between being a child and an adult, from being dependent on their parents to being independent of them.”
“I was a teenager once, not that long ago, but frankly it didn’t prepare me for dealing with my daughter. I think I might have a better handle on Craig when he becomes a teenager.” He chuckled. “At least I hope so, since that’s only a year away.”
“I know what you mean. I raised two brothers and a sister. My sister was easier for me. I struggled with Daniel, my youngest brother. I’m surprised he made it through high school. He failed several subjects and had to go to school a semester longer than his classmates. I will say I saw him grow up a lot in the past six months. I think watching all his friends go off to college last summer while he had to return to high school sobered him and made him aware of some of the mistakes he’d made.”
Samuel placed a hand on her arm. “Thank you.”
The touch of his fingers seared her. She knew she was overreacting to the gesture, but she couldn’t stop her heart from pounding against her chest. She was afraid its loud thumping could be heard across the rec hall. Even before she’d begun raising her siblings she hadn’t dated much. She was plain and shy, not two aspects that drew scores of men.
“You’re welcome,” she finally answered, her lips, mouth and throat dry. And she had been the one to invite him to her party next Saturday night.
Jane slammed the book closed. “How are you supposed to look a word up in the dictionary when you don’t have any idea how to spell it?” She slouched back in her desk, defiance in her expression.
Beth glanced up from grading a paper. “What word?”
“Perspective.”
“How do you think you spell it?”
“I don’t know!” The girl’s frustration etched a deep frown into her features.
Beth rose and came around her desk to stand next to Jane’s. “What do you think it starts with?”
“I don’t—” Jane’s eyes narrowed, and she looked toward the window. “With a p.” Her gaze returned to Beth’s. “But there are thousands of words that start with p.”
“Let’s start with the first syllable. Per.”
“P-r—” Jane pinched her lips together, her brows slashing downward.
“Almost. It’s p-e-r. What do you think comes next? Perspective.”
Jane leaned forward, folding her arms over the dictionary. “At this rate I’ll get one paragraph written by this time tomorrow. What’s the use?”
“I have a dictionary of commonly misspelled words. I can lend it to you. It might help with some of the words. If it does, you can get your own copy. See if you can find it by looking up p-e-r-s-p.” Beth knew it would be a lot faster and easier on everyone if she spelled the word completely for Jane, but she wanted to see how the teenager did. She had a feeling a lot more was going on with the young woman. Not only did she have few word attack skills, but she read with difficulty.
Jane blew out a breath and flipped the dictionary open, thumbing through the pages until she found the p section. With only a handful of selections to choose from, Jane pointed and said, “There.” She pushed the dictionary to the side and wrote down the word, grumbling about the time it had taken to find it.
Beth made her way back to her desk. Jane had been struggling with the writing assignment for an hour. The past few days working with her after school had sent red flags waving concerning Jane’s academic ability. Beth decided that when Samuel came to pick up his daughter she would have a talk with him about Jane.
Not ten minutes later Beth knew the instant Samuel appeared in the doorway. As though she had a sixth sense when it came to the man, she looked up to find him smiling at her from across the room. A dimple appeared in his left cheek, drawing Beth’s attention.
The second Jane saw him she finished the sentence she had been writing and gathered up her papers. She started to slide from the desk.
“Are you through, Jane?” Samuel asked, entering.
His presence seemed to shrink the large classroom to the size of a small closet, and for the life of her, Beth couldn’t understand why her pulse began to race. She suddenly worried that she looked as if she had spent the whole day in front of 150 students trying to inspire them to love literature—which she had. She felt even plainer, and wheeled her chair closer to her desk to shield her rather drab dress of gray cotton that didn’t quite hide her extra pounds. Maybe she should buy a few new outfits, more updated with some splashes of color, she thought.
“Yes.” Jane rose and brought the paper to Beth’s desk. After plopping it down, she headed for the door. “I’m getting a drink of water and going to my locker.”
The tension that churned the air left with Jane. Samuel watched his daughter disappear through the doorway before he turned toward Beth with one brow arched.
“This writing assignment was very difficult for her.” Beth picked up Jane’s paper and skimmed it. “And from the looks of it, she doesn’t have a firm background in grammar, punctuation and spelling. Her thoughts on the subject are good ones, but she has a hard time getting them down on paper.”
Samuel covered the distance between them and hovered in front of Beth’s desk—way too close for her peace of mind. The dimple in his left cheek vanished as he frowned.
“What are you telling me?” He took Jane’s paper and began to read.
“I think Jane needs to be tested to see if she has a learning disability.”
His head shot up, his gaze riveted to hers. “A learning disability!”
“A learning disability doesn’t mean that Jane isn’t smart. People with normal, even high, IQs can have a learning disability that hinders them learning what they need to know. How’s she doing in her other classes?”
“Not well except for geometry. She’s got an A in that class. That and advanced drawing.”
“Is she doing the work for the other teachers?”
“No. The same as yours. I’m trying to help her every night. She can’t do anything until she gets her homework done, which basically takes her the whole evening. The Morgan household has not been a fun one this past week. I feel more like a drill sergeant than a father.”
Disregarding how she imagined she looked, Beth stood, feeling at a disadvantage sitting behind her desk. She came around beside Samuel, wanting to help, to comfort. “I think she struggles with the reading part. When I gave her the learning-styles inventory, she tested almost completely a visual learner. So much of the work in high school is from lectures. I’m not sure she’s getting it. Her auditory skills seem to be weak.”
“Then what do I need to do?”
“Sign permission for her to be tested. I’ll refer her and our school psychologist will contact you.”
“I don’t know how well Jane will take this.”
Beth touched his arm, the urge to comfort growing stronger the longer she was around this man. There was something about him that conveyed a troubled soul, and she had never been able to turn away from someone in need. “This can all be handled without the other students knowing.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
As his gaze locked with hers, Beth forgot where she was for a moment. Finally when she shook off the effect he had on her senses, she said, “You always have a choice. But if she’s having trouble reading it’s better to know now than later.”
“You don’t think it’s normal teenage rebellion?”
“No. I think she’s using her defiant attitude as a way to cover up not knowing.”
“Then refer her.”