by Cynthia Raye
“I can see why you’re concerned,” Peter said, gravely. “I would be too.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Ronni said. “I tried to talk to Dalton about it, but he wouldn’t listen. His word was ‘poppycock.’ So now I don’t know what to do. I talked to Liz Lindquist at school, but I’m not sure I’ve convinced her either, though she did promise to watch Sylvia more closely.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to do, Peter. This can’t continue. She already caused one boy to be hospitalized, and who knows what else she’s capable of doing?”
“Look, I know her dad pretty well. What would you think of my talking to him about it?”
“Would he even believe you?” Roni asked.
“Only one way to find out, I guess.”
“You may be setting yourself up for trouble.”
“Trouble is my business!”
She laughed. “Now you sound like a Raymond Chandler character.”
“Philip Marlowe perhaps? Well, you see, he was my great-uncle.”
“Sure, and if I believe that, there’s this bridge in New York you want to sell me cheap, right?” She rolled her eyes.
“Seriously, I’ll be glad to talk with Jake Hawkins.”
“I doubt it would do any good. I’m sure most parents think their kids wouldn’t be capable of doing such things as Sylvia supposedly does. That they’re good kids who wouldn’t be mean to any person or animal.”
“I’m sure that’s true. So I’m guessing you’d rather that I don
t call Jake?”
“I don’t know. I’ll talk to Liz again and see what she’s found out—if anything.”
“You know what I think I like most about you?” Peter picked up Ronni’s hand. “That you care.”
Chapter 7
The next day at school Ronni had the class do a different sort of improv. This time she brought in a variety of objects the students were to pretend was something else. A pen became a director’s baton, a sword, a laser, a ruler, a carving knife, and so on. She had half the class watch while the other half sat in chairs at the front of the stage where they passed an object from one to another.
Each student, in turn, had to pretend the object was something else and perform an action using the object. Then the other kids had to figure out what it was. For instance, Devonte pretended a large cardboard box was a well and that he was trying to rescue someone who had fallen into it.
During the entire time Sylvia was one of the watchers, she rolled her eyes and had a disgusted look on her face. Ronni finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Is there a problem, Sylvia?” she asked.
Sylvia immediately turned to Ronni, her eyes wide in surprise, while a couple of the sycophants had shocked looks on their faces.
“What do you mean?” Sylvia asked.
“Your body language. Constantly rolling your eyes.” The sycophants actually gasped aloud. This was probably the first time Sylvia had been called out for doing something wrong.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Adams. I guess I wasn’t aware of what I was doing, if, in fact, that is what I was doing. Anyhow, I apologize if I gave the wrong impression.”
Ronni stared at her for a moment and then turned back to the stage. “Go ahead, Ruthie,” she told the next person in line.
At the end of class Ronni announced that for the next few days they would work with given circumstances. “For instance,” she said. “I give you a situation and you need to change it. At first, you’ll be working with one other person. This particular scene will involve a boy and a girl. You’re on a street corner in the downtown area of a big city—San Diego, maybe.
The girl is sitting on the curb. The boy is desperately trying to get her to move. She won’t. Why? This is what you have to figure out. And there has to be conflict. A problem that has to be solved before the end of the scene. And you have to convey this idea to the rest of the class. There can be a lot of different interpretations: the girl is exhausted, too fatigued even to try to move. Yet, for some reason, which you would determine, she has to move. Why is she exhausted? What can be done about it?
“Another problem could be that the boy is trying to force her to do something she doesn’t want to do. Or they’ve had an argument and she’s mad at him and refuses to move. Why does the boy want her to move? It’s getting dark, and it’s in a dangerous area of town. Or they have to be somewhere important. Or maybe someone is after them, and they need to get away. You’ll have a few minutes to talk to each other ahead of time and figure out the direction you want to take. Then, as I said, you somehow need to resolve the problem, whatever it is.”
“Sounds like fun,” Millie said.
“It should be,” Ronni answered. “Even more so because you can use words, as well as actions.”
Ronni glanced toward Sylvia, who seemed the perfect picture of someone totally absorbed in what Ronni was saying. Now Ronni was the one who was disgusted. Sylvia knew how to play people.
