I was sweating now, feeling like a defendant about to receive sentencing.
“Molly was born in a test tube,” she said, referring to assisted reproductive technologies. I breathed in and waited. “Leo doesn’t have a dad either. And Amanda told me her moms had a donor.”
“Do you know who my dad was?” she wanted to know.
“The file said he was really smart and finishing graduate school, and was fairly young and healthy. His identity was kept confidential.”
Rachel nodded and looked to the side, digesting. When she finally spoke, her voice was matter-of-fact. “Other kids don’t have a dad.” I waited for more questions, like why I hadn’t gone the traditional route of marriage before kids. Instead, she told me she had to meet friends at the library.
And now, more than a year later, the worries persisted. My almost eleven-year-old had already faced many adult situations, and that made me sad. After she’d gone to bed, the floodgates opened. I’d pushed for the move, tearing her from her friends and bringing her to a small town where the girls were blowing hot and cold, and the Queen Bee clearly disliked me and was now giving us a hard time.
I did this. And I’m ill-equipped to deal with the situation. My guilt rose until I could barely breathe.
A few days later I pulled up to the house, and saw Alva on the side by the entrance to the kitchen, closing the recycling bin.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m glad to catch you alone. How do you think things are going with Rachel?”
Alva shook her head. “She’s been very unhappy, quiet.”
“She’d been socializing at first,” I said, as Alva nodded. “Has she mentioned anything?”
Alva shook again. “Not really. Maybe you can make a playdate for her? Take some kids to Friendly’s?”
“Good idea. I’m going to speak to her right now.” As we walked in together through the kitchen, I spotted Rachel at the table doing homework. Alva grabbed her coat and waved goodbye, closing the door behind her.
We heard the engine first, and then the sound of steel drums fading as she drove off.
“How’s school going?” I asked.
“Okay.”
I took a chair next to hers. “We never got to talk about what happened after the girls left the picnic table. Did you ever text them?”
She tapped her pencil against the edge of her notebook. “It’s fine.”
“It doesn’t seem fine.” Rachel looked down. “Believe it or not, I was a teenager once. I know how hard life can be. And cell phones and social media have made things exponentially more difficult.”
She softened. “What do you want me to say? It sucks, okay? Lexi and Collette and those girls are kind of mean.” She wiped a tear with the back of her hand.
I put an arm around her shoulder, not knowing where to begin. “I’m sorry about the girls. If you give it time, it’ll all blow over.” Rachel shrugged and sat stiffly staring into her lap, as tears ran down her cheeks. My non-hovering policy went out the window. “I had the impression that Collette and Lexi were friendly to you.”
She immediately shook her head. “I just told you. They’re not.”
Hadn’t they just had playdates? The shift was as abrupt as whiplash. “It sounds horrible. Can you explain what they do that’s mean?”
Rachel eyed me warily. “I don’t want to talk about it. They have their group. That’s it.”
“I know this is upsetting,” I spoke carefully. “And you prefer not to get into the details. But I’d like to help, and I don’t understand. Are you’re saying that the girls in your class don’t have room for a new friend, like a taxi that’s full?”
She rolled her eyes. “You spent like five minutes in the classroom—you don’t have any idea what it’s like. There’s one girl, Maya. No one likes her. And there’s Lexi and Collette and Katie and a few other people; they’ve been BFFs since pre-K. They’re family friends. Their moms went to college together, Lexi told me. They do everything in a group. They all went skiing in Idaho last spring.”
I pictured them, perched at the top of a mountain, wearing brightly colored puffy jackets and pants and dotting the white horizon as they descended gracefully, their daughters gliding behind in tandem.
“Try to branch out,” I offered. “There must be some people who’d like to meet someone new. Not everyone can be part of the same group. Isn’t there a nature club?”
Rachel was grinding her teeth.
“I could call Zoe’s mom, Sam. Drive you into the city.”
