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Everyone knows the principal’s receptionist is the one who tends to the whole dumpster-fire school. Nothing passes into his hands without her neat little initial on the lower right-hand corner of the page. Nancy is the school’s inescapable gatekeeper of fun, the poltergeist haunting the front office. Short, neatly kept hair, pink jacket, blue collared undershirt, simple makeup. Difficult to threaten. Even more difficult to blackmail.
The one thing Nancy responds to?
After a careful few days of internet stalking, Esther has laid the groundwork of her plan, starting with step one: shameless, unilateral flattery applied like too much butter on too little bread. "I’d love the number of your hairdresser because you sure look incredible, m'am, please-approve-my-forms, I started a rumor that you’re way cooler than the principle, please-Look-at-my-forms, is that a new blouse, the fit is to die for!"
Nancy examines the forms with their thick, creamy paper and too-cheerful font.
“And this is an official ESA letter. Approved by a licensed mental health professional.” She squints. Pulls the forms to the tip of her nose, brows furrowing. “One who practices here in Midwich?”
“Mmm,” Esther says noncommittally, crouched like a jack-in-the-box winding up to spring.
“I should stress,” here Nancy taps the pages against the desk for emphasis, “that I mean legally practices.”
Esther stretches, smiling with too many teeth. “I'll have to trust you to tell me if he did it right, m’am, he looked pretty official to me and Ma.”
The look Nancy shoots Esther could melt twin holes in the wall behind her head. “I see here you’re relying on this animal for anxiety and ADHD in the home.”
“Yes, m’am, and did I mention all the kids think your pen collection sorted by depth of color is sooo fun? We have a running bet going which one the principal likes more and our theory is-”
“Congratulations on getting your diagnosis, Esther, really. But this, to recommend an emotional support animal before other accommodations...I imagine extra time on tests even as a start would be far more suitable." This said with finality, scrutiny on the forms, a clawed hand going for the landline. "In fact, let me call your mother now about-”
Esther stands on her chair, ready for the big show, wringing her hands. “I jus...Ms. Nancy, it’s so hard, my uncle, the only uncle I have in the whole world, died, and my single mom is struggling to make ends meet at our big, lonely hotel in a brand new town, and it’s sooo hard to make friends, I’m being bullied all the time...it would mean the world to me if some kind-hearted soul with an iron fist on the inner workings of the school would help me out, here.”
“Mhmm. I see it looks like your therapist has exceptionally limited office hours.” Nancy eyes Esther over the top of the forms with the eyes of a woman who has watched Esther wrestle other children to the ground and attempt to force-feed them garlic or shove silver at them, steal staff shoes to look for hooves, a woman who still has periodic rounds of parent conferencing after the Rollyfluff incident, and is more interested in where Esther’s feet depress her pristine seat cushion. “Thoughtful, was it, to include that here for me. 8-10 PM Friday and weekends, is that right?”
Esther puts on her puppy dog eyes and crouches back down, gargoyle-like, with a perfunctory wipe at the cushion with her sleeve. “I’ve never had anybody who stayed, before, until you offered to get me some ‘accommodations.’ My daddy sure didn’t.”
“I’m, well mixed feelings to hear that, Esther, really, but this form-” Nancy nearly drops the page as it wavers before her eyes; she takes her glasses wipes from her desk drawer, neutral tan to match her limited selection of jackets, wipes the lenses, slips them back on and glares hard until the letters return to their proper place. “It LOOKS like official letterhead, dated and signed over 30 days ago. That IS exactly to regulation. The signature SEEMS legitimate...”
A bead of sweat rolls down Esther’s forehead with the effort of keeping it that way. Friedrich could only do so much. She drops down from her crouch so her feet can swing out, her fingers tap, the minor incantation on her breath. “Love that subtle design on your glasses, by the way, please-approve-my-forms.”
“I can’t PROVE you’ve done a printout of an online template.” Nancy throws up a breezy hand and pretends not to notice the way Esther’s eyes track the page as it floats down onto the stack. “Let’s fill out that missing additional information before I forward this through the proper channels, shall we?” She seems to re-calibrate, finally in approval mode, adjusts hers glasses, rustles through her drawer. “There’s a few simple things the school looks for before approving an ESA, it being a potential disruption to the classroom and all. Let me just photocopy your letter so I can-”
“Mrs. Nancy, I meant to say, congratulations on getting nominated for ‘Reception Leader of the Year,” Esther cuts in, willing Nancy to leave the pages, which will doubtless photocopy as cat butts with how hard the veneer of professionalism is to keep up. “My mom reposted it and it has a TON of likes. Please-approve-my-forms-NOW.”
“That’s very sweet, but your mom should know that my decisions aren’t-” Right on time, Nancy’s phone pings. Blue case with a dangling bead charm that swings as she claws it from the desk drawer. Her background is from the cat cafe the town over. She scrolls for a moment. “Well, isn’t that nice. Two HUNDRED likes? I hadn’t seen that.”
“I think I saw they were talking about putting it in the Midwich Gazette,” Esther hedges, cursing herself for making more work for her cats, later. It had taken three midnight sacrifices to get them to print the QR code at her mom’s ex-boyfriends copy shop and spread them around town. “I heard Sharlene from that one school was not being very nice on the My Neighborhood boards.”
“Ugh, Sharlene Everton.” The disdain for the vice-principal at Midwich’s biggest rival was evident in the way she drew out her name. “She’s the one who reported our bake sale for food contamination during Spring Fair, you know.” Nancy reluctantly slides her phone back in its drawer. “I’ll just copy your information, get this request in process, see what everybody’s saying in a minute.”
