“Only Katie Townsend. She was here with Misty and she tried to warn Annabelle off, but Annabelle just brushed her off like she was invisible. The other girls were laughing until one of them spotted me.”
“I had a bad feeling it was something like this,” J.C. said wearily. “All the signs of bullying were there.”
Laura regarded him with surprise. “Seriously? I mean I’ve seen kids pushing and shoving on the playground and getting physical in the halls, but this kind of verbal attack is new to me.” Her expression faltered and she sighed heavily. “No, it’s not. I guess I’ve just tried to block it from my mind, but that whole incident reminded me of just how deliberately cruel teens can be.”
J.C. seized on her slip. “What did you block? Were you bullied?”
She shook off the question. “That’s not important. We need to stay focused on Misty.”
He knew it was important, though. He debated forcing the issue, but decided she was right about one thing: Misty had to be their immediate concern.
“Bullying happens way too often,” he said, his anger kicking in. “Kids pick a target, somebody they think is weaker, and use every weapon at their disposal to make them miserable. Words are often as effective as physical assaults, especially if they can draw in a bunch of other kids to back them up. Sounds as if this is what Annabelle is doing.”
She met his gaze. “What do I do now? It didn’t happen during school or at a school event. I’ve not seen or heard anything in school. Do I warn the principal? Talk to Mariah Litchfield? Talk to Misty? Or Misty’s parents?” Her indignation was almost palpable. “I wish to heaven I’d heard what was said in my classroom the other day when I first got an inkling about this. I’d have known exactly what to do.”
J.C. frowned. “Something happened in class?”
She nodded. She described the whispering that had gone on when Misty had shown up on Monday morning. “I couldn’t hear what was said, though. After today, I have some idea, but that doesn’t help.”
J.C. thought of how critical it was for adults to intervene in situations like this before it was too late. Too often, they looked the other way. At least Laura wasn’t likely to do that, not after what she’d heard today. Perhaps even more so, because she’d once gone through something similar himself. Just thinking of that made him want to slam his fist into something.
“Want my advice?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Quietly mention this to a few teachers you trust, ones who’d be in a position to keep their ears open. Gather a little more solid evidence and then the second you all think you have enough, take it to the principal. I assume there’s no tolerance for bullying.”
“None,” she said emphatically. She regarded him with a worried frown. “What about Misty? Should I speak to her about this? Tell her I get it now?”
“It might help if she knows she has your support,” J.C. said, wishing he could offer her his, as well. He knew, though, that if she’d been silent so far, she’d only be humiliated if she thought he knew what was behind her desire to get out of school. Not that a little humiliation mattered if it meant helping her, but for now maybe it could be avoided as long as Laura was on top of this.
“Thank you,” Laura said. “I did need someone to talk to about this, more than I realized.”
“Happy to be here,” he said. “And if you ever need me for backup when it comes to this, all you have to do is ask.”
“Thank you for that, too,” she said, looking relieved. “Because if this whole thing blows up and I wind up having to take on Mariah Litchfield, it won’t be pretty.”
He smiled at the image. “I’ve heard she’s a little on the overly protective side,” he said, “but in this instance, I don’t think she’d stand a chance against you.”
In fact, he’d put money on it.
7
“I can’t believe Annabelle had the nerve to say something right out there in public like that,” Katie said indignantly as she and Misty sat on the back patio at Katie’s house after the incident at the fall festival. “At least Ms. Reed heard her. Now if you talk to her, she has to believe you.”
Misty stared at her with dismay. “I can’t talk to her. The whole thing is too humiliating. If Annabelle gets in trouble, everything will just get worse. They’ll go to her mom. She’ll raise a stink, and not only I, but Ms. Reed will get torn to shreds all over town.”
“Not if Annabelle’s suspended or expelled,” Katie argued.
“Like that’s ever going to happen,” Misty said. “Her mama would burn down the high school before she’d let them kick Annabelle out.”
Katie grinned. “You don’t think she’d really do that, do you?”
“Don’t you remember when Mrs. Litchfield went after the teacher back in seventh grade who gave Annabelle a D in physical education? She said her little girl was not meant to sweat, that it was unnatural, and that there must be something wrong with the teacher. By the time she finished with her, half the town thought the teacher was gay or something. She quit before the end of the year.”
Katie groaned at the memory. “I do remember. It was awful. Ms. Stevens was really nice, too. The kids tried to stick up for her, but Mrs. Litchfield got so many adults worked up, Ms. Stevens had no choice but to leave.”
“And that’s who we’re talking about,” Misty said. “If this turns into a battle between me and Annabelle, who do you think is going to wind up the loser? If there’s any mud left that Annabelle hasn’t dragged my name through, her mama will find it and try to drown me in it.”
Katie stared at her for a second, then giggled. “No wonder Ms. Reed freaks out about you skipping English. You have such a flair for drama.”
The last of the morning’s tension broke, and Misty giggled, too. “Maybe I’ve been looking at this all wrong. It’s life experience, right? Maybe one day I’ll write some mega-seller novel in which a girl who just happens to be named Annabelle gets taken away by aliens.”
