The Test

I reached Mr. Wentz's office just in time for the start of our meeting, but I found the door shut tight. I could just about make out faint voices from inside, and after leaning towards the door, I recognised them as Mr. Stump and Mr. Wentz.

Suppose they're just finishing up their own business or something.

Taking a seat in the purple armchair by the door, I sat and waited for my cue to enter.

Suddenly, sharp, harsh voices cut through the mumbles.

"There's no point in nominating William if he can't - "

"For crying out loud, Patrick, you really underestim - "

"Underestimate? I just have more realistic ideals than you do!"

Hearing my own name sparked fresh curiosity, and I leant sideways from my chair to listen at the gap between the door and the doorframe.

The teachers lowered their voices to whispers once more.

"I want to choose someone who deserves the chance," hissed Mr. Wentz, sounding exasperated.

"How can he be the right choice when he can't even - "

"I can tell, I... I can just tell, okay?"

"Pete, you can make a better decision for everyone if you just forget this stupid idea you have that Beckett is some sort of genius!"

Wait, what?

I leant closer to the door, trying to hear every detail of conversation as the voices were dropping in volume.

"He... look, I know what he can achieve, Patrick."

"You what?" Mr. Stump started to yell again, and I jumped backwards a little from my uncomfortable position, "I'm his form tutor, and I don't even think he should've gotten into the school! He didn't even do the compulsory interview."

"Actually, he was the best interview candidate of his age," remarked Mr. Wentz, keeping his voice level in contrast to the shouting.

"Because YOU," spat Mr. Stump, "keep making exceptions for him that he doesn't deserve! I want the boy transferred by the end of term. there's a school for children with disabilities - "

No. Fucking. Way. Is. That. Happening.

"WILLIAM IS ABOVE THAT, AND IT'S ABOUT TIME YOU REALIZED!"

"I'm just saying that he'd be better off in a more suited environment... for his own sake."

"Better off? It's not a matter of mental or physical disability, it's a confidence problem, I can tell from the way he acts and thinks, and it's our job to help kids with these things!"

I heard the thud of Mr. Stump swinging his foot at the edge of a coffee table.

"Fine," he snarled, "Fine.But it's your job, and I'm not going to do anything to help you with your ridiculous pursuit."

Footsteps began to approach the door at a high speed, and I leapt back into the chair, pretending to be distracted by clicking a ballpoint pen repeatedly. The office door swung open, and Mr. Stump gave me a cold, scrutinizing glare.

"Did you hear anything, and I mean anything that was just said?"

I shook my head, trying to appear innocent.

"You're lying - "

"Patrick?"

Mr. Stump glanced back over his shoulder into the office.

"Yeah?"

"I think you forget that I'm in charge round here," chuckled Mr. Wentz, "Oh, and leave the poor boy alone, he's scheduled for a meeting now."

I watched Mr. Stump march down the hallway and retreat to his own, smaller office, his polished shoes squeaking as they tapped on the floorboards.

"Ah, William, do come in. Sorry about the delay."