#Not made for proper missions. Metal's emotional support sibling...

[superneova]

Thinking about Metal and Tails Doll.... My siblings....

[yandere-daydreams]

A Charles Grey/Fem!Reader (Black Butler) for an anonymous commissioner. I might’ve had to much fun with this, honestly.

Word Count: 3.5k

The first time he met you, Grey saw little more than another piece of scenery. Something nice, but ultimately unimportant. Completely and utterly forgettable.

He had visited your mansion on a job, a special request from one of the Queen’s favorite nobles. Your father was highly involved with illegal affairs, and needed to be dealt with as swiftly as possible. Something about the opium trade, or forgeries, Grey didn’t really care enough about the technicalities to pay close attention. It was just another mission, another project, another excuse to play with something weak, vulnerable and helpless. Unfortunately, due to your family’s... popularity with the working-class, the dramatics would have to be kept to a minimum.

So, he happily let his target fuss over his arrival, showing him around the estate for the better half of a day. His guilt was obvious, Grey’s suspicion only concreted by nervous stutters, anxious staff, and a forced appeal. Grey couldn’t stop himself from laughing when you were hastily called over, barely given time to introduce yourself before being unceremoniously pushed to the side in exchange for one of your more impressive siblings. You left his mind easily, only popping back in later that night.

“Earl Grey?” Your voice was heavy, weighed down by sleep and lingering exhaustion. He couldn’t blame you, no one should be awake at that hour. He’d have to be quieter next time, or get permission to take care of his target’s family as well. Your nightgown was oversized, falling over your hands and feet without restriction. You rubbed your eyes, gradually waking up. “What’s going on? Are you looking for my father?”

He ignored you, not bothering with an answer. In his defense, what was he going to say? With a sword in one hand, and the other resting on the door to the Lord’s bedroom, he couldn’t exactly explain himself. Only giving you a quick ‘nothing to worry about, go back to bed’, he brushed you off, moving to open the door. The muzzle of a gun was pressed into the back of his head before he could enter, the hammer pulled back and ‘clicked’ into place a moment later.

“I’m going to ask this one more time,” You said clearly, any illusion of a daze gone. He tried to turn around, only for you to push the muzzle against him harshly. You cursed under your breath, reaching over Grey to close the door. “What do you want with my father?”

Grey chuckled, fist clenching around the handle of his saber. Finally, something exciting. From the corner of his eye, he could just see your face. Eyes glinting with focus and adrenaline, lips pulled into a thin, straight line, turned ever-so-slightly downward at the corners. It was a look he could get used to, if he had more time. “A flintlock, how old fashioned. Are you sure you can use that, little girl?”

You shrugged, staring down the sword in his left hand. He couldn’t get to you, not before you pulled the trigger or retaliated, but that didn’t stop you from being cautious. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you were an apathetic bodyguard, rather than the pampered daughter of a wealthy Lord. “I know enough to end your life.” You paused, free hand closing around his arm. You gave it a slight tug, testing his resistance. Your movements were measured, but shaky. Hell, your gun was practically shivering now. “Drop the sword, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

“So uncivilized… your maid really ought to have taught you better.” But, Grey dropped his weapon, nearly missing your relieved sigh under the clatter of metal on wood. He felt the tension leave your body, your grip on the gun loosening but not completely going slack. You half-heartedly kicked the sword away, pulling him backward and towards the empty hallway. “Do you intend to have your way with me, dear?”

You huffed, biting your cheek at the insult. Maybe you thought you were above his antics, or liked the idea more than you wanted to let on. The latter might be worth looking into at another time. He was shoved unceremoniously towards an office, released from your hold not long after. “I think we can talk this out. If you don’t hurt anyone, I shouldn’t have to hurt you.”

At this point, he could’ve gotten away. Grey could’ve pinned you down, or gone for his sword, or wretched the pistol out of your hand, or murdered you in all sorts of mess, gruesome ways. Your confidence had faded, leaving you trembling, and more importantly, exposed. But, he didn’t. The thought flashed through his mind, hanging in the air uselessly before being discarded. 