But even as she smiled at the thought, she realized that by then her nemesis would probably be some superstar singer who wouldn’t care two little figs about anything Misty might write. She’d probably just laugh herself silly.
* * *
When Misty got home, she found her mother sitting at the kitchen table, a half-empty coffee cup and an untouched plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of her. Since the same meal had been there when Misty left the house hours earlier, she had to assume her mom was having another one of her down days.
“Mom,” she said, giving her shoulder a shake. “You okay?”
Her mother glanced up. “Oh, you’re home. How was the fall festival?”
At least she’d remembered where Misty had told her she was going that morning. “It was okay,” she said. “You never ate your breakfast. You must be starved. Why don’t I fix some grilled-cheese sandwiches and soup?”
“Thanks, sweetheart. I’m not that hungry.”
“Where’s Dad?”
Her mother shrugged. “He left without saying anything. Maybe he’s helping out at the festival.”
Misty bit back a sigh. Her mom was still delusional. They both knew that was unlikely. Her dad never volunteered for anything. He was either on a golf course with some buddies, drinking at the nineteenth hole, or he’d hooked up with another woman somewhere.
Misty wondered whether it was her job to try to make her mother face what was really going on. There was no one else to do it. Her mother had made her dad the center of her universe, and his desire for a divorce was killing her. Misty thought the only way her mother would ever be happy was if she snapped out of it, let him go and moved on. Maybe, though, that was a lot harder than it sounded. One thing for sure, she was never getting trapped by a man that way. Love clearly sucked.
As Misty was getting together the ingredients to make the sandwiches, the phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and saw that it was from the Litchfields. Her heart seemed to stop in her chest. That couldn’t
be good. She let it go to the answering machine.
“Diana, this is Mariah Litchfield,” the message began. “This is the third time I’ve called this morning,” she said impatiently. “I really need to speak to you about your daughter. Call me back the minute you get these messages.”
Misty sat down hard. She glanced at her mother who looked as if she’d barely heard the words.
“Did you hear that, Mom? It was Mrs. Litchfield. She says she’s called before.”
“She probably did,” her mother said distractedly. “I haven’t answered the phone all morning. Why would Mariah be calling me?”
This was the opening Misty should seize. She recognized that. But how could she? Her mother was so lost in her own problems, she couldn’t possibly cope with Misty’s, too.
“Annabelle and I had words at the festival,” she said carefully. “Her mother probably wants to rant that I’m a terrible person.”
For an instant she thought she detected a flash of anger in her mother’s eyes, but then it died.
“Do you want me to call her back? Is this something I need to handle?” her mother asked halfheartedly.
If only, Misty thought wearily. But she knew there would be no help from her mom. She couldn’t cope with this on top of everything else going on in her life.
“I’ll deal with it,” Misty told her as she put the sandwiches on the griddle.
She only wished she could figure out how.
* * *
Laura feared Misty would cut class again on Monday. Instead, she was there early and sitting in the front row. Laura nodded her approval, then went straight into the lesson. Class ended without incident, though Misty lingered until everyone else had gone.
“Thanks for coming over at the festival on Saturday,” Misty said quietly.
“Not a problem. I think I have some idea now about what’s been going on. Would you like me to deal with Annabelle?”
Misty shook her head at once. “It’ll only get worse if I make trouble for her.”
“You know that bullying is grounds for suspension,” Laura reminded her. “If Annabelle is guilty of that, she deserves to be punished.”
“It’s not worth it,” Misty insisted.
“If what I heard on Saturday is any indication, then it needs to stop,” Laura said just as determinedly.
“You just don’t get it. Annabelle’s mom will make what Annabelle’s doing seem like a picnic. She’ll mess up my life and yours before she’s through. She’s already called my mom to try to make out that what happened on Saturday was somehow my fault.”
Laura was shocked. “Do you want me to call your mother and fill her in on what really happened?”
Misty shook her head. “My mom never called her back. She’s got a lot of stuff going on. I swore to her it was no big deal.”
Laura frowned. It sounded as if Misty wasn’t likely to get the backup she needed at home. Thinking of how Vicki Kincaid had been there for her when her parents had been dazed and embarrassed by her teen pregnancy, she immediately asked, “What can I do?”
Misty shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. It helps just knowing you get it. So does Mrs. Martin. She overheard Annabelle last week.”
“I don’t like the idea of allowing this to continue,” Laura told her. “I really think we should report it.”
“Please, no,” Misty begged. “Once Mrs. Donovan gets involved, it’ll get really ugly.”
“But it’s already ugly, isn’t it?” Laura asked gently.
“Not like it could be,” Misty insisted. “I can deal with Annabelle.” She squared her shoulders, hoping that would give credence to her bravado.
“Not by skipping class,” Laura said firmly. “That’s no longer an option.”
Misty looked taken aback by her firm tone. “Even though you know what’s going on?”
“Because I know what’s going on,” Laura told her. “You’re not going to risk your future or your grades by skipping class and risking suspension when you’re the victim in this.”
“Are you sure I can’t just transfer back to a regular English class? Maybe Mr. Jamison would let me out of AP math, too. That would make things easier.”
