So, this tiny teacher woman (she is not even five feet tall, sweet young thing) and I discussed the whole mess, quickly and quietly, in the hall. She suggested that Son #1 attend her second period class, so he would be out of class when the girl was there, in an unexpected place at a time he usually would be home, and so that he could get the classroom instruction he needs, without interruption. She also agreed with me that the next place to go, for me, was the police.
So I drove The Son to the state police barracks, and spoke with Officer Tyer. Officer Tyer took down all the details, and said that though he agrees that the school (and especially this particular high school) absolutely needs to report stuff to them that they generally choose instead to sweep under the proverbial rug, that until she actually brings a weapon into the building and starts shooting people, it is not a police matter. The school has jurisdiction, where threatening speech is concerned.
He also thought it was a bad decision not to let the teacher know what was going on, but since I had handled that part of it, he didn't need to.
He said he'd call the school, and make sure they were doing everything they needed to do on their end, including things like watching her enter the building, to ensure she wasn't wearing voluminous clothes and a giant satchel that would be good hiding places for weapons. He told me that he would call me if he felt they weren't handling things, but that if I didn't hear from the state police I could assume he had checked it out and decided it was not something I needed to worry about.
So Son #1 and I went out for breakfast. He ate an entire Subway restaurant. And then we swung home, to kill a little time until second period class was ready to start. And I re-checked my cell phone, looking for the message the assistant principal swears he left me on Tuesday afternoon. As I suspected, there was no message, because he is a lying, ass-covering weasel.
Then we went back to the school. As we pulled in, a few minutes before first period is scheduled to end, we see The Girl's dad, walking towards the school. And The Girl, walking away from the school, with a guidance counselor. We pulled out of the parking lot, and waited across the street at a convenience store until it looked like they were going to leave. The Girl and Her Dad left the school, and I walked Son #1 in to touch base with his teacher.
Apparently The Girl sat through the first third of class, like a stone, and then asked to be sent to the guidance office, where they did whatever they do, and she left. She will not be coming back tomorrow. When she comes in for the final exam, on Monday, her parents will be in the classroom with her.
As it stands, I guess The Girl is getting some help. The teacher is furious that the administration was ready to leave her completely in the dark about a potentially violent classroom situation. And Son #1 feels relieved, and ready to finish out the last couple hours of school.
And me? I am glad that it seems to be resolving itself. I am reassured, also, that This Fabulous School on the Richer Side of Town is really not any better than The Ghetto School My Kids Attend. And, I am all hopped up on adrenaline.
A big part of me, though, wishes I could go find The Girl and hug her, hard. And let her know that though I have ratted her out to the authorities (geez, repeatedly, now), I really wish her only the best. May she grow up and get better and graduate and get a job and a husband and children and a happy, productive life, and look back on these days with wonder at the girl she used to be.