A formerly dead-eyed, unnoticeable girl, now shoving him into a cramped room and making flimsy threats under her breath. You can’t blame him for being intrigued, can you?

It was a display of pure emotion, a poorly put-together plan to keep your loved ones alive. You didn’t know any better, and oh, Grey loved that. He loved burning time with someone who’s unable to put up a proper fight, even if that came in the form of watching you act like a hero.

He listened to your demands and let you play your little ‘interrogation’ game, answering all your questions with either sarcasm or a tone too childish to be genuine. None of it deterred you, though. You refused to let him out of your sight until the sun rose, demanding that he pack his things and leave before either of your parents woke up. Of course, your threats were paper-thin, lacking the real force that would’ve actually scared him. By the time he was in his taxi, waving you off with a bright smile and a truly concerning amount of enthusiasm, nothing had been accomplished aside from wasting time.

Even with the influence of Phipps’ strange looks and increasingly aggressive comments about how mad the Queen was going to be, Grey didn’t regret leaving his mission unfulfilled. Excuses could be made, and Queen Victoria would be satisfied with reassurance and explanations. He’d found something much more entertaining than a dead businessman, after all.

~

Despite his best efforts, Grey didn’t simply forget about you. Every spare minute he had was occupied by thoughts of you. Did you ever tell your parents what happened? Did they know about the gun you apparently slept with? Would you be excited to see him again? Terrified? Was this just routine for you? And most importantly, did you think about him in the same way he seemed to obsess over you?

Against his better intentions, he would find his answer. It was at a party, one the Queen had asked him and his counterpart to attend. It was boring, just another ball with loud music, dull guests, and mediocre food that wouldn’t quell his appetite. Nothing new, nothing exciting, nothing to do. Then, he saw you.

You were dancing, laughing, touching a man he didn’t recognize. You looked happy, relaxed, unarmed, so unlike you’d been with Grey. It threw him into a paranoid rage, the kind that could start wars. You didn’t care about him. You hadn’t spared him a second thought. He didn’t know what he expected, if he was disappointed or just irrational, but that didn’t change his desire to keep your eyes on him. Before you even noticed his presence, Grey had one arm wrapped around your waist, quickly pulling you away from the annoyance you were talking to.

“Miss me, dearest?” He purred, nuzzling into your side like an old friend. Your eyes darted around the room, obviously searching for anyone who could help. Someone to call for you, or see your clear discomfort. It was a vain effort. Everyone was already caught up in their own gossip, not that anyone would try to interrupt an Earl, regardless. “I was expecting a visit. Or a letter, at least.”

“I try not to associate with murderers.” Your voice was cold, so unlike your warmth from a few moments ago. After all the time you spend together, Grey figured he would be considered an acquaintance, if not a friend. But, that could change. That would change. “What do you want?”

“To talk to you,” He answered, honestly. There wasn’t a need to lie, not yet. Reluctantly, he let go of your waist, grabbing your hand before you had a chance to get away. A sweeter gesture. A more intimate gesture. Something that could make you trust him, if only a little. “I like you, (Y/n).  And I want to get to know you, if you’ll let me.” You opened your mouth, ready to reject him, but Grey didn’t give you the chance. “I promise, I had a good reason for what I tried to do. If you give me some time, I’ll explain, but that’ll never happen if you run away.”

Your apprehension remained, but with a quick glance between your wrist, his face, and the nearest exit, you nodded. Grey wasn’t surprised, not this time. 

That line never failed.

~

Months passed, along with the more… volatile stages of your friendship. With some time and a few mildly tampered-with confessions, Grey was stopping by your estate once a week, if not more often, and you were making excuses to spend time with him just as frequently. Your parents only encouraged this new union, seeing him as a potential suitor, one who’d pay a very heavy price for your hand. You, alternatively, tried to look past his fortune. To remember that this was the man who tried to kill your father, to look at him and see someone who’d end your life in the blink of an eye, but... it was hard to not enjoy his company.