After class she and Liz stopped in at the teacher’s lounge for a cup of coffee.
“I don’t suppose you’ve picked up clues about Sylvia?” Ronni asked hopefully, as she stirred a spoonful of sugar into her cup.
“Nothing stands out in particular, though I guess I’ve become more aware of the interaction between her and the other students. It’s apparent that most of them don’t want anything to do with her—except for her…followers. Like Grace Chomsky or Faye Robbins.”
“The two that came by when Millie was crying.”
“I doubt I would have noticed the reactions so much if you hadn’t talked to me about her.”
“What did they do?” Ronni asked.
“Mostly just stared at Sylvia, trying to figure out how she reacted to whatever I said,” Liz told her. “And then mimicking her. It reminded me the old 1940s movies in which the crime boss says something that is supposed to be funny and isn’t, the underlings laugh like it’s the most hilarious thing they’ve ever heard.”
“I bawled her out today,” Ronni said as she took a sip of coffee.
“You what!”
“She was exhibiting a lot of negative body language, raising her eyebrows, rolling her eyes—that kind of thing—as the other kids were doing their improv. I called her out on it.”
“I can’t believe it.” Liz started to laugh. “How did she take it?”
“How would you expect? She was sorry; she didn’t mean anything; she didn’t realize that’s what she was doing. You know, the typical Sylvia response.”
“I think you made an enemy. Or several enemies—counting her ‘yes girls.’”
Ronni chuckled. “I probably did. Well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it?
Rose again sat outside her apartment when Ronni came home. “So how goes it?” Rose asked.
“It goes! What else can I say?”
“Have a seat. Tell me about your day.”
Ronni headed to the chair opposite Rose at the wrought-iron table.
“Sorry,” Rose said, “no cinnamon rolls today. But how about a cup of coffee… or a cup of hot chocolate?”
“The chocolate would be wonderful. But if it’s a lot of trouble…” She pulled out the chair and sat down.
“No trouble,” Rose said as she stood. “Water’s already hot; all I have to do is stir things up a little.”
“Thanks, Rose. I think I really lucked out having you as my neighbor.”
Rose laughed. “What is it they always say, ‘Oh, go on with you!’” She circled the table to the door. “Back in a minute.”
Ronni smiled and leaned back. It felt good to relax, to have an escape of sorts from the world of Watson-Collins.
“Here we go,” Rose said as she handed a mug and napkin to Ronni. “Hmmm.”
“What?” Ronni asked.
“Why do people always say things like, ‘Here we go,’ or, “Here you go.’ When no one has any intention of going anywhere!”
Ronni chuckled. “Reminds me of something I heard years ago.”
; “Tell me.”
“This foreign student met the distinguished professor who would be his adviser. And thinking he was giving the prof a compliment, he said, ‘I hear you’re a wise guy.”
Rose laughed. “Better than calling him a smart Alec!”
“Now that you mention it…”
“So how are things going with Sylvia?”
Ronni sighed and shook her head. “Had to call her out today for something she did. Hmm. Speaking of ‘calling her out,’ that doesn’t make a lot of sense either, does it? I didn’t call her to go anywhere. I talked to her about her behavior.”
“So what did she do?” Rose asked.
Ronni told her about the in class eye rolling.
Rose shook her head. “I think that girl has problems. Seems like, in addition to everything else, she needs to feel that she’s superior to the other students. Of course, that’s an opinion, based only on what you told me.”
“Seems that way to me too, but I’m not the psychologist.”
“You aren’t?” Rose was mock surprised. “Misconceptions. Who would have known?”
“Uh-huh. Right, Rose.”
“Seriously,” Rose said, “I’d have to meet with her to make any sort of even a ballpark diagnosis.”
“Anyhow, I told Peter about what was happening with Sylvia, and it appears he knows her dad. Said he’d be willing to talk to him about her behavior.” Ronni leaned forward and took a sip of coffee. “I told him I’d rather he didn’t. I think it’s better not to, at least for the time being. I told him I thought any parent would tell him he was wrong. That his or her daughter would never do that sort of thing.”
“I think you’re right. At least, in most cases.”
“So I think he’ll hold off .”
“Probably a good idea.”
