"It wasn't a pact," Lily said. "We just agreed that this would be a good thing to do together."
"That's a pact, sweetheart," Susan said, having learned the lesson from Rick. "You can play with words all you want, but it is what it is."
"Why?" Meredith asked the girls.
"Because we love babies," Lily answered.
"So do I," the counselor replied earnestly, "but I don't have a husband or the means to support a baby, so there is no baby, and I am done with school, and the perfect age to have a child." She had been one of Susan's first hires, a spunky African American who seemed perfectly happy mothering high schoolers in lieu of her own kids. She spoke her thoughts freely, and while that upset some parents, it worked for the students. Kids didn't always like what Ms. Parker said, Lily had explained, but they liked knowing where she stood.
So did Susan, particularly since Meredith had brought up husband, money, education, and age, all issues Susan had raised herself.
Subdued, the girls sat on the sofa. Mary Kate, in particular, looked stricken. "Did you find Jacob?" Susan asked.
Eyes tearing up, the girl nodded.
"How was he?"
"Angry. He stared at me, then walked way." Her voice broke. "I ran after him--I mean, he was one of the reasons I wanted this baby--but he wouldn't listen."
In different circumstances, Susan would have gone to her, held her, reassured her that Jacob loved her and would come around. But Lily and Jessica were doing just that, now. This, apparently, was the purpose of the pact, to support each other when the going got tough.
Susan wondered what the father of Lily's baby was thinking. She hadn't allowed herself to think about him, was still having trouble visualizing her daughter with any boy. But he would surely know by now. She wondered if other students would guess his identity and whether Susan would learn it that way.
Angry at Lily for this, too, she wandered past the bookshelf that held the summer reading assignments for each grade level. Nearby were pictures of Lily in third grade, sixth grade, ninth grade, looking so innocent that Susan could have cried.
Continuing on to the girls, she took a chair. After a minute, thinking aloud, she said, "We have three planned pregnancies in three seniors who would be the last ones anyone would expect to have done this. The question is how to handle it."
"You can't kick us out of school," Jessica cautioned meekly. "I asked my dad."
Susan sighed. "I wouldn't kick you out, Jess. You need to graduate." She filled in Amy and Meredith on what had happened at lunch. "Word is spreading fast."
"This is Abby's fault," Jessica insisted.
"If you weren't pregnant," Susan said, "she'd have had nothing to say. But it's done, Jess. We have to figure out what to do now."
The door opened. Kate and Sunny slipped in, both looking pale and upset. Kate closed the door, shaking her head when Amy rose to offer her a seat. Sunny stood by the file cabinet, radiating anger. There were glances at the girls, but they were brief.
This is not my daughter, Susan could hear them thinking. She shared the sentiment, but dwelling on the horror of what the girls had done wouldn't help. "It would have been nice to have had a little more time, but the grapevine can be lethal. Everyone will be speculating and exaggerating."
"How do you exaggerate this?" Sunny asked in disgust.
Easy, Susan thought. "You say there are ten girls involved, not three. You say that the pact is among the boys to impregnate girls. You say that someone is going to parties, slipping Mickeys to sweet little things like you three."
"None of that's true," Jess said.
"Correct, which is why we need to define the story ourselves. Tomorrow's Friday. Students will be heading into the weekend talking--"
"Don't they have anything better to do?" Lily asked.
"That depends on how you define better," Susan said. "Change the parties involved. Think, say, Rachel Bishop, Sara Legere, and Kelsey Hughes. They're your friends, right? What if you suddenly learned that all three were pregnant--three good friends, top students, college-bound kids? Wouldn't you be talking about it? Wouldn't you be calling other friends to find out what they knew? Of course you would. It's human nature."
"Your mother's right," Meredith said. "Kids talk. They text."
"But it's all hearsay," Jess protested.
"Not all," corrected Lily. "What Abby said was firsthand."
"Unfortunately," the counselor said, "it's the classic case of a little knowledge being worse than none. If word is out, we've passed the 'none' stage."