“You’d give up everything you worked so hard to achieve and let Annabelle win?” Laura asked. “How would that be fair?”
“I don’t care about fair. I just want this over.”
“Misty, I might not know how this situation started or how bad it’s really gotten, but I do know this—Annabelle isn’t going to let it just fade away because you’re no longer in the same classes.”
Misty sighed heavily. “Probably not,” she admitted. “But at least she wouldn’t be in my face twice a day with her friends laughing at me, too.”
Reluctantly, Laura had to concede she was right. That didn’t mean, though, that she would allow a transfer.
“Let’s give this some more thought,” she said. “I’ll bet between us we can come up with a solution.”
Misty regarded her doubtfully, but she nodded. “Okay.”
“We’ll talk again tomorrow.”
“Sure,” Misty said. “I’d better run. I have Mr. Jamison next period. He’s pretty unobservant, but he does notice if people come in way after the bell.”
“Would you like a note?”
“Nah. I’m good at sneaking in under the radar.”
Or else, despite her very stern warning, Misty intended to spend the next period hiding out somewhere, Laura realized as Misty ran off. She sat back with a sigh, suddenly wishing she could call J.C. and ask if he thought she’d handled the situation as badly as it suddenly felt like she had.
* * *
Laura had been on J.C.’s mind ever since Saturday when he’d found her shaken by her encounter with those girls at the fall festival. It was disconcerting how frequently she crept into his head these days. No woman had done that in years. If and when he dated at all, it was the sort of independent, no-strings kind of women who didn’t have a vulnerable bone in their bodies. Laura was an intriguing mix of strength and vulnerability. She got to him, no question about it.
And, of course, there was the Misty situation. He couldn’t get that out of his head, either.
At three o’clock, knowing that classes were over, he pulled out his cell phone and punched in Laura’s cell number, which he’d managed to get from her during the first night they’d gotten together to discuss Misty. It rang several times before she answered.
“Sorry,” she apologized at once. “My phone was buried in my purse. I’m not used to listening for it.”
“It seems I have a habit of catching you off guard,” J.C. said.
“J.C.?”
“Ah, you recognize my voice now. Should I be flattered?”
“You could be, or I could claim I caught a glimpse of the caller ID.”
“Did you?”
“No, I was too busy trying to catch the call.”
“Look, my last appointment just canceled and I was wondering if you’d have time for coffee, maybe around four-thirty at Wharton’s?”
“You’re not even trying to bribe me with the good stuff?” she teased.
J.C. laughed. “I suppose I could try to wheedle a couple of cups out of Erik and we could go to the park.”
“That might be better than Wharton’s, and not just because of the coffee,” she said.
“The gossip,” he concluded.
“Grace is known for it. Revered, in fact. It might not be a good idea to give her any ammunition to feed the gossip mill.”
“Okay, then, I’ll meet you at the bench under our pin oak by the lake at four-thirty. Want anything to go with that coffee? If I’m going to be bribing Erik, I might as well go for broke.”
“Surprise me,” she said, surprising him.
She sounded much more lighthearted than she had on Saturday. Maybe he’d been worrying all weekend for nothing. It could be that she had the situation between Annabelle and Misty in hand by now.
“See you s
oon, then,” he said just as Debra opened his door and beckoned to him. “Gotta go. My next patient’s here.”
“I don’t suppose that was Laura Reed again,” Debra said as she walked down the hallway to the examination room with him.
“I don’t suppose it would be any of your business if it were,” he said lightly.
Her gaze narrowed. “And if I were to tell you that I was thinking of filling that open spot in the schedule at four o’clock?”
“I’d tell you not to do it,” he said, earning himself a smug look.
“I knew it,” she said triumphantly. “I suppose if I couldn’t fix you up with Jan, Laura’s not a bad substitute. I wouldn’t have pictured you with the quiet, shy type, though.”
“Because you never really knew a thing about my taste in women,” he reminded her. “You were just tossing candidates my way, hoping one would stick.”
“Well, I had to do something,” she countered. “A catch like you simply couldn’t be left swimming around all alone in the dating pool. It would have been a crime.”
“Says who?”
She gave him a wry look. “I think I speak for all the single women in Serenity.”
He laughed. “Stick to nursing, Debra. Go with your strength.”
“As if I asked for your advice.” She nodded toward the examination room door. “Johnny Taylor’s just fine, if you ask me. It’s his single mama who has a hankering for your special touch.” She grinned. “Not that you asked my opinion.”
“Duly appreciated, though,” J.C. said. Christine Taylor wouldn’t be the first single mother to drag a perfectly healthy child in for an unnecessary exam.
Ten minutes later, a beaming Johnny was on his way out with a cherry lollipop, and his disgruntled mother was paying a bill and trying to disguise her disappointment over J.C. showing not one single whit of interest in her.
J.C. grabbed his jacket off the back of his door and slipped out the side of the building. Twenty minutes later, he arrived at the park with coffee and a piece of key lime pie he was hoping he could convince Laura to share with him. He’d brought two forks, just in case.
He found her sitting on the bench along the path near the tree but not under it. She had her face turned up toward the sun, her eyes closed.
Catching Fireflies Page 9
