I know he is only trying to distract me, but I see him differently now. He is not a lawyer on the make. He is broken, like the rest of us.
31
JESS
On Monday, Ms. Ellen wants an answer to her question. “It’s not that tough. I just want you to imagine what you would say to me if I was the one who hit Coach Mitchell.”
“I don’t know.”
She waits. She’s a good waiter. Finally, I blurt out, “This is stupid. I’m the one who hit Coach Mitchell.”
“No, I did,” she says and takes a sip of her tea. “I hit Coach Mitchell,” she insists.
“And his dog,” I correct her.
“And his dog.”
I take a bite of my sandwich, stalling for time. Ms. Ellen waits. I know she’ll sit there and say nothing all day if necessary.
“I’d tell you you’re fucked.”
Ms. Ellen doesn’t even raise her eyebrows at my language. She just watches me, her blue eyes not giving away anything.
“I’d say you shouldn’t have touched your phone. You’re an idiot.”
“I shouldn’t have,” says Ms. Ellen pretending to be me.
I put down my sandwich because the bite I took is still stuck in my throat.
“People around here hate you. You should find another school or be homeschooled. Or better yet, get out of town, out of this state, away from anywhere anyone knows about Coach Mitchell.”
“Is that what you want?” asks Ms. Ellen.
I can’t say anything because I’m crying and there’s food stuck in my throat and I’m just so damn mad at Ms. Ellen for making me cry.
“Wouldn’t you?” I finally say.
“Maybe,” says Ms. Ellen. “But I’d think about all the people here who love me and who need me.”
“Nobody needs me,” I tell her, crossing my arms.
“Your mother needs you.”
“No, she doesn’t. She would have had a life if it weren’t for me. She got married and stayed in this crappy town because of me. Did you know that? And this is the thanks she gets.”
“Jess, your mother loves you and I’m certain she’d make the same choice again.”
“She gave up college for me, how stupid is that? And now she’s sleeping with my lawyer to pay for his help and she might lose her job.”
“Your mother is an adult, and she is doing the best she can. Sometimes that’s all people can do.” Ms. Ellen looks at the clock.
“I have to go,” I say and pile my books into my backpack.
“We can talk more about this tomorrow,” Ms. Ellen tells me. She stands to give me a hug, but I turn and leave before she can reach me with her pity.
In Chemistry, Sheila actually looks at me. I smile and she rolls her eyes and turns back to the person she’s talking with. Jennifer is as friendly and chatty as ever. I try to tune her out and focus on the lab.
“Jess, did you hear me?”
“What?”
“Did you really write that e-mail Sheila is showing everyone?”
I sit back and take off my safety goggles. Is this what Tucker was talking about? “What e-mail? Sheila never answered any of my e-mails.”
Jennifer looks around, leans towards me, and whispers, “She’s showing people an e-mail you wrote. It says you think people are overreacting and that Coach Mitchell was old anyway and you have some big hot-shot lawyer who will get you out of the charges.”
My head spins and I reach out and hold the counter to keep my balance.
“I didn’t write that.”
“I figured, but Sheila’s been sending it to everyone. It does look like you sent it.”
“I didn’t.”
“I’m sure people will figure that out.”
Mr. Farenz appears at our table. “How’re we doing, ladies?”
Jennifer launches into a play-by-play of our results. I stare at Sheila who does not look up. How could she do this? What happened in that car?
32
LIZ
I look through the requests from the dining room manager. She is planning quite an elaborate Thanksgiving feast. The holiday can be hard for some of our residents—the ones whose families don’t take them home for the holiday and the ones who have no family left to go home to. I approve all six kinds of pie she would like to order.
Around ten, a shadow appears above my desk, and I look up to see Aaron.
“To what do we owe the honor?” I ask him.
“We need to talk,” he says and pulls my office door shut behind him.
I close the folder on my desk but say nothing. He paces in front of my desk.
“I heard about the scuffle in the lobby on Saturday.”
“There was no scuffle.”
“Well, whatever you want to call it. I think it would be best for the residents if you took some time off until this thing with your daughter is settled.”
“Jessica’s situation has nothing to do with my work here.”
“I disagree. It’s affecting your work and more importantly, the residents.”
“Are you telling me I have to take a leave or still just suggesting?”
“Just suggesting. I can’t make you, but I may find it necessary to limit your interaction with the residents which will probably require I reduce your hours so I can afford to bring in someone else.”
“Someone more male?”
“Please don’t start banging that drum again. My only concern is the security of our residents.”
“And me being here jeopardizes that.”
“I believe it does. I also believe it might be good if you spend more time supervising your daughter.”