Of course, Grey couldn’t have been more pleased. As long as you were paying attention to him, updating him about your life and giving him the opportunity to do the same, no one would have a chance to steal you away. You had to think about him, to mull over the letters you wrote, to consider him as something more than a threat that needed to be dealt with. But, that certainly didn’t mean he liked everything you told him.

You nearly squealed, clinging onto Grey’s arm like your life depended on it. In another context, he would’ve gladly supported this kind of behavior from you. Unfortunately, what you were actually talking about ruined the moment. “Isn’t he great, Charles? He’s just perfect! You’ve got to meet him, I’ll set something up-”

“He looks weak.” Grey cast a wary glance towards the picture in his hand. The man you were so infatuated with was plain, in all honesty. Not handsome, not impressive, barely above a servant. He wasn’t worth your time, much less the devotion you seem so determined to express. “Poor, too. You’d be better off with someone like me, darling.”

“You can’t just write someone off because of money,” You complained, trying to grab the photo away. He just held it out of your reach, smiling as you tried to climb over him to get it. His eyes never left the man’s face. He needed to memorize every detail, to know the man who tried to take you away from him.

“I mean, you can’t. I, however, am extremely wealthy, incredibly attractive, and unrealistically talented.” And madly in love with you, he added, mentally. You punched him in the arm playfully, watching him pout and sheepishly hand the small object over. The way you beamed at it sent chills down his spine, his grin faltering more than once. You were love-struck, by the wrong person. Luckily, you were too preoccupied to notice. “I think I’m going to propose. I want to marry him.”

Grey didn’t miss a beat. “You’re parents would never allow it.”

“They don’t have to know.” It was a defined change from the girl who was willing to kill someone if it meant keeping her father uninjured, Grey was almost taken back. Always full of surprised, you were. You sighed, taking on a new tone of urgency. “I’ll run away if I have to, I just want to be with him.” Your attention snapped back to Grey, the pleading look you gave him not exactly unwelcome. “You won’t tell anyone, right?”

Silence hung over the two of you, never a good sign. “Well, I don’t know about that...” Slowly, he averted his eyes, gesturing in circles. “But, if you write down his full name and address, I might be inclined to use my aforementioned wealth and talent to deliver your message, while forgetting to mention it both your parents and my associate.”

“Oh my god, thank you!” You gasped, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. Grey was tempted to return to gesture, but opted to just awkwardly pat your shoulder and play with your hair. Delicacy would be best, for now. “You’re so nice, and great, and...”

“Handsome? Your savior? The light of your life?”

“All that, too.”

When you were his, these gestures of affection didn’t have to be forced out of you. Once he got rid of that pest, you’d fall into his arms naturally. You would be out of excuses to run away, and with your new-found favor, you’d be more… open to the suggestion of something more serious. You would have to be.

Grey didn’t know what he would do if you still rejected him. Especially after he’d done so much for you.

~

“Remind me why we’re here, again?” Phipps trailed behind Grey, looking from the small, claustrophobic apartment to his counterpart. Grey rolled his eyes, trying the door. It wasn’t even locked. How had you ever fallen for someone so dimwitted? “We’re supposed to be in London by sunrise.”

“This’ll only take a minute. I just need to get rid of the trash that’s been bothering one of my favorite toys.” The words were hissed out, barely audible to the uncaring Phipps. Or, he thought so, at least. A strong hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him from advancing into the dark house.

“And you’re sure this isn’t going too far?” The man questioned, his worry shining through the monotone drawl. Grey didn’t know whether he was asking out of genuine concern for a friend or the fear of dealing with his mess. But, Grey did know that an intervention wasn’t going to stop him. “A proper butler should never let his mind stray from his master’s commands.”