“Thank you, m’am.” Esther kicks her feet harder, willing the words to stay legitimate enough for Nancy on the page.
Pulling out an official-looking form on school letterhead and a blue pen out, Nancy scribbles Esther’s name and school ID down. “Let me see. Do we have vaccination records for your emotional support animal?”
“I’m sure you’ll find she’s very healthy, has a lot of energy,” Esther supplies, and yawns big, a magician’s assistant, look at my sharp little teeth and yawn yourself, aren’t you sleepy, don’t you want this to be done quick.
Nancy grimaces. “...I’ll put down no for vaccination. Your...animal...has a lot of energy, does it?”
Each time Nancy says ‘animal,’ the less she believes in the letter and the papers, her disbelief making them all wibbly, the work load increasing on Esther.
“She really keeps me in the moment. It’s so hard to focus sometimes, and she really...grabs my attention. Keeps me sharp, focused.” Esther tries for a ‘skinned knee at the nurse’s office’ wistfulness, tucking her hands behind her back. “I miss her.”
“How about vet records, general?” Nancy taps her pen. “No?”
Esther produces a sheaf of papers from behind her back, loose leaf; a girl can only do so much.
“Hmm.” Nancy thumbs through the ‘records’.
Esther swipes at her nose with her sleeve. “It’s so hard living in a big, dusty hotel with all those people coming in and out all the time, if I didn’t have my little buddy I don’t know what I’d do. My ma said these will show proof of veterinary inspection, and something about a license.”
“I’m sure she did. Lots of paperwork to keep track of in a hotel like that.” Nancy straightens the ‘records’ and sets them on top of the forms; score. “Is your emotional support animal on a registry? If so, what is your animal’s certification number?”
“She’s registered with US Service Animals dot org as a certified service dog.” Esther rattles off the number, feels the pull of magic holding the legitimacy of the words on the stack of paperwork ease as Nancy believes her confidence.
“A certification is a bonus, here, I can probably get the veterinary records that way.” Nancy even moves the stack to the side to get a better angle on the official school form. “And how old is your dog?”
Esther gives an ‘I’m harmless’ giggle. “I haven’t counted. She’s my little buddy.”
“Right, let’s just take a look.” Nancy flips through the paperwork, seeing what she expects to see, scribbles something down. “So she’s little, at least. You’re lucky, if she was under a year, she wouldn’t qualify under the bylaws. What breed is your ‘buddy’?”
“Her breed is undetermined,” Esther says, feet swinging. “Hey, that deep blue is the pen I voted for! Please-approve-my-forms.”
Nancy sighs. “I’ll just put that down as mutt.”
“How soon will I be able to bring her to class with me? I miss her.” Esther turns a hopeful smile all sugar and sunshine on Nancy. “Please-approve-my-”
“As soon as the principal signs off,” Nancy cuts Esther off, noncommittal, the charm bouncing off her. “I can hear you, you know.” Esther freezes, swallows, but Nancy only puts on a gentle tone. “I struggled with pressured speech myself at your age. I know how it is. And I AM here for you, Esther.”
Students before Esther have tried and failed, offered cash, produced illicit photos, threatened to go to the principal. Esther steels herself.
“May I have my folder back?” The records and the letter are, now, in a neat little manila folder which Nancy blinks owlishly at before sliding the whole thing to Esther. Esther puts on a look of delight. “You know, when I tell my mom it all worked out, she’ll probably take me straight to get my letter photocopied for you. I’d be happy to tell the owner yours is broken, see if he can work something out!”
“Broken-?” Nancy turns slightly to see her photocopier is smoking, and visibly decides she isn’t paid enough for this. A slow, hopeful sort of anguish crosses Nancy’s face, just for a second, and her fingers twitch as if she’s about to reach for her phone. “Your mom knows...the owner?”
“They’re exes! It was amicable, they’re good friends now, but I think he liked someone else from town, something about cats?” Esther nods, big, slow movements. “Yes, I’m sure he was interested in someone who’s good with cats. Want me to ask her to ask him for you?”
“No, no, don’t go through the trouble, I’m sure he’s too busy for little old me...” Nancy hands Esther her folder, clearing her throat, adjusting her collar, and in that moment Esther has won. “The principal might want to meet with you to discuss the care plan, but I doubt it, really. If anything, the two of us and your mother will need to meet soon to discuss any further accommodations we can get you set up with.”
Success makes Esther vibrate with energy despite the threat of future parent conference; she tucks the folder under her arm and steps down from her chair. “School will be so much easier with a little bit of emotional support, I miss her so much when I’m here.”
Nancy stands, too, pulled by the conventions of politeness to walk Esther to the door, the request clutched to her chest. “I’m just hoping it will help you fit in a little, Esther, help you settle, stop with all the insurrections. Make my life a little easier.”
Esther edges towards the door. “We’ll settle something for sure.”
“Oh!” Nancy’s finger shoots up, and she bustles back behind her desk.“One last thing, Esther, before you go, do tell me...what was your little dog’s name?”
The look that stretches across Esther’s face could turn lead to gold. She half-turns, a nonchalant look over her shoulder, hand on the doorknob, primed to sprint. “You’ve got the best pen?”
“Yep, trusty old midnight blue.” Nancy sits behind her desk with a flourish of her skirt, preemptively initialing the lower right-hand corner of the page before looking after Esther expectantly. “Shoot.”
“Just put down...Jessica.”