by Leslie Meier
Students who crossed the yellow line, however, were fair game, and a good number of students had decided to seek their fifteen minutes of fame when the dismissal bell rang, setting up a media feeding frenzy. The arrival of a squad car with blinking lights and blaring siren caught everyone’s attention, and the chase was on as the pack took up pursuit, following it to the baseball field, where all the players and most of the viewers were engaged in a giant brawl.
Fists and elbows were flying; kids were pushing and shoving; there were grunts, groans, and a great deal of swearing. The coaches and a handful of male teachers were attempting to restore order but weren’t making much progress; Lucy saw Sara’s science teacher take a knock in the chest before he grabbed two students by their collars and dragged them out of the fray. Tommy Stanton and Chad Mackenzie were in the middle, staggering around together like two boxers in the twelfth round. Some of the players had grabbed bats and were swinging them; one kid had the bright idea of throwing a trash barrel into the melee.
The sight stopped Lucy in her tracks. Recalling Sara’s announcement at breakfast that she was planning to watch Chad play, she immediately began looking for her daughter and found her, along with Sassie and Renee and a few other cheerleaders, huddled beside the refreshment stand. Their faces were white with shock, and some, including Sara, were crying.
“Are you guys all right?” she asked, taking her daughter in her arms.
“Chad’s in there!” exclaimed Sara. “He’s gonna get killed!”
“The cops are here. It will be all right,” said Lucy, fumbling in her bag and producing a rather dusty, crumpled tissue. “Here. Wipe your eyes and tell me what happened. What’s it all about?”
“Tommy started it,” said Sara. “Tommy Stanton.” Lucy wasn’t sure whether this was the truth or if Sara was simply eager to pin the blame on somebody other than Chad.
“Is that true?” she asked the others.
“A guy on the Sharon team hit a high fly,” said Sassie. “Tommy plays outfield, and he had it. He was right under it.”
“But Chad—he’s a second baseman—he ran back and got in his way, and they both missed the ball, and Tommy and Chad started fighting, and Sharon got four runs,” said Renee.
“Then the guys on our team were yelling it wasn’t fair, and then they all charged into the dugout to go after the Sharon guys, and then, well, you can see for yourself,” said Sassie.
“Oh, my goodness,” said Lucy, surveying the chaotic scene as three or four blue-uniformed Tinker’s Cove police officers tried to subdue the battling mob. “Oh, I’m supposed to be covering this,” she said, remembering her job and pulling out her camera to snap pictures. “You girls can wait for me in the car, okay?”
It was almost dinnertime when, thanks to reinforcements from the Sharon Police Department, the last of the brawlers were captured and carried off in a school bus the police chief had commandeered for the purpose. Several kids were taken away by ambulance; others were taken home by parents who had heard about the fight and come to retrieve their children.
“What’ll happen to the boys in the bus?” asked Sara when Lucy joined them in the car.
“I don’t know for sure, but I assume they are under arrest and will be charged with creating a public disturbance or something like that,” replied Lucy.
This was not what Sara wanted to hear. “Chad was in that bus,” she exclaimed. “Will he go to jail?”
“They’ll probably keep them in cells at the police station until their parents come to bail them out,” said Lucy. She thought of the little row of three small cells in the basement of the police station. “It’s going to be crowded, that’s for sure.”
Sara pressed her hand to her heart in a dramatic gesture. “I can’t bear to think of Chad in jail!”
“I’m sure his parents will waste no time getting him out. The one you ought to worry about is Tommy. They took him away in an ambulance,” said Lucy.
“I hope Tommy’s okay,” said Renee. “Chad had no business going after that ball—,” she began but was silenced by a sharp look from Sara.
“You know she’s right,” said Sassie, defending Renee.
“I don’t know any such thing, and neither do you,” declared Sara, indignantly defending her boyfriend. “Since when are you the baseball experts?”
It was a tense drive home, and Lucy was relieved when she dropped off Sassie and Renee on Prudence Path and got Sara home. She put her to work making supper while she quickly wrote up an account of the brawl and e-mailed it to the Pennysaver. Then, when she was still sitting at the computer, her curiosity got the better of her, and she called up Sara’s myspace.com account. Nothing much had changed, she noted, with relief. She didn’t know what she’d expected—maybe a blog about losing weight or something like that. But the image of her daughter’s smiling face remained unchanged, and she still loved animals and cheerleading. Only her list of best friends had changed. TS was gone, and CM had been added.
Chapter Twelve
The clatter of pots coming from the kitchen seemed to indicate that Sara was occupied making supper, so Lucy decided she could risk a call to Molly, who as a twenty-something had become Lucy’s adviser on the increasingly puzzling world of teens.