This man stole your attention, stole all those wonderful, mysterious reactions of yours. He seduced you away from the person who you’re meant to be with. Your rightful owner. And now, he was trying to trick you into running away from the life you were meant to have. It was disgusting, revolting, enraging. A downright crime, really. One worthy of a painful, drawn-out death sentence.

Grey shrugged off the other Charles, pushing the door open with his shoulder. “This is fine. If anything, I’m being lenient.”

~

For lack of a softer way to put it, you looked bad. There were bags under your eyes, your hair was unstyled and poorly tied back, and you couldn’t seem to stop from fidgeting. The last one Grey could write off as nerves. For all the times he’d shown up in your home without warning, this was the first time he’d called you to his. Since this was the place you’d spend the rest of your life, he wanted everything to be perfect the first time you saw it. But, that didn’t explain why you were so… discouraged. Even while standing by his side, idly walking through one of the nicer parts of his garden, you looked like you expected him to drop dead.

“He never met me,” You said, unprompted, as if you were reading his mind. You stopped for a moment, letting out a heavy sigh. “At first, I thought he just decided he didn’t like me that much, or something got in the way and he couldn’t make it, but then I didn’t hear from him for a few weeks. I guess I got curious, but when I went to his apartment…” You froze, grabbing his arm as a source of comfort. “He was dead, Charles. Dead. The landlord had to break the news.”

It took more self-control than it should’ve to keep from laughing. Of course your lover was dead, what else had you expected? You’d asked a murderer to deliver a proposal, after all. But still, he had to be sympathetic. Slowly, he rubbed short circled into your back, letting you bury your face in his shirt. “Aw, don’t be so negative about it.” You tensed, forcing him to wrap an arm around your waist. A hand closed around your chin, forcing you to look at him. “This is for the best, isn’t it?”

You shake your head, your confusion evident. He missed that expression of yours, so bewildered. So helpless. “No… what did you do?”

“I made things right,” He laughed, leaning down to kiss your cheek. You pushed him away, trying to gain any distance you could. His fingers trailed from your chin to the side of your face, lingering for a moment before brutally rooting themselves in your hair. You flinched, returning the favor by digging your nails into his shoulders. “He was a distraction. You see that, right? He took you away from me, so I got rid of him. Eradicated, like the vermin he was. Isn’t that great? Now that there’s no one to waste your time, you can be with me.”

“And if I don’t want to be with you?” You growled, confusion becoming anger. Your heart was beating faster now, so quick he could feel it through your chest. Grey released you, letting you stumble back before he grabbed your wrist. “You’re crazy, absolutely insane, I can’t believe I ever had hope for you. I should’ve just killed you when I had the chance.”

“That hurts, (Y/n), really. But, my proposal still stands.” Again, he moved to kiss you, settling for your hand, smirking against your skin. He’d hoped for his to be a little more romantic, but this would have to do. He’d taste your lips soon enough. “I do want you to come along willingly, but if you’re going to insist on being difficult, then I’m not above doing the hard way.”

You narrow your eyes, finally pulling yourself away completely. You moved to leave, not caring enough to remember which way you’d come from. As long as it got you away from Grey, you’d take any path happily. “Thanks, but I’d rather die.”

Despite your determination, you barely got a few steps away. Grey's arm wrapped around your waist from behind, his saber coming out of its scabbard and pressing dangerously close to your neck. Still in denial, you tried to continue your resistance, only for the blade to cut into your skin. A warm, thin trail of blood fell onto your chest, and you finally realized just how screwed you were.

“You wouldn’t.” Your hand settled just above his wrist, not pushing him away or urging him to move forward. Maybe you wanted to get some emotional response out of him, or know if he moved. Either way, Grey just rested his chin on your shoulder, humming contently. “I thought you said you loved me.”