Fury rages through me and I have an irrational urge to throw the stapler in my hand at his shiny forehead. He is like those people you see rioting after a natural disaster. Where there is chaos, there is opportunity.
I set the stapler down and open the folder of invoice requests. I don’t look at him.
“Get out of my office,” I tell him.
“Excuse me?”
“I said, get out of my office.”
I will not look at him. I will control my fury. I will not give him the excuse he is looking for to fire me.
“I don’t appreciate your tone. If I were you, I would tread carefully, not many people in this town will be inclined to hire you, even with my reference, but definitely not without it.”
I say nothing. He lets out a long sigh. “You have a good day,” he says as if having a good day is within my control.
— — —
“I know he didn’t fire me, but if I leave, it will seem like he did,” I tell Kevin when I call him at lunchtime.
“He can’t do that. He has no grounds.”
“I don’t know what to do. I need the money. Now, more than ever.”
“You want me to get involved?”
“No! The last thing I need right now is another lawsuit.”
“You could come work for me,” he says.
“Doing what?” I laugh. Kevin is already doing so much for us; I can’t take his charity.
“Being a clerical assistant. My secretary is out more than she’s in. She’s pregnant and the morning sickness seems to be an all-day problem. I could use someone to handle the phones, do some filing, open the mail. I know you are way over-qualified, but it would allow you to take a break from Morningside. Just until the case is resolved.”
“Seriously?” I ask. Once again, I qu
estion his motives. Is he being kind? Or is he just trying to ingratiate me to him? And why am I so suspicious of every move he makes?
“They might realize what they’re missing if you took a leave. And if your job isn’t waiting for you when you’re ready to go back, I’ll help them understand the legal ramifications of that decision. Meanwhile, I need the help. It’s not fun work, but if you don’t take it, I’ll have to call a temp, anyway.”
“I can’t type very well, and English was not my strong subject.”
“I’m not worried. The job is mostly dealing with people. You’re good at that.”
“I will think about it,” I say, but after I hang up, I pack a few things. No one would argue with my decision. My decision. Lately it feels like no decision is mine. Avery will be mad, but she will understand.
And then I have a brilliant idea. An opportunity out of the chaos I could seize.
I dial Aaron.
“I’ll leave.”
“You will?”
“On one condition?”
“I’m not sure you’re in a place to make conditions.”
“I’m not sure you’re in a place to make me leave. My lawyer informed me I have grounds for wrongful termination.”
“I’m listening.”
“Avery Bennett has worked here almost as long as I have.”
“Yes.”
“And she knows how to do my job as well as I do. I will take a leave of absence if you let Avery backfill my job.”
“Ms. Bennett doesn’t have a college degree.”
“And neither do I, as you so frequently remind me.”
“I don’t think it would be appropriate to give her your job.”
“You wouldn’t be giving her my job, remember? This is a temporary leave; you said so yourself.”
Aaron is quiet for a few moments. Finally, he says, “Done. But if she can’t handle the job…”
“She can handle the job,” I assure him. “I’ll train her myself and leave on Friday.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary. I’m sure you can teach her all she needs to know before you leave today.”
I hang up the phone. “Asshole,” I mutter.
I have had this job for eight years and put in more hours than anyone. It is hard to imagine not seeing these people every day. I wrap the pictures of Jess in paper from my recycling bin but leave my drawer full of chocolate, Tylenol, and Tums for Avery. I put the box in my car and then find Avery in the supply room.
“Guess what?”
“What?” she asks with a pen in her mouth and a case of tissues open on the shelf.
“You’re getting a promotion!”
Avery is furious that I am leaving, but she can’t hide her delight at getting my job. And she is a quick study. We spend the rest of the day going over every file and form and responsibility. I don’t tell anyone else I’m leaving. I don’t want anyone to make a fuss.
“That’s it,” I say when we have covered everything.
“Nope. It isn’t.”
“What did I forget?”
“The part where I buy you dinner to thank you for doing this for me.”
I laugh, but then I realize that I was so focused on making sure I told Avery everything that I forgot to pick up Jess.
“Crap! I was supposed to be at the school an hour ago!”
33
JESS
After I finish taking my history test, Mom isn’t waiting outside for me. I told her I was staying after for the test. She should be here. I call her, but it goes to voicemail. I pace around for a while and then sit down on a bench trying to decide if I should call my dad or Mrs. M. Either of them would probably come to get me.
As I’m considering this, Casey comes out of the gym and heads up the sidewalk towards me on his way to the student parking lot. He walks past me but then turns around.
“You okay? Do you need a ride or something?”
I can’t look at him. Instead, I look towards the parking lot and mumble, “My mom was supposed to be here, but she isn’t.”
