by Robyn Carr
He was quiet for a moment. “I know, Iris, and I wouldn’t blame you. I never would have deliberately hurt you in the first place. I sure won’t in the second place.”
“Good. Be careful, then.”
“I promise.”
“No monkey business,” she said, taking a big mouthful of ice cream.
“We’ll just go to dinner one night. Not in Thunder Point,” he suggested.
“No,” she said. “That would be monkey business.”
“No, it would be dinner,” he said. “You had dinner with Troy. A friendly, non-romantic dinner...”
“Troy is different.”
“Troy can give you gifts but I can’t?”
“That’s right, you know why? Because Troy didn’t steal my virginity and break my heart and Troy is a colleague and friend. We have an adult relationship.”
“Troy loves you,” Seth said.
“Now you’re being ridiculous,” she said. “I have an understanding with Troy.”
“Oh?” he asked. “Friends with benefits?”
“Ack,” she said, punching him in the arm. “I don’t have benefits with anyone!”
He rubbed his arm. “That’s encouraging,” he said. “What is it about me that makes you want to hit me?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m not like this with anyone else. I think when I’m around you I regress to my eight-year-old self.”
“Try to get a handle on that, will you? You’re stronger than you look.”
“I could’ve helped you tonight, you know,” she said, grinning suddenly. “I could’ve taken one of the men and held him while you managed the other one. We did it back in the day. Playground justice—we stood up for each other.”
“We were really young then, Iris. I don’t want you to defend my honor anymore. And I’d like you to stop slugging me!”
“You were so scrappy, but I could take you,” she said. “It’s good that you gave Keith Urban his haircut back, though.”
“Do you really want to bring up the subject of hair, Miss Brillo?”
“Now see, I could be damaged for life from careless comments like that!” But she laughed very happily. “You really did look like a wild child. Some throwback rescued from a jungle or something with your long golden hair when everyone else had buzz cuts...”
“My mother loved my hair,” he said. “By the way, you can’t take me anymore so stop slugging me!”
“You did good tonight, Seth. I watched from the dining room.”
“Watched me take one in the face?” he asked.
“It was just an elbow,” she said. “Kind of an accident. You managed very well. It was impressive, actually. I think you actually grew after high school. How tall are you, anyway?”
He stared at her. “Six-one and six-two, depending which leg I’m standing on,” he said, raising a tawny brow.
And she melted into laughter.
They sat in the parking lot and laughed like fools. The ice cream was long gone or long melted when Iris took him back to his truck parked in front of the clinic.
* * *
On Saturday Grace was busy with weddings so Iris didn’t even have time to report in that the Friday night confrontation had been beyond interesting. Then Seth called on Sunday morning. He had a most charming lisp that left her struggling not to laugh. “Can we try dinner pleath? Maybe out of town where no one knowth uth? Like Cooth Bay?”
She held her hand over her mouth for a moment. “How is your lip?” she managed to croak out.
“Ith fat. What about dinner?”
“Sure. In a couple of weeks. I’m not going to make this real easy for you, Seth. I’m pretty wary.”
“I gueth I don’t blame you.”
She crumbled into hysterical laughter. In fact, every time she thought about him all weekend she smiled. Sometimes she just laughed out loud. From the grumpy way he insisted on eating even though he was bleeding on his bread, to his fear of needles to finally saying a nice good-night after ice cream—it all reminded her how much she had missed his company. But she was determined to guard her heart. He’d ripped it out once, she wasn’t going to help him do it again.
But she was still smiling on Monday morning even though it was chilly and wet with a steady drizzle under gray clouds. She wouldn’t be riding her bike to school many more days this year. It was definitely a driving day.
She stood in the hallway outside her office doorway, smiling and saying good morning to the kids. This was where she felt at home; this was where she knew she belonged.
Rachel Delaney walked by and said good morning. She had a fat lip, too. Not unlike Seth’s, except she was fortunate enough not to have stitches.
Iris snagged Rachel’s sweater. “Hey, how’s it going?” she asked.
Rachel smiled a lopsided smile, her hand going self-consciously to her mouth. “It’s all good, Miss McKinley.”
“Got a boo-boo?” Iris asked, looking at her lip.
Rachel chuckled. “Blame Cammie. We were working on a few cheers and moves over the weekend and I took a knee to the face. Pretty gross, huh? I guess it could’a been worse. She could’a broken my nose!”
“I hope that particular move is out of the routine now,” Iris said.
“I think we can get it,” Rachel said. “But I think I’ll be the jumper and not the catcher next time.” She tried her smile again.
Brett Davis sauntered toward Rachel, his eyes all sleepy and sexy. He came up behind her and slipped his arm through hers. “Morning, Miss McKinley.”
“How’s it going, Brett?” she asked. Unless she’d missed some breaking news, Brett was the big man on campus. He was a popular football player in a town where football was king. He was a year older than Rachel. They looked so perfect together, a regular Barbie and Ken, but they were sexy. Iris knew all about this yet would never get used to it, these children filled with heat and pheromones.
