Chapter 4: Rainbow Court

My wife and I scrambled to contact every public school in the district.

But once again, we hit a wall. The phones rang and rang; emails went unanswered. Every receptionist sounded tired and apologetic, and I could tell we were far from the only desperate parents calling.

All the spots were already full. Even schools we’d never considered had stopped enrolling. There wasn’t a single open seat left, not even at the schools with crumbling playgrounds and low ratings.

My wife was so anxious she cried. “What about Emily’s schooling?” She sat at the dining table, head in her hands, shoulders shaking. I tried to rub her back, feeling useless.

I was silent for a while.

“There’s only one way left: Emily waits another year. In the meantime, we fight to get the spot back—by lawsuit or whatever it takes.”

But the lawyer had warned us: defending our rights would take time and energy, and we might still lose.

If we failed, not only would my daughter miss Lincoln Elementary, she’d waste a whole year for nothing.

A huge wave of helplessness washed over me. I could almost hear my father-in-law’s voice, half-joking at Thanksgiving, “Better make that investment count, son.” Now I didn’t know what to say.

Just then, my friend called.

He’d found out Max Harper’s parents’ names and address.

I jumped up. “Who is it?”

“The kid’s dad is Tom Harper. The whole family lives at Unit 301, Building 5, Rainbow Court.”

Rainbow Court—that’s right near me!

Good. Very good.

I wanted to see what kind of people could do something this shameless.

Holding back my rage, I rushed to Rainbow Court. My hands were clammy as I pounded on the door, hearing muffled voices inside. I imagined the faces behind the door, calculating, smug.

After knocking for ages, a sharp-faced woman with curly hair finally opened the door.

She scowled, voice sharp and suspicious: “What’s your problem, banging on my door like that? You selling something?”

I forced myself to stay calm. “Are you Max Harper’s parent?”

“Who are you? Why are you looking for us?”

I couldn’t hold back. “Your kid is using my condo’s school spot to go to school. Why do you think I’m here?”

The woman’s face changed instantly. The next second, she slammed the door in my face.

I was so angry I nearly fainted. I kicked the door. “Come out! Don’t think you can hide and get away with this! Seriously! Aren’t you worried about what’ll come back to bite you?”

My shouting startled all the neighbors on the third floor—they poked their heads out to watch. Doors cracked open up and down the hallway, faces peeking out—Mrs. Lopez from 303, old Mr. Daniels in his bathrobe, all hungry for drama. I could hear a dog barking down the hall, and someone upstairs stomped around, probably cursing us both.

I didn’t care anymore.

In just ten minutes, I swore more than I had in my entire life. I probably invented new combinations. I could feel my throat getting raw, but it didn’t stop me.

Finally, the door to 301 opened again.

This time, a heavyset man with a round face came out.

He immediately yelled at the neighbors, “What are you all looking at? Mind your own business!”

The neighbors all looked nervous. Sure enough, they shut their doors. I heard a couple of deadbolts click shut. Typical apartment drama, but this was real life, not TV.

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re Tom Harper, right? Don’t you have any shame? How can you use someone else’s spot for your kid?”

Compared to my agitation, Tom Harper was cool as a cucumber. The guy leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, like I was bothering him during a commercial break.

“My son went to school because I paid someone to make it happen. How they did it, I don’t know and I don’t care. If you have a problem, don’t come to me.”

I couldn’t help but snap. “That’s crap! Your son’s household record was transferred to mine and you still pretend you don’t know?”

A guilty look flashed across Tom Harper’s face. I saw his jaw twitch, just for a second, before he doubled down on the tough-guy act.

“So what do you want now?”

“Transfer your son’s household record out of my place. Return my spot. Now.”

He flat-out refused. “No way. My son can’t be left without a school.” He shrugged like it was obvious.

I wanted to punch him.

So your son can’t be without a school, but my daughter can?

At that moment, a chubby little boy—Max Harper, obviously—popped up behind Tom Harper, looking just like him.

Max pointed a toy Nerf gun at me. “Dad, I’ll help you shoot the bad guy!”

The next second, I felt a sharp pain at the corner of my right eye. The foam dart smacked my temple, stinging more from the insult than the impact. I staggered back, clutching my face, and heard Max cackle.

As I clutched my eye, Max started shrieking excitedly. “Oh, oh, oh, got you! Killed you!”