“I do,” He paused, pressing his lips against your shoulder. He’d dreamed about being in this position for so long, pressed against you without interference or distraction. “Believe me, I do. You’ve had my attention from the minute I met you, and nothing makes me happier than the thought of having you with me for the rest of my life.” The sentiment was sweet, almost genuine. You could’ve believed it, if the flat of his sword hadn’t been pressed against the bottom of your jaw. Carefully, your chin was tilted towards him, forcing you to look at the white-haired man. “But, I’d rather take you by force than not have you. So, what’ll it be?”

Briefly, you considered goating him on. Dying might’ve been preferable, compared to a forced engagement to a mad-man. But, you knew that couldn’t be it. He wouldn’t just kill you, he’d kidnap you, or torture you, or worse. You tried to push the possibilities out of your mind, but they were suffocating, impossible to ignore. In the end, all you could bring yourself to do was nod. It was enough for Grey, though.

His mouth was on yours in an instant, the kiss chaste and quick, before he pulled away, chuckling. That didn’t stop him from pulling you closer, peppering your neck with small pecs and nips. The scene was exactly how he’d pictured it, down to the tears starting to run over your cheeks.

“We’re going to be so happy together, love.”

[epacer]

Martenizing the Unified District

Cindy Marten's fortune: leading San Diego Unified forward while suffering personal setbacks

Fortune #1,082: “You will have good luck in your personal affairs.” Years ago, Cindy Marten started finding fortunes — not the cookies, just the tossed-aside slips of paper — in random locations: under her seat at a Mexican restaurant, inside a supermarket, outside a gas station.

Marten, the San Diego Unified School District’s superintendent, catalogs these messages. Some are encouraging.

Others seem to be mocking her. That “good luck” fortune? She found it soon after losing control of a scooter on a city sidewalk. This May 12 accident sent her to the emergency room with a broken right arm, cuts and bruises.

Three days later, she was released from the hospital. “She comes out on a Tuesday at 10 a.m.,” said Mel Katz, a friend. “She’s had surgery, there’s a metal plate in her arm, a gash in her head — and she goes to her 3:30 p.m. board meeting.”

She stayed to the end of the six-hour session. “People think she is going to pass out,” Katz said.

But Marten, who next week marks her fifth anniversary as superintendent, was determined to honor her personal credo: “Work Hard, Be Kind, Dream Big! No Excuses.”

“You be there for joy and for pain,” she said. “You show up for it.”

In this position, showing up for five years is a major accomplishment. To lead California’s second-largest public school district, a mammoth enterprise of 181 schools and about 106,000 students, is to defy fate. This is a meat grinder of a job, a destroyer of reputations, a graveyard of bold plans and high hopes.

In the 10 years before Marten’s hiring, the district was led by four permanent and three interim superintendents. The position seemed so unworkable, the board of trustees debated scrapping it in favor of some less-punishing arrangement.

But roughly 24 hours after another short-term superintendent resigned, the board offered the job to an elementary school principal with decades of classroom experience: Marten.

Fans say this experiment is now showing signs of success. In April, the district topped the National Assessment of Educational Progress, often called “the nation’s report card.”

“San Diego Unified School District blew the socks off this cycle of the Nation’s Report Card, which measures progress on reading and math at grades four and eight,” said Mike Casserly, executive director of the Council of the Great City Schools, representing 69 of the country’s largest urban public school districts.

“No other city in the country saw gains in both grades in reading and math like San Diego.”

Graduation rates have risen to 91 percent. Marten seems to have won over her five-member board and many of the district’s 12,900 employees.

“The good thing is she’s been a teacher,” said Myriam Pedersen, who retired this month after 30 years of teaching in the district. “It makes a huge difference when they talk about, ‘here’s our goals, here’s what we will do,’ if they’ve been a teacher.”

Still, budget cuts and layoffs are perennial issues. An achievement gap between students of various racial and ethnic backgrounds, while narrowing, persists. There are still under-performing schools.