“Good, good. We killed Franklin High in Bandon Friday night,” Brett said.
“I heard. Congratulations!”
“Thanks, it was awesome.”
Then he led his girlfriend away down the hall, affectionately nuzzling her temple, slipping his arm around her waist. He was very like Seth had been—polite, good-looking, attentive. As far as Iris could see from her close watch on the academics of the team, he was also a good student. She wondered if Rachel helped him with his homework the way Iris had helped Seth.
Rachel seemed very good-natured and kind, and Iris had been watching. Her mother, Sassy, had been conceited and superior, dismissive of girls she deemed lesser and only interested in having a large collection of boys. Rachel hadn’t seemed to inherit that—points to Sassy for raising her well.
Iris stood in the hall until the bell rang. Then she tackled her desk. Each year in the fall, seniors were looking at colleges, at scholarships—sports and academic and those based on financial assistance—while Iris was scheduling testing. The sophomores and juniors were taking their first stab at SATs while seniors who hadn’t done well were trying one last time. She had prep classes scheduled. She was meeting with students in large groups to take aptitude quizzes to help them decide on a study path. There were college applications and selection for seniors. Besides graduation, this was the busiest time of year.
At midmorning, Troy stood in her doorway. “Got a minute?”
She looked up. “Of course.”
“She has a fat lip,” he said.
Iris smiled at Troy. There were few teachers who cared as much about every student as he did. He tried to convince his friends in town that he got a teaching degree because it was easy and that his real interest was in recreation, as much as he could fit in, his choices being particularly expensive. But Iris considered him an überteacher. He was excellent in ab
solutely every aspect.
“I spoke to Rachel this morning. She explained it as a cheer practice accident. She was trying out a new routine with her friend Cammie. Some kind of lift or throw or something and Cammie’s knee hit her mouth. Sounds reasonable.”
“Uh-huh. She seems to have one of those accidents every other week or so.”
“They’re kids, Troy. They’re careless sometimes. Do you notice other things? Depression? Isolation? A lack of freedom from home—like not being allowed out with friends or not being allowed to attend school events? Anything?”
“Not yet,” he said. “I smell an ill wind.”
“I’m watching. And I appreciate that you’re watching, too. I asked the gym teacher to keep an eye—they’re stripped down pretty much in their little gym uniforms and if there are lots of bruises, she’ll see them. But so far she says all looks normal to her.”
“Don’t stop the watch, please,” he said. Then he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. The name Misty Rosario was written on a spare hall pass. “Do you know Misty?” he asked.
“I know who she is but I don’t believe we’ve had much interaction.”
“She’s a sophomore. I have only one sophomore class and they’re a pain in the ass, mostly. But Misty has been a delight. She’s very smart. I suggested she sign up to take the SAT or ACT early just to get a feel for it while there’s plenty of time to take the prep course and maybe retest next year. She said she won’t be taking the test. She’s also become very quiet and sad just lately. I tried to talk to her but I have to be very careful.”
“Of course,” Iris said.
“She’s a fifteen-year-old girl,” he added, though no explanation was necessary. Troy couldn’t and shouldn’t speak to her privately, it could suggest impropriety. “But I can send her to you so you can ask her why she isn’t interested in the college entrance test. And maybe figure out why she’s sad.”
“Sad, awkward, unhappy, self-conscious, nervous, afraid, lonely...” Iris ran down the list. “Don’t those words describe the majority of teenage girls?”
“On some days all teenagers act out those emotions,” he said. “But with Misty it’s most days. I almost never see her laugh anymore. She walks alone to class.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you suspect and cut right to the chase,” Iris said.
He shook his head and shrugged. “I wonder if she’s being picked on. I haven’t seen anything suspicious, but these days school isn’t always where it happens anymore. It could be on the internet. Of course, it could be other matters—illness in the family, economic issues, her own health. It’s not academic, that’s for sure. She’s very smart. But she’s different.”
“Different how?”
“Withdrawn but not shy. Sad but not morbidly depressed. Her history class is full of troublemakers, which is how I have them all, I think. Many of them are older than Misty. But she’ll answer questions confidently without so much as a blush. She’ll talk to other students but stays alone. Frankly, she acts like someone who’s keeping her brain tumor secret from the world.”
“Send her to me,” Iris said. “Tell her I want to discuss the SAT with her. In the meantime, I’ll pull up her transcript. And we’ll go from there.”
“Will you tell me what you find?” he asked.
She smiled at him. “Maybe. It depends.”
“Wanna grab a beer after work?” he asked.
“Jeez, it’s only Monday!”
“I’m not working at Cooper’s tonight. I don’t have many of those nights.”
“Okay then. Where? The beach?”
“Nah, it’s too cold and wet to sit on the deck. Let’s meet at Cliff’s.”
She’d been putting in a lot of time at Cliffhanger’s lately. “You’re on. Five?”
“Four-thirty, c’mon. I’m going to be so ready to be out of here by four, but I can hang out and clean chalkboards for a little while.”
