102- Donations

I want to set up a donations collection for Demarcus and his mother. I went to Principal and found myself, for the second time in a week, seated nervously in a pink armchair in her office. Her slight annoyance at my occupation of her time was apparent.
“How can I help you today, Sweet Pea?” She asked me this slowly and placed emphasis on the word today, as if I frequently burdened her for assistance. Reluctantly, she pulled her eyes away from her computer screen.
“Well,” I stammered, “I would like to arrange a donations collection for Demarcus’ family.”
Principal looked at me blankly.
Does she even know about the fire?
“Demarcus, my student who lost his home and his grandmother in a fire.”
“Oh, yes. That student.” Principal gasped as if she had just remembered the boy’s tragedy. “What a shame.” Indifferently, she turned away and refocused her attention on the computer screen. She began to scrolling through the inbox of her email.
I waited quietly, hoping that she was trying to retrieve an email that may have important information about Demarcus’ family situation and how the school could help. After several long and embarrassing seconds, Principal addressed me again. She did not look in my direction, but simply asked, “Sweet Pea, what do you want me to do?” Her voice carried an air of apathy. She shrugged her shoulders as if she were helpless.
“I would like to collect donations for Demarcus and his mother. The boy has no clothes; he wears the same shirt and pants to school everyday. He doesn’t even have a jacket. I brought him some new socks and a T-Shirt, but—“
Principal cut me off. “You can’t buy that boy new clothes, that is not your place. Teachers can’t just be giving out things at this school.” She shook her head. I had become a true nuisance. “Just go and talk to Mr. Thorpe, he’ll tell you what you can and can’t do.”
What was she saying? That I couldn’t help Demarcus and his family?
“So does this mean that I can’t—“
Principal interrupted me again. “Just go and talk to Mr. Thorpe!” She repeated impatiently.
I felt like a scolded child as I exited Principal’s office.
What is wrong with Principal? I didn’t expect that type of response.
Just as I was instructed, I went straight to Mr. Thorpe’s office. The cute little sign on his door had an arrow pointing to Come On In!, so I pushed open the door and burst into his office.
“Mr. Thorpe! Hi! I need to talk to you for just a second. It’s about Demarcus.”
Mr. Thorpe was seated at his desk. He looked surprised at my presence.
“Do you have a second?” I prodded. “I’ll only take up a minute…”
“Actually,” Mr. Thorpe cleared his throat and darted his eyes towards something over my shoulder. “I’m a little busy right now.”
I heard sniffling sounds come from the behind me. I turned to see Ms. Viamonte seated on the therapy couch. Red faced and puffy eyed, the girl clutched a box of tissues. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she refused to look me in the eye.
Oh, god. Bad timing.
“Excuse me… I’m sorry. I’ll go!” As quickly as I had arrived, I fled from the guidance counselor’s office.
I should have knocked on the door.
I wonder what Ms. Viamonte was crying about.
Was the teacher militia’s plan working?
Do school guidance counselors counsel teachers, too?
Why wasn’t Principal more helpful about donations for Demarcus?
Today didn’t work out so well, but I will try again tomorrow.