioned that most of the reasons given were that he was sick or had a doctor’s appointment; she emphasized the reasons with quotes.
While I was waiting for her reply, I decided to sift through Esteban’s incident reports and sort them into several different piles. The piles were distinguished by the type of infraction: fighting, vandalism, bullying, and physical contact- student to teacher. The largest pile was a close tie between bullying and fighting. I hadn’t met Esteban yet but my impression, from what Lindsey told me, he liked to use his size and physical appearance to intimidate and push around his classmates. Several of the fights Esteban got into were initiated by his comments and successful attempts to provoke other students. I had a good feeling about the type of kid I was dealing with.
I hadn’t received a response text from Lindsey yet. I noticed the time to be about eight forty- five, which was just when arrival was winding down and the students were having their breakfast to get their day started. There wasn’t much more I could do until Lindsey replied to my text so I decided to get dressed for the day. I walked through the kitchen and climbed the adjacent staircase to the second floor, which brought me to a lengthy corridor with three bedrooms down to the right and a bathroom and linen closet to the left.
It wasn’t until the recent weeks that I was able to not only climb the stairs but walk the length of the corridor to my bedroom. For the longest time I had to sleep in the guest bedroom downstairs. It became such the routine that I had Lindsey move my clothes and amenities downstairs as well. Something about being upstairs in my bedroom created such a hostile environment in my brain that I wasn’t the only one that couldn’t sleep. My thrashing and violent jolts occasionally left bruises on Lindsey’s lower extremities. There’s a reason why I had such a difficulty sleeping upstairs but it’s a big part of my story that I haven’t told anyone about. I keep it to myself- well, now the lifeless pages of my journal know.
After dressing in a pair of jeans, a New York Mets t- shirt, and my black Sketchers, I went back down to the kitchen table. I checked my phone again. Still nothing from Lindsey. I wrote down Esteban’s address on a Post- it note and went back into his binder. A smaller section behind the incident reports was designated for FYIs. A while back, Lindsey had explained to me that FYIs were, in a sense, similar to incident reports but not nearly as thorough and were to be predominately used for nonviolent, but yet still concerning issues. The top of half of the page was where the concerning issue was to be explained and the bottom was where the writer was to explain what strategy was employed. Most of the time, the strategy employed was a simple series of verbal redirections or notifying the nurse or counselor. Esteban’s FYIs were written about the excessive use of inappropriate language, not completing homework, inappropriate usage of the Internet, aimlessly walking around the classroom, and even personal hygiene.
The five FYIs that blared
Speaking of drugs- where did they come from? How did Jake get drugs? Who did he know to get him drugs? This is crazy! I’m done- NO MORE
I’m to blame! I’m to blame! I’m a terrible human being!
BLAME ME!
SEVENTEEN
I wrote back to Lindsey, asking if the nurse received a call or any type of contact from Esteban’s house about the reason why he wasn’t in school. Based on Esteban’s attendance record he was regularly in school and Lindsey told me his mother usually called and reported the reason for his absence. Lindsey previously mentioned that most of the reasons given were that he was sick or had a doctor’s appointment; she emphasized the reasons with quotes.
While I was waiting for her reply, I decided to sift through Esteban’s incident reports and sort them into several different piles. The piles were distinguished by the type of infraction: fighting, vandalism, bullying, and physical contact- student to teacher. The largest pile was a close tie between bullying and fighting. I hadn’t met Esteban yet but my impression, from what Lindsey told me, he liked to use his size and physical appearance to intimidate and push around his classmates. Several of the fights Esteban got into were initiated by his comments and successful attempts to provoke other students. I had a good feeling about the type of kid I was dealing with.
I hadn’t received a response text from Lindsey yet. I noticed the time to be about eight forty- five, which was just when arrival was winding down and the students were having their breakfast to get their day started. There wasn’t much more I could do until Lindsey replied to my text so I decided to get dressed for the day. I walked through the kitchen and climbed the adjacent staircase to the second floor, which brought me to a lengthy corridor with three bedrooms down to the right and a bathroom and linen closet to the left.
It wasn’t until the recent weeks that I was able to not only climb the stairs but walk the length of the corridor to my bedroom. For the longest time I had to sleep in the guest bedroom downstairs. It became such the routine that I had Lindsey move my clothes and amenities downstairs as well. Something about being upstairs in my bedroom created such a hostile environment in my brain that I wasn’t the only one that couldn’t sleep. My thrashing and violent jolts occasionally left bruises on Lindsey’s lower extremities. There’s a reason why I had such a difficulty sleeping upstairs but it’s a big part of my story that I haven’t told anyone about. I keep it to myself- well, now the lifeless pages of my journal know.
After dressing in a pair of jeans, a New York Mets t- shirt, and my black Sketchers, I went back down to the kitchen table. I checked my phone again. Still nothing from Lindsey. I wrote down Esteban’s address on a Post- it note and went back into his binder. A smaller section behind the incident reports was designated for FYIs. A while back, Lindsey had explained to me that FYIs were, in a sense, similar to incident reports but not nearly as thorough and were to be predominately used for nonviolent, but yet still concerning issues. The top of half of the page was where the concerning issue was to be explained and the bottom was where the writer was to explain what strategy was employed. Most of the time, the strategy employed was a simple series of verbal redirections or notifying the nurse or counselor. Esteban’s FYIs were written about the excessive use of inappropriate language, not completing homework, inappropriate usage of the Internet, aimlessly walking around the classroom, and even personal hygiene.
The five FYIs that blared
Similar Books
