I can't bring myself to drive over to David's that night.

Instead, I text him with some bullshit excuse about having to prepare some more test questions, even though I've had this test ready to go for weeks.

He probably knows I ignored his advice and went to talk to the Petersons anyway, but he's at least nice enough to not say anything. Rather than be appreciative for David's better qualities or the fact that Shane's texting me wanting to talk about the ranch, I tune everything out and spend some quality time with the Switch.

It's a level of escapism I haven't embraced since college, but I need it now. I can see the rocks starting to fall on either side of the ravine, and I've placed myself squarely at the bottom.

I never should have gotten involved. David was right. I haven't changed anything. I've probably just made the whole situation worse for Julie, and who knows what tomorrow's going to look like for me.

The Petersons don't strike me as people who make empty threats, so the idea that James Peterson will call my boss doesn't seem far-fetched in the least.

Maria and I have always gotten along great. She values my approach to teaching and she knows I bring in a respectable amount of funding with the test scores I'm able to coax out of my kids. I don't think she'd take any serious action, but this is a big, ugly blot on my record, and it's going to make it harder for me to do anything out of the ordinary in the future.

I'll face it the same way I face everything else, though: On my own. I created this mess, and I plan to work through it.

After I pass out while playing Zelda like I used to as a kid.

* * *

I wake up to an email from Maria with the subject "7:15 meeting" and I already know how my day's going to go.

I dress nicely, prepare what I'm going to say, and head up to the office at 7:10 just so I'm not late. Maria calls me back right away and has me shut the door. I sit in the chair in front of her desk, and she moves to sit behind the looming pillar of mahogany.

She looks at me from across that chasm and gives me a sympathetic smile. "We need to talk, Jake."

"Are you breaking up with me?" I ask, my tone humorless.

"Yeah, I know. I hate the way that sounds, too." She sighs. "Especially since you already know why you're here."

She opens up a folder—my personnel file, maybe—and retrieves a paper from it which she then hands to me. I look down to find a printed email exchange between her and Mr. Peterson, just as promised.

"I got this email from James Peterson last night, saying you'd been encouraging his daughter Julie to disobey him and his wife and 'abandon the teachings of her religion.'"

That last one is a direct quote. I'm reading it and scoffing right now.

"They have a queer daughter who just wants to be accepted and appreciated. All I did was help her find a way to feel those things," I say testily.

"You know as well as I do that that's not in your job description."

I meet her gaze, knowing I'm playing with fire. She might like me, but her patience isn't limitless. "Isn't it? When I became a teacher, I made a promise to guide and nurture every one of my students—to help them become better people."

"In the classroom," Maria clarifies, "and if this were just a matter of you teaching that girl to stand up for herself and what she wants during school hours, I'd give you a slap on the wrist and call it good. But that's not all this is, Jake."

That anger that rose in me at reading James' tone-deaf letter dissipates, leaving me hollow. I know she's right. I've been playing fast and loose with the rules of conduct. I've become the Gregory House of my profession, only without the Vicodin addiction and the awful personality.

Sensing I've surrendered my position, Maria continues. "It's not just this incident. I've let you skirt by on countless occasions through the years because you're good at what you do and you connect with your kids in a way few teachers can. And the ranch…"

"I've gotten explicit permission from every parent," I say, holding firm on that point.

"But you never had them sign waivers, and the ranch has never been vetted by a safety inspector. It's a lawsuit waiting to happen, Jake, and it would be my ass if it did."

I let out a shaky breath as the pieces slowly start to fall into place. This isn't the gentle, finger-wagging reprimand Maria's given me over the years.

This is something else.

"I have to take some kind of action," she says, sounding genuinely sorry about it. It's not her fault. I brought this on myself. "Something on the record and verifiable by anyone who wants to go snooping around."

"So you're letting me go," I say numbly.

"Of course not. You'd have to do a lot more than this for me to even consider letting you go. But… I am suspending you." She hands me another paper, this one filled out and signed. A notice of my impending suspension. "Three weeks. It'll be quiet. If anyone asks, I’ll say you’re taking some personal time."

She keeps talking, explaining the terms of the suspension to me. Legally, no one has the right to ask me about the suspension, and I can withhold information at my discretion. I can't claim compensation or benefits during this time period, and I can't be on the premises. A substitute will administer the tests I've written and will grade them according to my scale.

It continues, but eventually her voice fades to a dull hum in my conscious mind. I stare down at the paper, and when she asks me to sign it, I can't help but feel like this is an even bigger blow than being fired.

* * *

I grab what I need from my classroom before the first period class shows up, tossing the box into my truck and just driving. For a long while I don't even know where I'm going, but a series of turns take me to David's neighborhood, and I kill the engine in his driveway.

"Hey, I didn't expect you today," he greets me at the door. "Playing hooky?"

"I'm suspended. Three weeks, starting today."

David's eyes widen and he steps aside, letting me in. "Suspended? What would they suspend you for?"

This was a bad idea.

The thought echoes in my mind, playing on an endless loop. I should have just gone home, dealt with the worst of this on my own. I'd have to tell David eventually, but I could've composed my thoughts better.

Instead, they come out in a tangled mess. "Julie. Or her parents, specifically. Her dad filed a complaint with the principal."

David was in the middle of ushering me into the living room, but he stops after my half-admission. "…Why would he do that? Did you…?"

I just nod, feeling like a teenager who's about to get scolded.

But David doesn't scold. He sighs—which is almost as bad—then recovers. "Okay. It's all right. A suspension is something we can work with, right? It's probably the best outcome."

I look at him, and some of that anger from earlier flares again. "The best outcome? At least if she'd fired me, it would be over with. I'm going to be humiliated, David. This is going to make it through the school and then through the whole town by next week, guaranteed. No one's going to want me teaching their kids anymore."

Some rational side of me knows that what I've said makes no sense. I'm blowing this out of proportion, turning this whole thing into some prime-time drama when the reality is that—with the exception of the Petersons' church crowd—this will blow over eventually, and I'll still have a job by the end of it.

But the voice inside of me rings true and clear, repeating that one phrase over and over again:

This was a bad idea.