Lost Boys by Orson Scott Card

school," said DeAnne. "And what if Dr. Mariner won't let him change classes? Do yo u think that on Wednesday it will be any easier for him to go?"
    "It might," he said.
    "And it might not," she said. "I can't see that it will help him if he clings to his mother's apron strings just because things were hard for him."
    Step sat there, looking at his sandwich. "Do what you want," he said.
    "Oh, Step, don't be that way. I thought we were having a discussion."
    "No, you're right. He needs to go. I guess I was just thinking that if I didn't have to go back to work tomorrow, that would be the best thing in the world. Only if I stayed home tomorrow, then I'd never go back. So you're right." He looked up and grinned. "You got to send your little boys back into the cold cruel world."
    "Was it that bad today?"
    "Not bad, just weird," he said. "Don't worry about it. There were a couple of minutes that I just felt like quitting, but what can you expect? I haven't worked for anybody but myself in so long now, of course I felt rebellious and frustrated." He took a bite, but she didn't say anything. "And then coming home and having Stevie so mad at me-and I thought, He's right. I should have been home. I should never have taken this job, we.
    should pack up whatever we can fit in the car and drive back to Indiana or back to your parents' place and I should sit down in the basement and teach myself to program the stupid Commodore 64 and somewhere between here and bankruptcy maybe I'll come up with a hot game and we'll be rolling in undeserved money again, like we were a year ago."
    "That wasn't undeserved money," she said.
    "Oh, you know what I mean," he said.
    "If you want to quit, then do it," she said. "If we have to move, then we'll move."
    "No," he said. "You think I haven't thought it through? We can't afford another moving van, we don't even have enough cash to get through the month, let alone get to another state. All of our credit cards are to the hilt.
    We've got no choice unless we want to go be street people. or something. I go back to work tomorrow, and Stevie goes back to school, and if he hates me for not being there, then that's just one more part of being a father" He laughed bitterly. "Sons are supposed to hate their fathers. It just isn't sup posed to start so young."
    "He doesn't hate you," said DeAnne. "He was just- frustrated."
    "Call Dr. Mariner before it gets any later."
    She looked up the number and called. It was well after nine o'clock, and she might have gotten the principal out of bed, but Dr. Mariner was a southern lady, so she denied that she had been inconvenienced at all, and as DeAnne told her of Stevie's problems that day at school, Dr. Mariner clucked in sympathy. "I'll tell you what," she said. "Tomorrow I'll keep Stevie in my office, to take some tests that we need him to take anyway.
    Placement tests, to see if he should be in our gifted program-his records from that school in Indiana were quite impressive, you know. And while he's taking those tests, I'll talk with Mrs. Jones. And either we'll change his assignment, or Mrs. Jones will make sure that things go more smoothly in the old class. How will that be?"
    "You're wonderful, Dr. Mariner," DeAnne said, trying not to gush in her gratitude. "Thank you."
    "All in a day's work, Mrs. Fletcher. Thank you for calling. Good night."
    "Good night."
    DeAnne hung up the telephone and slumped into a chair.
    "Good news, I take it," said Step.
    "She's going to keep him out of class, taking placement tests," said DeAnne. "And then either reassign him or work things out so it'll go better in Mrs. Jones's class."
    "Well, see? You were right. Calling her tonight was exactly the right thing. That's why I chose you to be the mother of my kids, because you're a thousand times smarter than I'd ever be."
    "It's not that I wanted to send him to school tomorrow, Step."
    "I know."
    "I wanted to keep him home."
    "I know, Fish Lady. You have a heart so soft that you'd die of