While juggling these professional challenges, Marten has been hit with personal crises. In January Marten’s mother, Fern Siegel, the former president of Jewish Family Service of San Diego, suffered a heart attack. Visibly scarred from her scooter mishap, Marten bears invisible scars from the deaths of her father in 2014 and her husband in 2016.

“None of it affects her job,” said Katz, who is on the board of one of the district’s charter schools, the C3 Academy. “She has such a positive attitude and really, really believes that we are doing great things for the city.

“We are just starting to see what Cindy can accomplish in San Diego.”

Fortune #592: “You will find good fortune in love.” Marten is 51, two years younger than her brother, Charley Cohen — “the love of my life,” she calls him. As a young girl, Cindy rapidly surpassed her older sibling in most academic subjects, as he is developmentally disabled.

“I’m certain I became a teacher because of my brother, Charley,” she said. “I wanted to teach him.”

The Cohens moved from Chicago to San Diego when Cindy was 11, so Charley could enroll in California’s special education program. The family prized education — the father, Donald Cohen, was a lawyer and certified public accountant who spoke several languages; the mother, a CPA and community activist, was president of a synagogue (Temple Emanu-El in San Carlos) and led a campaign to build a residence for the mentally ill (Chesed Home: Hope Village in Escondido).

Cynthia Minette Cohen, the couple’s middle child, is the only one who was adopted and the only one without a serious disability. Her younger sister, Laura, was diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic as a young woman.

Cindy attended local public schools — Hardy Elementary, Horace Mann Middle — before enrolling in La Jolla Country Day. For her senior project, she interned at the Aseltine School, then a special education academy where Charley had studied.

She idolized Aseltine’s energetic principal, Marian Grant. Years later as a young teacher, Cindy Cohen took Grant to lunch.

“What’s your secret?” the fledgling educator asked her mentor. “How do you avoid burning out?”

“You’ll never burn out,” Grant predicted, “because you are curious.”

Armed with a teaching degree from the University of Wisconsin, La Crosse, Cohen began her career at Beth Israel Day School in 1991. That same year, she married her longtime boyfriend, a dashing hotel manager from Mexico City, Sergio Marten.

After a stint in the Poway district as a teacher and literacy specialist, Marten moved to San Diego Unified and City Heights’ Central Elementary. There, she was a teacher, vice principal and principal.

She assumed that last position in 2007, just as her husband suffered a massive stroke.

“I had 1,000 kids counting on me, our son was 12 going on 13, and my husband, my soul mate, was in the ICU and we didn’t know if he would live or die,” she said.

To maintain her emotional balance, she vowed to take one photograph a day for a year, focusing on something that made her grateful.

Nature supplied most subjects — butterflies, sunsets, ocean vistas — but homey images sometimes appeared. Her feet, for instance, kicking off her shoes after a long day.

“The world doesn’t change,” Marten said, “but the way you look at the world changes.”

When the year ended, Marten continued this practice. She still does today.

Fortune #1,083: “An unexpected visitor will bring you good blessings.” Under Marten, Central was cited as a successful inner city school by experts local and national. The principal advocated smaller class sizes, established clear, measurable results for her teachers, and provided staff with additional training and resources.

When Richard Barrera, a local labor leader, began his successful campaign for the school board in 2008, he spoke with students, teachers, staff and administrators.

“Cindy was the most articulate educator I met in this whole process,” said Barrera, secretary-treasurer of United Food and Commercial Workers’ Local 135. “She was able to take me and show me and articulate at her school how to create an environment where kids were thriving.”

When Superintendent Terry Grier resigned to lead Houston’s school district, Barrera tapped Marten to serve on the search committee for a successor.

“She became a leader in that process,” Barrera said.

That process resulted in the June 2010 hiring of Bill Kowba. Less than three years later, when he announced his retirement, Marten became the trustees’ unanimous choice without a search committee or any community testimony.

This was “virtually unheard of,” the Union-Tribune reported, and some were upset by the move. Marten disturbed some district employees and parents early in her tenure, as she replaced close to 75 percent of the district’s principals.