“And speaking of Peter…” She leaned back in the chair.
“Yes?” Rose looked directly into her eyes. “Is there a problem?”
“I don’t know if I should be talking about it.” She paused for a moment.
“Why not?” She smiled. “Because it would be breaking confidences… or because I’m a psychologist?”
“You’re very perceptive.”
Rose chuckled. “Comes with the territory, I guess. You learn to listen, to observe, to look for clues.”
“Okay. The thing is: I like Peter. A lot. But I’ve been seeing him for less than two months. He wants a deeper relationship, a more permanent one. In other words, he wants us to get married.”
“And you don’t?”
“As I said, I like him a lot. I’ll admit it. I even love him, I suppose. But it’s too soon for me. In other words, we’re moving too fast. I need more time. I need to think things through. But I can tell he’s becoming impatient. Oh, he’s a wonderful person. Considerate, kind, caring, loving. All the best traits. But six or seven weeks, for me, is much too short a time to decide my entire future.” She spread her hands. “So I’m worried.”
“You do want to continue the relationship?”
“Oh, yes. As I said, he’s really nice person.”
“Have you tried to talk with him about this?”
“Every time I start to approach the subject, he seems to guess what I want to say and changes the conversation.”
“Well, you do have a problem there.”
“I don’t want to lose him, but I don’t want to make a drastic change in my life right now either.”
“Speaking as a friend, not a psychologist,” Rose told her, “I see two options. The first, which I’m sure you won’t like, is to end the relationship.”
Ronni started to answer, but Rose held up a finger for her to stop. “The second option is to tell him how you feel. And I know this is frightening. But try to talk to him about it. Tell him you aren’t quite ready yet to make the sort of commitment he wants. And then hope he understands.”
Just as Ronni started to say something, her cell rang. “Hello. Ronni Adams speaking.”
“Ronni, it’s Peter. I was thinking a lot about what you told me about Sylvia Hawkins.”
She frowned. “And…”
“I decided to call her dad. We’re going to meet tomorrow, late afternoon.”
“Is that a good—?”
“I’ll play it by ear, Ronni. Don’t worry. If I think he’s open to listening, I’ll tell him what you told me.”
“I think you’re taking a big chance, Peter.”
“Maybe. But then again I think it’s worth it. To help Sylvia and to prevent her from doing any more harm.”
“Peter…”
“Gotta go, Ronni. Meeting a client. Talk to you later.”
Ronni decided to go into school a little early the following morning to see that everything was set for the acting class—that the janitorial staff hadn’t moved the props and furniture from the stage and that they were easily accessible. She also needed to come up with more ‘given circumstances’ for her students. She had about a dozen or so but wanted to make sure that was enough.
The front door already was open. “Good morning,” she told the guard stationed there.
“Good morning, Ms. Adams,” he replied.
Just as she stepped inside and the door closed behind her, Ronni heard a piercing scream that increased in intensity until it seemed to fill the entire school. Lying on the floor near the stairs was a girl, her face toward the stairs. Ronni’s heart began to beat faster as she rushed forward.
Another girl was standing near the fallen girl. It was Emma. Her face was red and streaked with tears. She continued to scream.
Ronni reached them and looked down. The fallen girl was Sylvia.
“What happened?” Ronni asked. “Did she pass out? Did she trip and fall?”
Emma just stared at her, her face changing from red to almost pure white, her eyes wide. She didn’t answer.
Quickly, Ronni knelt down and felt for a pulse. There was none.
Chapter 8
“What happened, Emma?” Ronni stood back up. She felt light-headed, as if she might faint.
Emma was trembling so bad Ronni didn’t know if she could speak. Finally, she did.
“We were going to study together. Come to school and go into one of the conference rooms. Big psychology exam coming up today.” Every sentence was punctuated with panicked breaths.
“Oh, Emma, I’m so sorry.” She threw her arms around Emma and just stood there for a moment. Then she backed up. “I have to call Mr. Hostetler.” She pulled out her cell phone and dialed.
“Dalton Hostetler,” a voice answered.
“Dalton, this is Ronni—”
“If you’re calling about the supposed problem with Sylvia Hawkins, I really don’t have the time right now.”
“Very bad news.”
