“You shoulda seen the look on his face, Rob.”

Rob mm-hmmed, cocked an eyebrow, worked on his third hefeweizen.

“I mean, this is a guy who had to have grown up in the 60s, right? Probably went to Woodstock when he was fifteen, for god’s sake. But he’s just sitting there staring at me like I’m some sort of novelty. I think the hippie generation is way over-hyped. Ron Mailer doesn’t seem very peace and love and understanding these days.”

“What do you expect, Tom? Give a hippie twenty-five years and a couple of investments and you get a button-down conservative. It’s not exactly rocket science. Hell, I know gay punk rockers who grew up to be button-down high school guidance counselors–”

“Hey, be nice–”

“Sustained.”

“I don’t know if Peggy wants my ass in a sling or just wants to cover her own. I really don’t know where she’s going to go from here.”

“You said she dropped it.”

“No, I said she let it slide. She was pretty clear that she was never going to drop it. That wouldn’t be Peggy. One of the girls in the office spilled coffee on her once, like six months ago, right? And apologized, and it was this stupid little spill anyway, didn’t end up staining it. And Peggy said it was okay, apology accepted, all that, but she hasn’t once let that girl forget. Drops little coffee jokes constantly. She just needles and obsesses and weilds this little grudges. So, no, I doubt she dropped it. Mailer could so much as sneeze and she’ll be on me like a wolfhound.”

“Is he gonna sneeze? Do you expect that he’ll–”

“Oh, I don’t think he gives a shit. He just wanted to send his little nastygram to Peggy. Just wanted to stock a little ammo. I swear to god, Rob, I’m lying to these kids every day. I see them living out their drama, learning to socialize, getting in fights and all that and I tell them, look, that’s not going to fly out in the real world. You’ve gotta act like adults. You’ve got to be respectful and restrained and treat other people with consideration, and blah blah blah. And they mostly look at me like I’m just full of it. And they’re fucking right. Jesus, the whole faculty is a bunch of overgrown teenagers. Petty, clique-ish bastards, except they have cars and suits and wrinkles and that makes them somehow legitimate? I just, I don’t know.” Tom knocked away the rest of his wine. “It’s like the kids are rubbing off on the adults.”

“Way of the world, brother. It’s like that everywhere, kids or no kids. You know a prosecuter actually stuck his tongue out at me one time? In court. When the judge wasn’t looking. And the guy wasn’t kidding at all. I almost laughed out loud.”

“I feel like I’ve poured twelve years into a bucket with a hole in the bottom. You know? The kids come and go, the administrators come and go, and then like a decade has gone by and I’m right where I started, trying to help kids get over the same stupid problems and watching the latest principal play the same stupid headgames as the one before her, and the one before him.”

“No one’s holding a gun to your head, Tom.”

Tom shook his head. “I like these kids. I mean, I really like them. Every year a bunch graduate and it breaks my heart to see ‘em go, and every year a new crop shows up and make me pull my hair out, but christ if I don’t like watching them grow up.”

“How’s that chick, the girl from Aster’s?”

“Nyx. Hell, I don’t know. Stubborn as all hell. Doesn’t want to show a chink in the armor.”

“Sounds familiar.” Rob gave Tom a sly look, eyes dancing.

“Get me some more wine, smartass.”