“C’mon, I can give you a ride. You live on Beckett, right?”
I pull on my backpack. “Uh, yeah, Beckett.” I sound like an idiot.
We walk to the student parking lot in silence. When we get to his car, I ask, “Are you sure you want to give me a ride?”
“It’s not a problem.”
As we pull into traffic, Casey clears his throat. It occurs to me he’s nervous too. He probably doesn’t want to be seen with me. I sink low in my seat.
“I’m sorry about everything,” he says.
This makes me sit back up.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.”
I swear he winces.
As we sit at the next stoplight, Casey says, “Once, I was driving home from practice and I was fiddling with the stereo. My dad had just gotten me Sirius Radio, and I was trying to find a station I heard about. I wasn’t paying attention to the road. It was only a few seconds, but when I looked up, I was in the other lane.”
I know what he’s trying to say, but it doesn’t help.
“I guess, I mean, I was lucky. I could have hit someone.”
My heart is pounding so loud I can hear it ringing in my ears. I can’t look at him, so I lean against the cool glass of the window. I watch the other cars go by. A tear slips down my cheek and falls on the door of Casey’s car. I watch it melt into the upholstery.
When Casey pulls into my driveway, he shuts the engine off and turns to me.
“I’m sorry this happened to you. It could have been anyone. Maybe people are freaked out because they know that, and they’re just glad it wasn’t them.”
I nod and wipe my nose with my sleeve. Such a lovely picture I make, but I don’t care.
“That crap Sheila’s saying - most people know she’s full of shit; they don’t take her seriously.”
I nod again. I just want to get out of the car. I can’t breathe.
“You okay?” Casey asks.
“Thanks for the ride,” I mumble and open my door, hiding my face from him.
“Anytime.”
As I hurry up the walk, Casey calls out the window, “Jess!”
I stop and turn back to him.
“People will get over it. They just need time.”
I nod again and hurry into the house and make it to the toilet just in time to unload that sandwich that has been lodged in my throat all day.
I pace the house, caged. I can’t stay here. Casey’s wrong, Sheila’s lies will become truth. She’s making sure of that. People believe what she says because they want to believe her. As if just her words on your lips make you cooler or more popular or whatever it is you think she has that you wish you had.
There is no place for me at Jefferson High. And it’s not “just going to take time” like Ms. Ellen and Mom and now Casey say. They don’t understand. They act like I’m a little kid whose boo-boo will eventually heal. How could it? It cuts right through to my soul.
My phone rings. Mom.
“I’m so sorry! I completely forgot!” she cries.
“It’s okay. I got a ride.”
“You did? With who?”
“A friend. It’s okay.”
“Do you think you can get yourself dinner if I go out with Avery?”
“Sure,” I tell her, and then I see my opportunity. “I’m going to call Dad and see if I can go out there.”
“Oh? Why would you do
that?”
“I kind of want to hang out with my friend out there.”
“Oh, okay, but how will you get to school tomorrow?”
“Dad can take me.”
Avery leans into the phone and yells, “Hi Jess! Your mom is awesome!”
“You’re sure?” Mom asks, but I can tell she’s relieved. She hasn’t hung out with Avery since this whole nightmare started.
I hang up and consider my options. Casey did say he could give me a ride anytime when he dropped me off. But wishing on Casey is what landed me in this nightmare. I dial Fish’s number.
“Hey,” he says. “I didn’t think you would ever call me.”
“Well, I did. Can you pick me up?”
“Right now?”
I load my backpack with extra clothes, granola bars, and all the cash I can find in the house, which is only thirty-six bucks. I have no idea where I can go. All I know is I can’t stay. Anybody who doesn’t hate me already will hate me after Sheila’s e-mail makes the rounds.
Less than an hour later, I hear Fish’s bike turn on our street. I grab my backpack and run out without a backward glance.
“Where to?” asks Fish when I climb on the bike behind him.
“I don’t care, just away from here.”
“Shit, I hear that,” he says and tears out of the driveway.
November in Jefferson can get cold. The days are still in the seventies, but nights hover in the fifties. After about an hour, I’m too cold to ride any longer. Fish pulls the bike into a rest area.
“I know this place,” he says. “C’mon.”
I follow him behind the bathrooms to a small concrete building. I watch while he jimmies the lock and opens the door easily. I’ve chosen the right accomplice, it seems. He waves me inside. It smells like gasoline. Fish turns on a light. Tools hang from the walls, and paper supplies for the bathrooms are stacked everywhere. An old newspaper, empty soda bottle, and half-full pack of cigarettes lay on a small desk. Fish moves aside a pile of boxes and finds a thermostat. I hear the heat click on.
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