"Fine," Sunny told Susan and folded her arms. "What do you suggest?"
Susan was still trying to decide. One thing was for sure. "I need to tell Dr. Correlli."
"Can you tell him without giving our names?"
"What's the point? He already knows Lily's pregnant. If he doesn't guess that the others are Mary Kate and Jess, a call to any one of Lily's teachers will tell him."
"Teachers can't give out names. What about our right to privacy?"
"It's gone," Susan said, feeling a weight in the pit of her stomach. Her daughter would be named right along with the others. "This is now a public matter. The superintendent is responsible for everything that involves his schools."
"Dan won't agree," Sunny said, but Susan knew the law.
"He'd have a case if a teacher went outside the school system, say to the papers, with a student's name. But Dr. Correlli is within the school system. Especially with my own daughter being part of this, I need him involved. It'd be best if I went to him with a plan." It might even compensate for the incompetence she felt as a mother.
"What do you propose?" Kate asked.
Susan was on shaky ground. She would have given anything to have someone else calling the shots. She was way too emotionally involved for this.
But there was no one else. So she tried to imagine what she would do if she didn't know any of the girls. "We have to contain the story. That means carefully defining it."
"How do you do that?" Sunny asked.
"I'll send an e-mail to my faculty, then one to parents."
Sunny made a strangled sound. "You'd tell everyone?"
"If I don't, someone else will. This is as bad for me as it is for you, Sunny."
"What will you say?" Kate asked, moving on.
"I'll confirm the rumor, say how many students are involved, and that the pact is self-contained." Crossing Abby off the list of potential moms, she stared at the girls. "That is right, isn't it?"
The three nodded.
Susan sat back. "Only three, then. No epidemic."
"For now," said Meredith. "Pregnancy isn't contagious, but pact behavior can be. That worries me, and it'll worry a lot of parents. Can you imagine if other groups of girls decide to do this?"
"Just because we did it?" Mary Kate asked skeptically.
"Just because you did it," Meredith confirmed. "You girls are respected."
"The whole point," Jess put in, "was to do something different."
"Something for us," Mary Kate added.
"Would you name our daughters in your e-mail?" Sunny asked Susan.
"No. But the names will come out."
"This doesn't feel good."
"Not to me, either," Susan said helplessly, "but can you think of a better plan?"
Chapter 11
The Zaganack town hall, a wide brick building with white trim, shared the south end of Main Street with the library, the police station, and the Congregational church. On its second floor were the offices of the school superintendent. His windows overlooked the church graveyard, which overlooked the tail end of the harbor. This late in the season, there were few pleasure boats in the water, but those that remained--sailboats with masts rising and canvas battened down, as well as the occasional fishing boat coming or going--softened the view of the cemetery.
In the past, Susan had stood at the window watching the water and expressing envy. How do you get anything done, Phil? If this was my office, I
'd be too distracted to work. A far cry from the Great Plains, this view embodied much of what she had come to Zaganack to find.
Today she barely saw it. From the minute she entered the office, her eyes were on Phil.
When she was done explaining, he remained silent, elbows on the desk, chin propped on his fists. Finally, eyes sad, he dropped his hands. "Have you known about the other two all along?"
Susan had expected the question, but that didn't ease her guilt. "At first I thought it was only Lily. When I learned about the others, it was ..." Stunning? Infuriating? Devastating? Unable to choose the right word, she said, "This is a nightmare. I've been dealing with it on a personal level, and it hasn't been easy. I'd have told you everything before Thanksgiving, but at that point, no one at school knew about Mary Kate and Jess. Their families are my closest friends, and they're going through the same personal trauma I am. I begged them to let me tell you. One of them outright refused."
"That would be Sunny Barros."
Sunny often ran school fund-raisers and was known for discipline. Along with her husband's reputation as a law-and-order guy, stacked against easygoing Kate and Will, it was easy for Phil to guess.
His mouth remained tight. "Well, we can't call it a pact. That's an incendiary word."
