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take a look at the sign by the brand, spanking new football field. The fancy little plaque you’ll find has four little words on it,” he counted them off on his fingers, “Donated … by … Charles … Van Brunt. Then, maybe sashay your fine ass down the hall and take a gander at the new auditorium with its state of the art light and sound systems. And, wouldn’t you know it, you’ll find a matching plaque there. My dad practically owns Sleepy Hollow. You wanna know why I’ve gotten away with everything I have without getting expelled? It’s because no one dares cross my father. In simple terms: You. Can’t. Touch. Me.” Leaning back in his chair, he laced his fingers behind his head. “But if you still want to have regular meetings where we sit here, braiding each other’s hair, and writing in our dream journals, that’s fine by me. Just do me a favor and wear a low-cut top, at least make it worth my while.”
    Ireland’s mouth opened and shut, however the only words flashing through her mind were of the four letter variety. It was taking every ounce of willpower she had not to let those fly out.
    “So,” Mason said with a victorious smile , “what should we talk about for the rest of our time?”
    The awkward silence was broken by the buzz of the intercom. “Miss Crane, Mason’s step-mother is here.”
    “Send her in,” Ireland requested with a telling amount of insistence.
    Ireland rose to her feet, expecting Versace and Jimmy Choo’s to come flouncing through her door. Instead, she was met by a fresh-faced blonde rocking jeans, a hoodie, and a warm smile.
    “Hope you don’t think this means I’m buying you lunch, kid.” His step-mother smiled and attempted to ruffle Mason’s hair.
    The surly teen pulled away, a look of disgust souring his face.
    If she noticed, she feigned oblivious as she extended her hand to Ireland. “Hi, I’m Ana Van Brunt, Mason’s step-mom.”
    “You aren’t my step anything !” Mason snapped, springing from his chair with enough force that it rocked back on two legs. “You have a piece of paper ! That doesn’t make you a Van Brunt. It makes you another toy my dad owns !”
    Mason forced past her, his shoulder slamming into hers, as he stomped from the room.
    Awkward silence filled the air as Ireland and Ana watched his stormy exit.
    “They’re so sweet at that age,” Ireland mused with syrupy sweetness.
    Ana indulged herself in a giggle at her step-son’s expense. “He’s had a tough time coping with his parent’s divorce, and his dad and I getting married.”  
    “That can be tough on a kid.” Ireland nodded. “How long has it been?”
    “Since he was five.”
    “ Oh, so it’s still a fresh change, then.” Ireland chuckled.
    Ana nodded, her ponytail bobbing against the back of her neck. “We’re still in the adjustment period. Any day now it’s going to get better. Anyway, I’m sorry about his behavior. I’ll encourage his father to have a talk with him. If you want me to have him call you, I can give him the message.”
    “Yeah, that would be great.”
    “Well, I better get out there before he keys ‘whore’ onto the side of my car … again.” Even while Ana’s smile held firm, Ireland could sense the sadness in her; a deep melancholy that longed for repair.
    “Ana?” she called after her.
    Sunlight shone through the lone office window as Ana glanced back, revealing a light dusting of freckles that peppered the tops of her cheeks. She paused with one hand on the door frame, her eyebrows raised in expectation.
    “I’ll help with Mason any way I can ,” Ireland promised. “I give you my word.”
    Ana didn’t offer an agreement of any sort, but let her gaze fall to the floor. When she glanced back up , her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. “Welcome to Sleepy Hollow, Miss Crane,” she muttered through a tight smile, then strode off without another glance back.

 
     
    6

    Ichabod
     
    “Wait until you see the spectacle going on