Chapter 6 - Jordan’s Mother Had Taken The Same Kind Of Job
Denise Reed was shelving books when I found her.
Jordan's mother wore sneakers, black pants and a Hawthorne staff cardigan.
She looked at me over her glasses.
“You aren't supposed to be in the library during pregame meal.”
“I need to ask something.”
“If it's about your father, ask your father.”
I almost laughed.
“Does everybody have that line ready?”
“Parents talk.”
I lowered my voice.
“Did Dad ask you not to tell me?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“Jordan said you knew.”
“I knew he attended employee orientation.”
“Why?”
“Because I helped him find the room.”
She pushed a cart toward the next shelf.
I followed.
“Did he tell you about my tuition?”
“No.”
“Then why did Jordan know?”
Denise stopped.
“My son knows why I work here.”
She looked at me.
“I told him.”
I swallowed.
“When did you start?”
“His sophomore year.”
Jordan and I had been friends since eighth grade.
I had never known.
“What did you do before?”
“Corporate records.”
“Why leave?”
“Divorce.”
Simple.
“My salary dropped. Tuition didn't.”
She smiled without humor.
“Hawthorne offered a library job. Benefits made the math work.”
“Jordan wasn't embarrassed?”
“He was furious.”
That surprised me.
“About the library?”
“About needing it.”
She continued walking.
“Children at schools like this are very good at pretending everybody arrived the same way.”
That sentence stayed with me.
I asked:
“Why didn't Jordan tell me?”
“Maybe because you never asked why his mother worked in your school.”
Fair.
Again.
“What do you know about Merritt?”
Denise stopped.
Her expression changed.
“Why?”
“He paid some of my tuition.”
“I know who he is.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
She sighed.
“You really are Michael's son.”
She pushed the cart aside.
“Two years ago, Coach Brody asked whether we'd be interested in donor support.”
“For Jordan?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“I asked Financial Aid.”
“And?”
“They knew nothing about it.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did Coach say?”
“That the donor could contribute through a foundation and Hawthorne would handle the rest.”
“Why didn't you do it?”
Denise looked toward the circulation desk, making sure nobody was close.
“Because he asked me not to mention Jordan's name to Financial Aid until he spoke to them first.”
“Why?”
“I didn't like that I had to ask why.”
She picked up another book.
“Then the staff position opened.”
“You took less money?”
“Yes.”
“Just to avoid donor aid?”
“Partly.”
I stared.
Jordan had spent two years knowing his mother chose a lower-status job at school rather than take money that felt wrong.
I had dumped food over my father's head for making almost the same choice.
Denise softened.
“He wasn't always nice about it.”
“Jordan?”
“He told me not to come to games in my staff sweater.”
That helped more than I expected.
“What happened?”
“I wore it to every game for a month.”
I laughed.
“Did he survive?”
“Barely.”
Then she looked at me.
“Tyler, your father came to me in August.”
“What did he ask?”
“How the tuition benefit worked.”
My chest tightened.
“What did you tell him?”
“Everything I knew.”
“And Merritt?”
“No.”
She hesitated.
“He already knew something was wrong by then.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
I was about to leave when she added:
“He did ask me one strange question.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Whether Coach had ever made Jordan feel like taking donor help was part of being loyal to the program.”
I stared.
“What did you say?”
“That Coach gets very uncomfortable when gratitude stops looking like obedience.”
That sounded exactly like Brody.
As I walked out, Jordan came through the library doors.
He had heard enough to know where I'd been.
“Seriously?”
“I needed to know.”
“You could've asked me.”
“I did.”
“No, you interrogated me after dumping lunch on your dad.”
I stopped.
“You're right.”
He blinked.
Apparently people were getting used to me defending myself.
I said:
“I'm sorry.”
Jordan looked away.
Then:
“Coach wants us in film room.”
We started walking.
I asked:
“Why didn't you laugh?”
“At what?”
“Dad.”
Jordan's face hardened.
“My mom serves coffee at faculty events twice a month because it's part of her job.”
He looked at me.
“I would've had to laugh at her too.”
We reached the film-room door.
Before opening it, Jordan said:
“And if you're wondering whether Coach knows I told you about the benefit, he does now.”
“How?”
Jordan held up his phone.
A message from Coach Brody:
Keep your family's financial arrangements out of Tyler's head until after tonight.
We looked at each other.
The message wasn't a threat.
May you like
That almost made it worse.
Coach still thought he was entitled to decide what information belonged in my head before a basketball game.
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