She stomped her foot. “Stop! No!”
Rachel’s phone pinged, and she smiled at me. This kid was definitely not one to hold a grudge. “It’s Zoe,” she said. “She wants to FaceTime.” As my daughter headed for the stairs, I thought back to the picture she’d painted: local girls and their moms skiing en masse, navigating together the world’s snowiest peaks and valleys.
So that’s how it was. In Mayfair, the adult’s friends dictated who their children’s friends would be. Well, I had a lot of catching up to do. These women had nailed down the members of the clique while their daughters were still in the womb.
Six
MIA
It had been a long day listening to patients, and I was ready to spend time with my little girl. Closing up the office for the night, I deliberated about whether to stop on the way for ingredients so we could do something fun like bake cookies, but went straight home, peeking into Rachel’s bedroom only to find her MIA.
I noticed a text from Sharon as Alva was walking by with an armload of laundry: “Let’s try for early next week.” I sent a “Yes!” and smiley face emoji in response. A friend sounded good right about now.
Alva waited until I’d hit “send.” “Rachie’s in the crawlspace,” she said. Before she could get the rest of her explanation out, I was halfway down the stairs.
“Honey?” There was no response.
“Not now, Mom.” I heard a sniffle.
I burrowed in next to her, hoping I wouldn’t meet any rodents. Something brushed against my arm and a slow prickle spread over my skin. “Can we crawl out now?” I asked. The silence was protracted. “Rach?” She was still quiet. “Let’s get out please. I need to know what’s up with you.”
We shimmied through the opening, me feet first. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face covered with dust and tears. I felt my pulse quicken as we arranged ourselves on the den floor, eyeing one another.
Rachel finally spoke: “Collette and Lexi had a party yesterday, and they invited all the girls in our class, even Maya.” She choked the rest of the sentence out. “Everyone, but me.” Her voice sounded small and sad.
My stomach dropped. “Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yes, I saw it on Instachat. They all posted.” She started to cry.
I spoke gently. “What do you mean, everyone? All the girls in the grade, or the ones in your class?”
“Out of the nine girls in my classroom, eight were there.” Rachel choked back another sob.
People in the city had made a point of including all the girls in a class, especially when there was a small number like this. Even if the moms disliked me and their daughters had cooled on Rachel, the snub was harsh. “Maybe you were invited and it was a mistake?” I asked.
“I wasn’t. It was a sports party. Katie told me in gym. Collette and Lexi’s moms dropped off special Frisbee-shaped invitations at everyone’s houses. They said they didn’t have our address.”
My pulse was beating so rapidly, it was almost like a message in Morse code. Didn’t have our address? Lee certainly knew our house well enough to barrel in and take a personal tour. And as for finding the street number, I was pretty sure Jess had access to the school directory; in fact, I think she’d compiled it.
I breathed in to steady myself. “That’s awful! It must have hurt your feelings, honey.” I pulled Rachel close and she buried her face in my shoulder and sniffled.
I couldn’t think straight, I was so angry. “Let’s plan somet
hing fun this weekend. Maybe after your team practice we can go to a movie or do some shopping?” Rachel looked miserable, but nodded.
My fury mounted as I went downstairs to warm up dinner. There were no dirty dishes or food remnants, and I assumed Rachel hadn’t eaten. Thirty minutes later, I went back up to Rachel’s room with a bowl of mac and cheese. She was in PJs, under the covers of her bed, staring at her cell.
“Rach?”
She didn’t look up, but shoved the phone under the covers. “Please have a little dinner.” She got out of bed and sat down at her desk to take a few bites. “Give it some time. You’ll find other kids who’d love to be your friend—I’m certain of that. Good night. I love you.” I kissed her on the head and extracted a promise she’d brush her teeth and head off to bed.
That night I slept fitfully, waking up on the hour until I gave up and stared at the ceiling. Certain moms were in charge, deciding what kids were in the carpools and invited to the parties. My child hadn’t made the cut.
