Free Edge by M. E. Kerr

I? Did your stomach turn over the way mine did when I saw that F in math?
    â€œAre you one of my students?”
    â€œOh, like I’m going to tell you if I am.”
    â€œYou must be.”
    â€œI could be, couldn’t I? You’re not everyone’s dream teacher, are you?”
    â€œPlease don’t hurt my dog.”
    â€œI’m not cruel by nature.”
    I don’t take after my old man. He said he was sorry that I flunked math because he knew how much I was counting on the hike through Yellowstone this summer. He said maybe the other guys would take some photographs so I could see what I was missing while I went to summer school to get a passing grade. “Gee, Scott,” he said, “what a shame, and now you won’t get an allowance, either, or have TV in your bedroom, or the use of the computer. But never mind, sonny boy,” he said, “there’ll be lots to do around the house. I’ll leave lists for you every day of things to be done before I get home.”
    Mrs. Whitman whined, “I just don’t have a thousand dollars. I don’t know where I’ll get so much money, either.”
    Sometimes I whined that way, and my mom would say, “Scotty, we wouldn’t be so hard on you if you’d only take responsibility for your actions. We tell you to be in at eleven P.M. and you claim the bus was late. We ask you to take the tapes back to Videoland and you say we never said to do it. You always have an excuse for everything! You never blame yourself!”
    â€œMrs. Whitman? I don’t mean to be hard on you but that’s the deal, see. A thou in hundreds.”
    â€œJust don’t hurt Gloria.”
    â€œGee, what a shame that you have to worry about such a thing. She’s a sweet little dog, and I know she misses you because she’s not eating.”
    â€œShe doesn’t eat dog food, Bud. I cook for her.”
    â€œThat’s why she doesn’t eat, hmm? I don’t know how to cook.”
    â€œYou could just put a frozen dinner in the microwave. A turkey dinner, or a Swanson’s pot roast. I’ll pay you for it.”
    â€œA thousand dollars plus ten for frozen dinners? Is that what you’re suggesting?”
    â€œLet me think. Please. I have to think how I can get the money.”
    â€œOf course you do. I’ll call you back, Mrs. Whitman, and meanwhile I’ll go to the store and get some Swanson’s frozen dinners.”
    â€œWhen will you—”
    I hung up.
    I could hear Dad coming up the stairs.
    â€œScott?”
    â€œYes, sir?”
    â€œI’m going to take the Saturn in for an oil change. I want you to come with me.”
    â€œI have some homework, sir.”
    â€œI want you to come with me. Now .”
    In the car, he said, “We need to talk.”
    â€œAbout what?” I said.
    There was one of her Lost Dog signs tacked to the telephone pole at the end of our street.
    â€œWe need to talk about this summer,” he said.
    â€œWhat about it?”
    â€œYou have to make up the math grade. That you have to do. I’m sorry you can’t go to Yellowstone.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œThere’s no other way if you want to get into any kind of college. Your other grades are fine. But you need math. … What’s so hard about math, Scott?”
    â€œI hate it!”
    â€œI did, too, but I learned it. You have to study.”
    â€œMrs. Whitman doesn’t like me.”
    â€œWhy doesn’t she like you?”
    â€œShe doesn’t like anyone but that bulldog.”
    â€œWho’s lost, apparently.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œThe signs are everywhere.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œBut she wouldn’t deliberately flunk you, would she?”
    â€œWho knows?”
    â€œDo you really think a teacher would flunk you because she doesn’t like you?”
    â€œWho knows?”
    â€œScott, you’ve got to admit when