“She wants strong principals who support and hold accountable the teachers,” Katz said. “It’s all about proper training and doing the right things — supporting your teachers, giving them the tools they need and holding them accountable.”

Those tools include special teams dispatched to schools to share the latest best practices on math or reading instruction.

Observers say Marten benefited by inheriting a board of trustees that, unlike many earlier boards, is not split into warring camps. There’s an agreed-upon mission, to tackle racial achievement gaps and to provide every student a broad and challenging curriculum.

“We’re all pulling in the same direction,” Barrera said.

“I think we’re getting a lot accomplished,” said Sharon Whitehurst-Payne, another trustee. “We want every child reading by third grade and we're working on that. We want every child to graduate and we’re working on that.”

Part of that work involves the superintendent regularly briefing the trustees and keeping the surprises, good or bad, to a minimum.

“We meet weekly,” Whitehurst-Payne said. “That’s good access.”

Fortune #619: “You can be trusted to keep a secret.” In his retirement, Marten’s father became known as "Don the Can Man.” A longtime runner and bicyclist, Don Cohen often scoured San Diego’s streets for aluminum cans, keeping meticulous count of how many he had grabbed and recycled.

On his 80th birthday, Oct. 14, 2014, he scored his 4 millionth can. His goal was 8 million cans, but he would never reach that number. While bicycling near San Diego State University that fall, he was hit by a car. He died from his injuries on Nov. 7, 2014.

Marten had little time to mourn her father, as her husband’s health was deteriorating. In the summer of 2016, while in a rehab center, he seemed to be recovering.

Marten called him early on Aug. 21, 2016, the day of the America’s Finest City Half Marathon, which she had entered. He sounded fine, an impression reinforced by a positive report from the rehab center’s staff, and promised to see Marten after her run.

“I was running to honor my father,” she said. But the race soon took on an even darker hue.

At Mile 7, Marten’s cell phone rang. Sergio Marten’s heart had failed, and he had died at the age of 57. He and Cindy had been husband and wife for 25 years and a couple for 33 years.

Days later, the 2016-2017 school year kicked off with a rally.

“I went to school, went to the meetings,” Marten said. “I could have been the grieving widow, but you go.”

Her emotions were profoundly mixed — “there’s this great joy because the beginning of school is such an amazing time” — but she didn't want her own sorrows to cast a shadow over that special day.

“If I need to cry,” she said, “I cry.”

Even now, she tears up when discussing the Job-like series of calamities that has hit the family in the last four years. She mourns, but she also takes comfort in the loved ones who remain and the chance she has to move this district ahead.

“This district”? Scratch that.

“I don’t think of this as working for the district,” she said,. “I think of this as working for my community.”

As superintendent, she’s privy to inside information about principals, teachers, counselors, secretaries. Some of this is joyful — Marten is known for writing notes to staff, marking birthdays and anniversaries — and some is not.

On June 13, she testified for an hour in a wrongful termination lawsuit brought by an investigator who says he was fired after refusing to alter his reports on a sexual assault incident at San Carlos’ Green Elementary School.

On the witness stand, Marten was asked if she had urged anyone to “whitewash” the report by the investigator, Michael Gurrieri.

“Absolutely not,” she replied, “of course not.”

In an interview, Marten said she could not comment on this case, as a decision is still pending.

Intense scrutiny comes with this job, for better or worse. Tyler Cramer, a San Diegan who serves on the board of the National Assessment of Educational Progress, was present when superintendents from the nation’s top four urban public school districts spoke in Washington, D.C.

“Cindy did her presentation on math and she was amazing,” Cramer said. “You can see her panel on Youtube and she’s a knockout on it. This is playing in the major leagues at the playoff level.”

That’s one characteristic of a champion — the ability to play and win, even when hurt. *Reposted article from the UT by Peter Rowe of June 24, 2018