Chapter Text
Robby had no idea what he was walking into when he got that phone call from Peyton's school. He was busy at work when he received a call saying it was time for a Teacher-Parent conference. He had only been to one of these in his life, and that was when she was still in elementary school; it was a different ballpark now, as she was in the 7th Grade.
He had barely enough time to tell Dana that he would have to leave work early before dashing out the door, his heart racing as he hurried to his bike parked in the lot. The entire 10-minute ride to her school felt like an eternity, each second fraught with anxiety and anticipation. He remembered when his peanut was in elementary school, she would dream of being the next Doogie Howser, M.D., only to have her dream crushed by Langdon when he told her that it was impossible.
When he finally arrived at the school, he was guided to her classroom, after putting on his visitation sticker, and was seated next to her at a desk. She didn't look too nervous, but didn't look too good either.
"Peyton is one of our nicest students," The 12-year-old's homeroom teacher smiled reassuringly at his desk. "She's a great kid, always turns in her work."
"Oh, great, good. So, we're done here—"
"However," The teacher stopped him from getting up. "She's… not jumping at the chance to do any extracurricular activities."
That made Robby confused, and glance at the brunette, who couldn't meet his eyes. Something was going on here. "… Yeah?"
"Mhm. There have been multiple tries to get her to join any of our clubs: cheerleading, gardening, art, especially art, since her art teacher is very impressed by her works. But she's always turned them down."
"Why?" Robby asked his daughter, who just shrugged.
"I-I would rather focus on class."
"Speaking of which, this is her math grades…" Her homeroom teacher handed over some assignments, and Robby looked them over with wide eyes.
"D's?!" He knew Peyton was very smart and very good at Math; she was great from K-6. Her proficiency in the subject was so impressive that she frequently took the time to tutor Harrison during their weekends together. Robby felt a twinge of disbelief as he processed the news; his daughter, with her unyielding dedication and talent, would never receive a D on a math assignment under any circumstances. The thought was inconceivable.
"This has happened on the past few assignments; tutoring was offered to her, but she declined it."
Robby put down the papers and turned to look at his daughter, her brown hair hiding her face. He wanted to give her the chance to explain herself, the chance to tell him this was all a misunderstanding.
But she just sat there. Not saying a single word.
"Is there anything else?" Robby drawled as he turned to look at her homeroom teacher.
"Nope," He shook his head. "Other than that, she's been a great student and a joy to teach."
The 52-year-old man nodded and stood up. "Okay, thank you for your time. C'mon, Peyton. Grab your stuff."
Peyton grabbed her teal flower backpack and hoisted it on her shoulder, not missing the look of pity on the teacher's face on the way out. She hated that look; she had seen it from all of her teachers, and it made her sick to her stomach. I don't need your pity.
When they stepped out into the semi-empty parking lot, she was hoping to just get on the bike, but instead, her Dad leaned up against it, his arms crossed, and gave Peyton a stern yet soft look.
"… why are you struggling, Peyton?"
Peyton looked down, kicking a stray rock away from her Chucks. "… it's nothing."
"Getting D's isn't nothing." Robby pushed away from his motorcycle. "Not joining clubs isn't nothing. I raised you to be better than that. So out with it."
The 12-year-old felt her throat close up and her eyes sting. She tried taking in deep breaths and counting to 10, but the shame still grew in her chest. She wiped her eyes with her jacket sleeve. She didn't want to be a bother to her Dad. He was raising her by himself and working at The Pitt. He shouldn't have to worry about her.
"I-I just…" She said softly, her tone squeaking from tears. "I don't wanna be a teacher's pet."
"A what?" Robby shook his head. "Who the Hell is calling you that? Are you being bullied?"
"No!" She reasurred with a sob. "They don't mean to make me feel upset about it, but… they say it, and they're right. I don't want to be a teacher's pet."
"Peyton," Robby knelt down to her level. "There is nothing wrong with being one; it means you're dedicated, that you want to succeed."
"It's not the 80's anymore, Dad. Things are different now."
Ouch.
Robby took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his short, dark hair. Things were much easier before she was a pre-teen. All he had to worry about back then was getting the right Barbie doll for her. But now he has a whole other league to worry about here. Centering his thoughts, he took a deep breath and nodded, "Alright, what about the not joining clubs thing? Is it also because of being a teacher's pet?"
She gave a slow nod, her dark brown eyes locked on his.
"… you can't let people get to you." He told his daughter. "I know it's easier said than done, but you also need to remember that you have so many people in your court."
Robby gently reached out and brushed some hair behind her ear, letting him see her wet face.
"I'm sure I can… squad up and get Whitaker and Dana down here."
"Oh my god, don't say squad up—" She tearfully laughs.
"Catch these hands or something—"
"Please, please stop."
The two shared quiet laughs, and Robby's heart swelled. There was that smile he fell in love with the minute he saw her when she was a newborn. The laughs that could make anybody smile. His little peanut.
"Promise me you'll do better. I can't tell Abbot that you got a D on your math homework; he might actually kill me."
Another tearful giggle escaped her small lips as she gave a nod. "I promise, Dad… I'll do better."
"You're already doing your best," He cupped the back of her head and brought it forward to press a kiss. "You just need to polish it."
After letting go, he turned back to his bike and held out his spare helmet, which Peyton gladly took and put on as he climbed on, starting the bike with a loud rumble. Peyton placed her small hands on his shoulders and climbed onto the back, getting comfortable.
"Ready?" He called out.
She gave a thumbs-up.
Accelerating the throttle, he surged out of the parking lot, the roar of the engine echoing in the air. He noticed Peyton's smile always grew while riding the bike in the mirror, and had made a silent promise to himself: he would do everything in his power to keep that beaming smile on his daughter’s face, no matter what.