"But it is a pact. We have to address it head-on."
"Not using that word, please," he ordered and suddenly lost his temper. "Insecure girls, I can understand. Girls with no future, I can buy. Girls with no love, fine. But these girls? What is this about?"
"I've asked my daughter that a dozen times," said Susan. "She feels she has valid reasons--they all believe they do--and they gave each other courage. That's the thing about pact mentality--"
"Bah." He cut her off. "Forget pact mentality. Why are so many teenagers getting pregnant? Is it Hollywood?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe? Open any of those magazines and there's a 'bump alert.' A bump alert--what a pathetic phrase. A bump sits and does nothing. A baby does not. Do these girls understand the reality of being a parent? Popular culture gives them the wrong idea, and apparently we've done nothing to change that."
"Actually, we have," Susan cautioned. If he wanted to attack her parenting skills, fine; she could find fault with them herself, in light of what her own daughter had done. But attacking her as a school administrator was unfair. "Drugs, drinking, sex--we discuss them at every grade level, and we use what's happening in the news as an opening. We directly address these issues, Phil. The clinic nurse is always meeting with small groups to talk about things like safe sex and the pitfalls of early pregnancy."
He seemed not to hear. "So, was this a pact to imitate celebrities?"
"Don't I wish. That would give us something to talk about. But it isn't that in this case. These girls are close. They grew up supporting each other. They grew up seeing their mothers support each other. They decided that together they could do this."
"They're too young to make that decision."
"True. But we ask them to make other decisions. They drive; that involves making adult decisions. And these girls will be eighteen when their babies are born. At eighteen, they can serve in the army, carry guns, kill people."
"Bad analogy, Susan. A soldier acts out of necessity."
"But like soldiers, these girls adopted a group mentality. I'm not saying it's right, Phil. I'm just saying that's how it was. They were operating under a mind-set that made this doable."
"And that's what I'm saying," he shot back. "It's what they see on TV. Who is making it okay to be single and pregnant?"
There it was. Susan raised her chin. "I was single and pregnant."
"See, that's a problem." He waved a dismissive hand. "Another is the fathers. We need them to come forward. That would give it a semblance of morality."
"Talk about incendiary words," Susan said, vaguely offended. "Isn't responsibility a better one?"
"Call it what you want. I want the fathers to speak up."
"The girls don't want them involved."
"And the girls' families are okay with that?"
"No," Susan said, feeling personally attacked, but she hadn't gotten to where she was by cowering. Her mother was right; she did have a fuchsia heart. When she was provoked, her high color came out. "The girls' families are not okay with this. The girls' families are trying to decide what is the most responsible thing to do. Our girls made a pact. Part of the pact was that the fathers wouldn't be involved. No, I am not okay with it," she said with rising anger, "and I've told my daughter that, but would you have them drag those boys in front of us? Force them to be fathers, and you'll end up with teenage moms who are stuck in bad marriages and children who are resented from day one. I've been down this road, Phil. I could have married Lily's father, but it would have made for resentment. I don't want that for my daughter, or for her child."
"You condone it, then?" he asked in dismay.
"No. I'm beside myself. I'm just trying to make the best of a bad situation."
Phil was quiet, sitting back in his chair, studying her. Finally, he said, "I'm disappointed."
"So am I," she shot back fiercely. "I'm disappointed in Lily. I'm disappointed in Mary Kate and Jess. I'm disappointed in those boys for not using condoms despite what the girls might have said. And yes, Phil, I'm disappointed in myself, because a better mother might be able to read her child's mind, even when that child is seventeen. But if you're disappointed in me as principal, that's unfair. I've done a good job for you in the past two years, and there have been other crises. We've dealt with one student playing pharmacist in school, another hacking into his teacher's computer to steal exams. We've even had a teacher sending lewd e-mail to a coed. So this is a new challenge. I can handle it."
"You were an unwed mother at seventeen."
"And what about all I've achieved since then? Doesn't any of it count?"
