everyone.”
“Do you know Nick Martin?”
“Hell, I mean heck no. The guy’s a freak.”
Emily stared hard at the boy. His blotchy face. His gangly arms. He was only a notch above Nick Martin on the lowest rung of the high school’s social ladder. Yet in his own somewhat earnest manner, he was trying to help.
“It’s been awhile since I was here, but all of us have had our turn being a freak,” she said. “That’s just the way high school is, or was.”
“Guess so,” he said.
She fake smiled before turning away and walking into the office.
“I’m back with the court order for Nick Martin’s student file,” Emily told the secretary. She could see the top of Sal Randazzo’s beaconlike pate as he looked up from his desk. He got up and started toward her. His mouth was a straight line. His dark eyes sparked.
“Let me see that,” he said.
Emily slid the subpoena across the counter. A couple of girls tabulating the day’s absences pretended to be busy at work. When one looked over and caught Emily’s gaze, she smiled.
Making Randazzo squirm was fun.
“Is Jenna going to be okay, Mrs. Kenyon?” said a pretty blonde with a mouthful of metal.
Emily recognized her from the intramural basketball team that Jenna had been on a few years ago. She was a nice girl. God, the whole school was filled with nice boys and girls. Why this? Why did her daughter find the only bad apple in the barrel?
“I’m sure we’ll get it all sorted out,” Emily said. She shifted her attention back to the principal, who by then was done reading the paperwork.
“I’ll get you the files myself,” he said. With an irritated look on his face, Randazzo vanished around the corner to the file room. He returned with a green folder. A very thin green folder.
“Is that it?” Emily asked.
He shrugged, and she opened it. There were no more than ten sheets inside. One was a permission slip from Peg Martin for her son’s participation in a field trip to a dairy outside of the county. A few pages indicated some visits to the nurse. Finally, the basics of his life—his gender was male, he was born in Seattle, his parents’ names and occupations.
Nothing more. Nothing at all.
What did I expect? Emily asked herself. He was a kid. He didn’t have a life yet.
“This is it?” she repeated.
“’Fraid so,” Randazzo said, impatiently. “We don’t carry a lot of paper on our kids. I’m surprised that the permission slip for the trip to Clover Dale Farms is in there. That should have been purged long ago.”
Emily looked up from the minidossier on a troubled high school kid. She held her tongue. The pretty blonde looked over. A beat of silence. It wasn’t Randazzo’s fault that he was complete nincompoop. He probably was born that way.
“Judge says I can take these.” She turned for the door. In doing so she caught the eyes of the girls working at the attendance office one last time and smiled in their direction. It was an invitation for them to come speak to her if they wanted, but they just went back to their work.
Emily felt the buzz in her purse, and then came the muffled, but familiar ring. She had begun to hate the Elvis Costello ringtone Jenna had downloaded as a surprise. What had once seemed so silly that it made them laugh until their sides ached now seemed derisive and a sad reminder.
“Hey Emily, can you come back to the office?” It was Kiplinger. His normally gregarious nature was masked by concern. “Marina Wilbur is here to see you.”
Emily searched her memory, but nothing came up. She didn’t know anyone by that name. Before she said so, Kip offered up more information.
“She’s Peg Martin’s sister. From back east. She’s here to make arrangements.”
“I’ll be right there.” Emily flipped her phone shut and sat in her car. The seat belt warning pinged, but she paid it no mind. She turned the ignition and looked in the rearview mirror, catching her own reflection for the first time.
“Do you know Nick Martin?”
“Hell, I mean heck no. The guy’s a freak.”
Emily stared hard at the boy. His blotchy face. His gangly arms. He was only a notch above Nick Martin on the lowest rung of the high school’s social ladder. Yet in his own somewhat earnest manner, he was trying to help.
“It’s been awhile since I was here, but all of us have had our turn being a freak,” she said. “That’s just the way high school is, or was.”
“Guess so,” he said.
She fake smiled before turning away and walking into the office.
“I’m back with the court order for Nick Martin’s student file,” Emily told the secretary. She could see the top of Sal Randazzo’s beaconlike pate as he looked up from his desk. He got up and started toward her. His mouth was a straight line. His dark eyes sparked.
“Let me see that,” he said.
Emily slid the subpoena across the counter. A couple of girls tabulating the day’s absences pretended to be busy at work. When one looked over and caught Emily’s gaze, she smiled.
Making Randazzo squirm was fun.
“Is Jenna going to be okay, Mrs. Kenyon?” said a pretty blonde with a mouthful of metal.
Emily recognized her from the intramural basketball team that Jenna had been on a few years ago. She was a nice girl. God, the whole school was filled with nice boys and girls. Why this? Why did her daughter find the only bad apple in the barrel?
“I’m sure we’ll get it all sorted out,” Emily said. She shifted her attention back to the principal, who by then was done reading the paperwork.
“I’ll get you the files myself,” he said. With an irritated look on his face, Randazzo vanished around the corner to the file room. He returned with a green folder. A very thin green folder.
“Is that it?” Emily asked.
He shrugged, and she opened it. There were no more than ten sheets inside. One was a permission slip from Peg Martin for her son’s participation in a field trip to a dairy outside of the county. A few pages indicated some visits to the nurse. Finally, the basics of his life—his gender was male, he was born in Seattle, his parents’ names and occupations.
Nothing more. Nothing at all.
What did I expect? Emily asked herself. He was a kid. He didn’t have a life yet.
“This is it?” she repeated.
“’Fraid so,” Randazzo said, impatiently. “We don’t carry a lot of paper on our kids. I’m surprised that the permission slip for the trip to Clover Dale Farms is in there. That should have been purged long ago.”
Emily looked up from the minidossier on a troubled high school kid. She held her tongue. The pretty blonde looked over. A beat of silence. It wasn’t Randazzo’s fault that he was complete nincompoop. He probably was born that way.
“Judge says I can take these.” She turned for the door. In doing so she caught the eyes of the girls working at the attendance office one last time and smiled in their direction. It was an invitation for them to come speak to her if they wanted, but they just went back to their work.
Emily felt the buzz in her purse, and then came the muffled, but familiar ring. She had begun to hate the Elvis Costello ringtone Jenna had downloaded as a surprise. What had once seemed so silly that it made them laugh until their sides ached now seemed derisive and a sad reminder.
“Hey Emily, can you come back to the office?” It was Kiplinger. His normally gregarious nature was masked by concern. “Marina Wilbur is here to see you.”
Emily searched her memory, but nothing came up. She didn’t know anyone by that name. Before she said so, Kip offered up more information.
“She’s Peg Martin’s sister. From back east. She’s here to make arrangements.”
“I’ll be right there.” Emily flipped her phone shut and sat in her car. The seat belt warning pinged, but she paid it no mind. She turned the ignition and looked in the rearview mirror, catching her own reflection for the first time.
Similar Books
