The Crazy School by Cornelia Read Page A

some remaining skepticism, as to your method-ology,” I said.
    “Tim is terrifi ed of his own passion. I wanted to push him until he pushed back,” said Santangelo.
    “Does he know that? Poor guy’s probably in the dining hall right now, waving incense over the damn chickpeas.”
    Santangelo winked at me. “Might be the best use for him.”
    He crossed his chubby forearms and leaned forward. “Let me tell you something. When I looked around that meeting this morning, I was appalled. There were only two people in the room who didn’t suck down my line of shit and applaud it.”
    “And I was one of them.”
    “Yes, you were one of them. Your friend Lulu was the other,”
    he said.

“Did that come as a surprise?”
    “No. Especially considering how the two of you responded to the situation with Mooney and Fay. You think Tim would’ve handled that as well as you two did?”
    I didn’t say anything, but my answer had to be pretty obvious. Tim would’ve puked and fainted. Not necessarily in that order.
    “I’m not after setting up a cult of personality,” said Santangelo. “This school can’t succeed if it’s staffed with Tims.”
    “Okay,” I said.
    “If we’re going to make a difference for these kids, we’ve got to have people here with personality of their own. Not to mention courage.”
    He made a fi st and tapped the table with it.
    Once. Twice.
    “Madeline, do you have any idea how rare those people are?”
    he said.
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    “In my experience? Right up there with hen’s teeth.”
    “I’m here in this room because we need all the hen’s teeth we can get.”
    “I . . . um . . .”
    “That’s a compliment, Madeline.”
    “Okay,” I said. “Thank you.”
    “Dhumavati and I talked about you earlier today, and I felt it was important to let you know how much we appreciate everything you’re doing here.”
    That sure didn’t sound like Sookie’s take on their opinion of me. I wondered who was lying.
    Santangelo gave me a smile. “Obviously, the kids see the same qualities in you that we do. Your students this afternoon . . . Fay and Mooney yesterday . . .” He picked up his beret. “We’ll be giving you a raise, and we may have some changes in staffi ng soon. I’d like you to consider taking on a little more responsibility. On a trial basis at fi rst, but we could make your new position permanent.”
    “What kind of position did you have in mind?” I asked.
    There was a tap at the door, and Dhumavati poked her head inside. “I’m not interrupting?” she asked.
    “No, in fact it’s great timing,” said Santangelo. “I was just telling Madeline what you and I discussed this morning.”
    Dhumavati walked to the desk and put a hand on my shoulder. “You did a wonderful job yesterday. We’re very grateful.”
    Santangelo stood up. “I’ve explained that we’re going to give her more responsibility. Of course we’ll need to bump up her pay. Can you fi ll her in on the rest? I’ve got a dozen calls to make.”
    “My pleasure,” she said.
    Santangelo settled the beret on his head and left us to it.
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    “I have to run Mooney’s homework down to the Farm,” I said into the ensuing silence.
    She smiled at me. “Why don’t I walk you there? We can talk on the way.”
    I opened a desk drawer and took out two assignment sheets.
    “What’s the date today?”
    “November seventeenth.”
    I jotted that down on each page—one for history, one for English—then didn’t know what else to write.
    “Is this the fi rst time one of your kids has been sent to the Farm?” asked Dhumavati.
    “Yeah,” I said, writing: “Finish reading I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, ” on the top sheet, then looking up page numbers for the next three history book chapters.
    Whatever.
    “Okay,” I said. “I’m all set here, unless he needs textbooks.”
    “His dorm parents took care of