He held up a conciliatory hand. "What you've done since is remarkable. I'm just telling you what people will see."
"Then we have to make them see something else."
"How."
Susan repeated what she had told Sunny and Kate. "If we get accurate information to the adult community, they can pass it on to students. I'll be happy to run a draft of the parent e-mail past you."
"Send an e-mail, and the Gazette will see it."
"You know the editor. Can you pull strings?"
Phil snorted. "To do what--hold him off? This is big news. The paper's out today, which means he has plenty of time to put a story together for next week's edition."
"Can you soft-pedal what he prints?"
"Possibly." Susan might have felt an inkling of relief if he hadn't added, "What about the school board?"
Her stomach clenched. "Well, they'll find out through Pam Perry," she said, realizing that she would have to handle that, too. "What if I ask her to set up a meeting so that I can tell them myself?"
"They'll skewer you."
Oh, they would, and several of the most ornery members would take pleasure in it. "But that's the best way to handle this, don't you think?"
The school board issue was a big one, but that wasn't why, as soon as Susan cleared the town hall steps, she called Pam. She wanted to tell her firsthand what was going on, not for political reasons, but because they were friends. Kate was right; Pam felt a special connection to Susan. But the connection went both ways. Pam had come from the same kind of constrictive home as Susan--they talked about it often, just the two of them--and while marriage to Tanner had helped, Pam hadn't yet found the self-confidence Susan had.
"Where are you now?" she asked when Pam answered.
"Tanner's office. Something's wrong. I hear it in your voice."
"Can I meet you there?"
"What is it, Susan?"
"I'm just leaving Town Hall. Give me five minutes?"
With nervous energy quickening her step, it took only three. The administrative offices of Perry & Cass were at the opposite end of the harbor, in a
pristine house painted a seashore gray, with decks directly overlooking the pier and seagulls screeching in the cold. Like Phil's, Tanner's office was on the second floor, but that was where the similarity ended. The room was filled with rich mahogany, fine Berber, and the light that poured from a wall of windows. Pam had been sitting in that light, but dropped her knitting and rose the instant Susan appeared.
Tanner was on the phone, his back to the door, his tall, lanky frame stooped.
Grabbing her hand, Pam pulled her to the corner farthest from him. "Tell me."
"Have you talked with Abby?"
"Not since this morning. What is it?"
"Not good," Susan warned and told her about Jessica and Mary Kate.
Pam opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
"I wanted you to hear it from me. I don't blame Abby. It would have come out anyway. But now there's no hiding it."
"Three pregnant?" Pam asked in disbelief. "A pact? Jessica I can buy, but Mary Kate is as improbable as Lily. This is crazy. How could Abby not tell me?" Once started, the questions kept coming. "Who are the boys? You don't know or aren't telling? One has to be Jacob, but what about Lily? I didn't know she even had a boyfriend. And what does Sunny say? Omigod, she must be ready to strangle Jess. I would kill Abby if she did this."
Susan was hoping it wouldn't come to that, when Pam rushed on. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? Okay, I know you're in a bind being principal, but couldn't Kate or Sunny have called? We're friends. And we work together. Why am I always the last to know?"
"You're not. The only other parents who know may be ones whose kids heard the rumor. That's why I'm here. I wanted to tell you myself. I came as soon as I could."
Pam looked lost. "Why am I always left out of the loop?"
Susan tried to be sympathetic, but, bottom line, this wasn't about Pam. "We're dealing with our daughters. Trust me, we've barely talked with each other." She was thinking it was especially true with Sunny, when Tanner hung up the phone.
"Tanner," Pam said. "You have to hear Susan's news."
And so Susan repeated it. Grateful for small favors, she was glad that Pam was here at the office rather than at home alone. Tanner was a steadying force. Moreover, he was arguably more powerful in Zaganack than the mayor. If controlling the story was Susan's goal, he was an asset. He didn't panic. He was fair. He had led a privileged life, but he fully understood that. There was a kindness in him, a sense of charity.
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