Another week passed with Rachel mostly silent and spending more and more time in her room. We were driving to school, and I’d been planning to use the ride to check in about the girls, but now had a more immediate concern: we were trapped in the carline and moving so slowly, I was afraid I’d miss the entire workday. I cursed myself for foregoing the shortcut because it was too muddy. Mayfair’s lack of busing was already driving me crazy.
As the traffic inched forward around the circle, I checked out all the kids who’d gathered near the building, waiting for the doors to open. There was a group from Rachel’s class, standing under the leafy umbrella of a copper beech. I spotted Lexi and Collette, who were chatting with some boys I didn’t know, and watched as others moved in and out, bumping into each other and giggling, their preteen hormones on display. A girl I didn’t recognize walked up and joined them. She had wavy brown hair, and looked windblown. Collette glared and turned away, and I felt uneasy just watching from afar.
A couple of minutes later, we finally pulled up to the front of the school. Rachel was still looking down at her phone.
“We’re here, hon.”
She raised her head slowly, and then spent a few moments, zipping her jacket and gathering her books. Several car horns later, she opened the door and gingerly lowered her legs, first left and then right, onto the curb. There was more beeping.
“It’s getting late!” I said, blowing her a kiss.
Rachel made no movement toward the door handle.
“Is everything okay, honey? The girls are over there.”
Rachel rearranged her backpack and slid out in slow motion, placing both palms on the car door like a perp headed for line-up. She shoved the door slowly, grudgingly.
I watched through the rearview mirror as she stepped slowly toward the fifth grade group, situating herself at its edge, and staring down at her phone, her right foot tapping.
Rachel had seemed to retreat overnight into a whisper of her former self. I didn’t believe in hovering, but since her self-confidence had been plummeting, I wanted to help. And with what I’d learned about our new town, I knew that meant reaching out to some of the moms. I’d blocked off the morning for paperwork, but decided instead to head inside and mingle. My dread rose at the thought of seeing Lee.
There was congestion at the school doors. Parents on their way out and stroller gridlock as tiny siblings held on to their mothers, with one toddler stepping slowly, her lost Cheerios paving a path to the building’s front door. There were latecomers too, even a UPS delivery guy.
It was silly to inch along and push my way in. So I turned around, bumping immediately into Lee. She didn’t even attempt to conceal her irritation at running into me.
I tried not to stare at her leather trousers, sky-high pumps, and cell phone case, all a matching plum color. Her sole piece of jewelry was a moonstone ring, worn on the third finger of her right hand, an enormous globe surrounded by rubies and opals. She brushed her fingertips against her hair. It had been pulled into an up-do, contoured perfectly, and secured with tiny barrettes adorned with gems identical to those on her ring. I wondered whether the hairdresser went to the DeVry home before drop-off.
There were fewer people now. As Lee stepped toward the front office and approached a pair of passing women, I hovered in the vicinity. “See you tomorrow night, ladies. Be sure to bring all your ideas for the mixer,” she beamed. They nodded and waved as she faced me again, her smile tight. “Yes? I’m kind of in a rush. Jess and I are about to head into the city to do some shopping.” She smirked. “I’d invite you to come along, but you probably have to work.”
“I do. Work really gets in the way of my shopping.”
“Funny.” Lee was unsmiling. “I’ve got to go.” She walked toward the double doors.
A line of young kids, maybe first graders, snaked by. I heard their teacher’s voice: “Single file. That’s right. Hands to yourself, Jason.” It was only 8:40 in the morning and already she seemed ready to collapse.
I knew just how she felt. The guilt and worry about Rachel were constant, and I was feeling drained. All of our current difficulties—the strained interactions and awkwardness, Rachel’s misery and growing isolation—were my fault. I’d have to keep plodding along until I figured out how to make things better for her.