“All right,” she said with a laugh. “See you there.”
And he was gone.
In a little town like Thunder Point, great teachers were hard to come by. The pay was on the low side because the budget was small and the town didn’t offer much beyond rugged coastline and quiet neighbors. And yet, they had some excellent, dedicated educators. Troy was one of the best. He’d taught junior high math for a couple of years in a private school, but he was a history major and had taken the Thunder Point job a couple of years ago. For a young guy, he was pretty worldly and seemed to know all the tricks and signs with the high school kids. He was devoted to them; he never missed a thing. When they were talking about the students, they were completely in tune.
Why couldn’t she love him? It would be so much less complicated. She was quite sure Seth was right—Troy loved her. He could be an excellent partner given a little encouragement.
But, curse the luck, she was still stuck on the guy who broke her heart years ago.
Eight
Misty Morning Rosario was a very small, thin, flat-chested fifteen-year-old. Unsmiling, as she was at the moment, she wasn’t very pretty. Iris had to concentrate to keep herself from making assumptions about what her issues might be.
“I bet everyone asks you about your name,” Iris said.
“Am I in trouble?” Misty asked.
“Oh, gosh, no. Not at all. Are you worried about something?”
Misty just shook her head. When Iris held silent for a minute, Misty finally answered, “It’s supposed to be Misty M. on my school paperwork. My parents, they were kind of hippies or something and I was born on—guess what? A misty morning. Could you think of anything more lame?”
“Well, my mother was a florist and named me Iris. I think I’ve finally made peace with it but growing up, I hated it. You know what really surprised me? Even girls who had regular names confessed to hating them! I think every twelve-or thirteen-year-old girl has fantasies about changing her name.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Even the girls named Kate and Mary and Sue,” Iris said. “How long have you lived in Thunder Point, Misty?”
“Two years, I guess. Since the start of eighth grade.”
“You’ve had such good grades. Are you the oldest child in your family?”
She nodded. “I have a little brother. His grades aren’t as good because he’s a screw-off.”
Iris laughed and could see Misty beginning to relax. “Did you know that most firstborn children are the most accomplished, especially academically? They show the most leadership skills, which I guess should be obvious.” They talked for a while about the deli Misty’s parents owned and operated in Bandon. It was bigger than Carrie’s deli and had tables for diners. Misty helped out on the weekends. Her dad was Portuguese and a lot of their deli items were his family recipes. They talked about everything Iris could think of—dogs, grandparents, babysitting.
“I was asking Mr. Headly about you earlier today. He mentioned that your grades are so good that he suggested taking the SAT this year and you...”
Misty’s eyes went downcast. She shrugged and clutched her hands in her lap.
“What is it, Misty? What worries you? You’re bound to do well. And depending on your score, you could retake it next year after a prep course and really kill it. Or, if the results are excellent, you could let it stand.”
She just shrugged again.
“Let’s talk about college, Misty. Are you worried about the cost? About leaving home? About college studies being harder?”
“I’m just not very interested in college,” she said softly.
“I’m so surprised. But that’s not a decision you have to make now. In fact, you don’t even have to decide next year. More to the point, since college isn’t required, you can decide at any point that it’s not righ
t for you. But it makes sense to be prepared in case you decide to give it a try.”
“It doesn’t feel right now,” she said.
“It probably seems a long way off,” Iris said. “Misty, will you look at me?” Iris asked gently.
Misty lifted her eyes and Iris was not surprised to see she was near tears. Oh, Troy was right. Something was wrong. “What’s bothering you, honey?” Iris asked. “You can say anything in this office and it will go no further.”
“Not even to Mr. Headly?” she asked softly.
“Especially not Mr. Headly,” she said. “Just you and me.”
“You won’t get it,” Misty said.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been a counselor for a while now. There isn’t much I haven’t heard. Plus, I bet I had some of the same worries when I was your age.”
The girl hesitated a long moment, contemplating by chewing on her lower lip. And then she spoke. “I’ll just be alone,” she whispered. “Why should I go away to a big school just to be alone?”
Iris was completely surprised by this. “Why would you be alone?”
Yet another self-conscious shrug. “I won’t have any friends.”
“How can you be sure of that?” Iris asked.
“You ever had a best friend?” Misty asked.
Iris nodded. “Sure.”
“You ever have a best friend drop you?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I have. It’s very painful. Is that what happened, Misty?”
She nodded and her eyes filled with tears. It was a miracle they weren’t flooding over. “My best friend since eighth grade got a better friend. And they don’t like me.”
“Misty, are you being bullied? Picked on?” Iris asked. “It’s okay to tell me.”
She shook her head. “She...Stephanie...was my best friend. I mean, we liked other friends, but she was my best friend. For like two years. Now she’s Tiff’s best friend and I’m out. She does everything with Tiff—we don’t even talk on the phone or text anymore. They sit together at lunch, assembly, games. If I just show up and sit by them, they talk and laugh and ignore me. They do things together after school and I’m not invited.”