Special. Those were pedophile code words.
“How so?” Kendall asked.
“We have a mix of students here,” Connie said. “This is a big school. We’ve got a lot of kids who think they are entitled. They want to be the next American Idol or think they are the second coming of Mackle-more. They want to be famous, make a lot of money.”
“Everyone has dreams, Ms. Mitchell, right?”
“True. So true. Darby is wiser, older than her years. She has a wry, sardonic kind of sense of humor. She understood the balance and order of the universe. You could talk to her about things that were important. She isn’t like a lot of the kids I have now in class.”
“What do you mean? Special? Different?” Kendall was leading Connie to where she needed to go.
“Vulnerable, but strong. Resilient. I saw a lot of myself in her—you know when I was younger and trying to find my identity.”
Again, Kendall let that slide.
“She spent a lot of time with you,” she said, adding a quick, “here.”
“Yes, she did,” Connie said. “She is my best student. Certainly this year. There’s always one. Sometimes two that stand out.”
“Does she have any friends, other than Katie Lawrence? Others who might know what, if anything, out of the ordinary was going on in her life?”
“Other than Katie? No. I think she had a crush on someone, though.”
You? Did she have a crush on you?
“You’re being vague here, Ms. Mitchell. I need you to be direct. I need you to tell me what a sixteen-year-old girl was doing at your house?”
Connie sprang to her feet. “What are you getting at? She was never, ever at my house! That’s improper. Are you saying that because I’m a lesbian?”
Kendall didn’t care if the art teacher was gay, but there were instances—very few—when female predators plucked the vulnerable from the classroom.
The special ones.
“Look, I don’t care if you are gay or not,” Kendall said. “It makes no difference to me. But if you were involved in any improper way with Darby, you have some explaining to do. And depending on what the investigation turns up, you will probably be out of this classroom before your art show.”
“You have it all wrong,” Connie said, her eyes now wet with tears. “I was never involved. I’m in a committed relationship. My girlfriend and I are getting married this summer. Darby wasn’t gay. Darby never, ever came to my house.”
“She told Katie that she did,” Kendall said.
Connie was pacing back and forth, scrambling, trying to extricate herself from what she surely knew was a career-ruining accusation.
“Look, I think she had a boyfriend. I think, well, she didn’t tell me who. She said she thought she might be in love. She didn’t tell Katie. She couldn’t. She and Katie were sort of the outcasts and she didn’t want Katie to be hurt that this boy liked her. And that she liked this boy.”
“You seem to have gotten awfully close to Darby.”
“I told you,” Connie said defensively. “I saw a lot of myself in her.”
As the teacher wrapped her arms around her now heaving chest, Kendall noticed her fingernails. The color. It was so familiar.
“Did you give Darby gifts? You did, didn’t you?”
“No. No. I’m telling you.”
“When she disappeared she wore the same polish that you’re wearing now.”
Connie looked down at her hands.
“Oh. I did. I gave her a bottle.”
“That’s a little personal, isn’t it?”
Connie put her fingers to her lips. She motioned for Kendall to follow her to a small room in the back of the classroom, where she flung open a storage locker.
Inside were row upon row of nail polish. All colors. All in order of light to dark. It was like a cosmetic display on steroids.
“I don’t understand,” Kendall said.
Connie’s words were caught in her throat and she struggled a little to get them out.
“I don’t like to talk about it,” she started to say, before stopping herself.
“Take a moment,” Kendall
“How so?” Kendall asked.
“We have a mix of students here,” Connie said. “This is a big school. We’ve got a lot of kids who think they are entitled. They want to be the next American Idol or think they are the second coming of Mackle-more. They want to be famous, make a lot of money.”
“Everyone has dreams, Ms. Mitchell, right?”
“True. So true. Darby is wiser, older than her years. She has a wry, sardonic kind of sense of humor. She understood the balance and order of the universe. You could talk to her about things that were important. She isn’t like a lot of the kids I have now in class.”
“What do you mean? Special? Different?” Kendall was leading Connie to where she needed to go.
“Vulnerable, but strong. Resilient. I saw a lot of myself in her—you know when I was younger and trying to find my identity.”
Again, Kendall let that slide.
“She spent a lot of time with you,” she said, adding a quick, “here.”
“Yes, she did,” Connie said. “She is my best student. Certainly this year. There’s always one. Sometimes two that stand out.”
“Does she have any friends, other than Katie Lawrence? Others who might know what, if anything, out of the ordinary was going on in her life?”
“Other than Katie? No. I think she had a crush on someone, though.”
You? Did she have a crush on you?
“You’re being vague here, Ms. Mitchell. I need you to be direct. I need you to tell me what a sixteen-year-old girl was doing at your house?”
Connie sprang to her feet. “What are you getting at? She was never, ever at my house! That’s improper. Are you saying that because I’m a lesbian?”
Kendall didn’t care if the art teacher was gay, but there were instances—very few—when female predators plucked the vulnerable from the classroom.
The special ones.
“Look, I don’t care if you are gay or not,” Kendall said. “It makes no difference to me. But if you were involved in any improper way with Darby, you have some explaining to do. And depending on what the investigation turns up, you will probably be out of this classroom before your art show.”
“You have it all wrong,” Connie said, her eyes now wet with tears. “I was never involved. I’m in a committed relationship. My girlfriend and I are getting married this summer. Darby wasn’t gay. Darby never, ever came to my house.”
“She told Katie that she did,” Kendall said.
Connie was pacing back and forth, scrambling, trying to extricate herself from what she surely knew was a career-ruining accusation.
“Look, I think she had a boyfriend. I think, well, she didn’t tell me who. She said she thought she might be in love. She didn’t tell Katie. She couldn’t. She and Katie were sort of the outcasts and she didn’t want Katie to be hurt that this boy liked her. And that she liked this boy.”
“You seem to have gotten awfully close to Darby.”
“I told you,” Connie said defensively. “I saw a lot of myself in her.”
As the teacher wrapped her arms around her now heaving chest, Kendall noticed her fingernails. The color. It was so familiar.
“Did you give Darby gifts? You did, didn’t you?”
“No. No. I’m telling you.”
“When she disappeared she wore the same polish that you’re wearing now.”
Connie looked down at her hands.
“Oh. I did. I gave her a bottle.”
“That’s a little personal, isn’t it?”
Connie put her fingers to her lips. She motioned for Kendall to follow her to a small room in the back of the classroom, where she flung open a storage locker.
Inside were row upon row of nail polish. All colors. All in order of light to dark. It was like a cosmetic display on steroids.
“I don’t understand,” Kendall said.
Connie’s words were caught in her throat and she struggled a little to get them out.
“I don’t like to talk about it,” she started to say, before stopping herself.
“Take a moment,” Kendall
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