I glanced around the main hallway. In my peripheral vision, I noticed a group of moms who’d gathered around a table at a sign-up of some sort. I went over and saw a handwritten sheet and a printed poster: “Colonial Fair! Call for Volunteers!”
I waited until the crowd had moved on. The woman behind the desk had a black T-shirt with the word “zen” spelled out in white letters down each arm. “What kind of help do you need?”
“Well, Lee DeVry and her cochair have already assigned most of the big jobs. But we could use people to clean up after the feast.”
The Fair was scheduled for a Friday in June, yet they were looking for volunteers on October 1? Wow, Lee ran a tight ship.
“Sure.” I wrote down my name and email.
“Sharon mentioned you,” The zen woman began. “She and I have kids at the same preschool. I’m Anna.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“You’re a psychologist?”
I nodded.
“So what do you think of Barnum?” she asked.
“Um, it’s nice,” I said. “How do you like it here?”
Anna rolled her eyes. “It’s great—if you like vanilla.”
I laughed as she paused to hand a pen to a woman who’d made her way over, dragging a small boy in an Elmo shirt.
“Hey, Anna.” The mom with the toddler began signing her name on the volunteer list. “Did you hear they’re trying to get the local police commissioner to do a talk on cyberstalking?”
“Yeah, well, we need it,” Anna responded. “Some lunatic was all over a bunch of kids’ social media pages, posting and chatting and viewing everyone else’s posts. This was at a private school,” she said.
That was alarming. “How do you know?” I asked.
“Lee told me about it at the School Board Foundation fundraiser. She’s putting the whole program together, researching experts on cyberstalking, finding speakers.”
Cyberstalking adolescents? Between that and the social engineering, I couldn’t believe what went on these days. I waved goodbye to Anna and left.
I was gasping for air and coughing. Rachel and I were trapped in the crawlspace. Lee had blocked the latch with a two-by-four, and the opening was getting smaller and smaller, its sides closing in.
I sat up, bathed in sweat. My sheets and pillowcase were soaked. Sipping water from the bottle on my night table and breathing in to steady myself, I cursed Lee for invading our lives and my mental space.
I’d been assuming that Rachel’s social problems were transient. But now I wasn’t so sure.
Things were fine initially. Left to their own devices, the girls had included my daughter in playdates and carpools and interac
ted with her on social media.
Something else had to be going on.
I thought back to Lee, how she’d questioned Rachel on the playground, kicked her out of the carpool, and invited all the girls in the class, but her to a party. Things had gone downhill after Lee had gotten involved.
But a few isolated incidents didn’t explain why Rachel was continually being left out. What was I missing?
I recalled the playdate: Collette whispering to her mother, and the two of them glancing over at me. I’d obviously offended them by telling Collette to leave the red-haired kid alone. My mind flashed back to the schoolyard: Collette and the others, walking off as Rachel tried to join them at a picnic table. Lee had already made known her dislike for me.
Putting two and two together, I began to realize that Rachel’s social difficulties had everything to do with Lee’s actions behind the scenes and her palpable dislike for me. Once the PTA president lead the charge, her friends and their daughters followed suit, making it impossible for Rachel to fit in.
My heart was hammering in my chest. If all of this was true, and Lee had been using her influence to ensure that Rachel was shut out, it could only mean one thing: Lee had been bullying my daughter!
I’d have to stay on top of the situation: figure out how to stop the PTA president in her tracks, stand up to her more firmly, and find ways to help Rachel assimilate. I buried my head in my hands and gave into the tears that were starting to fall. I needed to fix this before it was too late.
The phone in my city office was ringing. I spoke into the receiver, “Dr. Bryant,” I said, making my voice go up at the end.
“Victoria? It’s me.”
Colin. “Why are you calling? I’ve told you not to contact me.”
“I was hoping you’d hear me out. I’d like to take you to dinner so we can talk.” I said nothing and glanced at my watch.
Barbarians at the PTA Page 6