“I’m really worried about Sara,” she began, keeping her voice low. “Zoe says she’s got laxatives and diet pills. She’s wild about this Mackenzie kid, but he’s quite a bit older. There was a fight at the school today. I just feel as if the situation is spinning out of control, but I don’t really know what’s going on.”
“Did you check her MySpace page?” asked Molly. Lucy could hear baby Patrick crying in the background.
“Yeah, but if there’s a message there, I can’t figure it out.”
Molly sighed. “I think the baby’s hungry again. I’ll be right back.”
Lucy waited, listening as Patrick’s cries subsided to a whimper.
“I’m back,” said Molly, sounding tired.
“He doesn’t seem quite so cranky,” ventured Lucy, trying to be positive.
“I checked the breast-feeding book, and it seems like he’s having a growth spurt,” said Molly. “I just have to keep nursing him until my supply catches up with his appetite. I feel like a cow.”
“It’ll catch up, never fear,” advised Lucy. “And then he’ll start sleeping more. Believe me, I wish Sara was a baby again.”
“I never looked at it that way,” said Molly. “I guess I should be grateful he’s still home every night. Like those bumper stickers. ‘Do you know where your child is?’”
Lucy smiled to herself. It was good to hear Molly making jokes again. “So what about my baby?”
“Why not check her cell phone?”
“Sara would have a fit,” Lucy said, considering the idea. “And besides, when would I get it? She’s always got it with her.”
“Just grab it sometime when she leaves it lying around. She’ll think she mislaid it.”
Now that she thought about it, Lucy realized that Sara was always wandering around the house, asking if anybody had seen her cell phone. It just might work. “I’ll give it a try,” said Lucy. “Thanks.”
Next morning, Lucy was in the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee, when she heard Sara banging around upstairs. Her voice came drifting down the stairs as she confronted Zoe. “What have you done with my French book?”
“What would I want with your French book?” Zoe replied.
“You know I’ve got a quiz. You want to see me fail.”
“You’re crazy,” said Zoe, starting down the stairs.
“You know you hid it on me, you little weasel,” snarled Sara.
The steps stopped. “I’m telling Mom,” warned Zoe, resuming her descent.
Lucy took her coffee to the table and sat down, pushing aside a stack of books. Sara’s books, she realized, with her cell phone on top. She quickly slipped it into the pocket of her robe and was casually sipping at her mug when Zoe exploded into the room
.
“Did you hear her?” she demanded. “Sara says I took her French book.”
“I think it’s right here,” said Lucy, pointing to the textbook.
Zoe went over to the stairway. “Mom found your stupid book!” she yelled.
Sara was down in what seemed like a single bound, grabbing her books and throwing her mother a wave. “You saved my life, Mom. Come on, Zo. I hear the bus!”
Zoe tossed her mother a look, rolling her eyes, and followed her older sister out the door.
Lucy remained at the table, sipping her coffee, expecting Sara to return any minute, looking for her phone. She heard the squeal of the bus’s brakes, then the grind of gears as the bus started up again, and then the sound of the engine growing fainter and fainter. She got up and pushed the curtain on the door aside and looked out, checking that the driveway was empty. Then she hurried upstairs to get dressed and dashed over to Molly’s house, using the path through the woods that practically led to her back door.
Molly was emptying her dishwasher when Lucy burst into her kitchen. “Shhh,” she cautioned. “Patrick’s napping.”
Lucy nodded and showed her the phone. “I can’t figure it out,” she said. “It’s all code or something. Like this one. P-nine-one-one. What does that mean?”
“It means ‘a parent is watching,’” said Molly, taking the little flip phone. “It’s a pain to punch in all the letters, so people who text a lot have developed a shorthand. P&C, for example, means ‘private and confidential.’ It’s not too difficult once you get used to it.” As she spoke, Molly was working her way through the messages. “Oh, lookee here. SSC. Somebody thinks Sara is super sexy cute.”
“Chad maybe?”
“Probably. His initials are CM. And she’s getting a lot of messages late at night, probably after you think she’s asleep.”
“That’s what Elizabeth said.”
“Yeah, like one and two a.m. This one calls her a fat ho.”
“Maybe that’s why she’s got the laxatives.”
“Maybe,” said Molly. “Kids do talk that way, though. It could just be a reverse compliment. Like calling somebody ‘bad’ when you really mean that they’re cool.”
Lucy felt completely out of her depth here. “Who are the senders?”
“Well, there’s a bunch of initials, but I’m not sure it means anything, because when these alpha girls start rumors, they often use other people’s names in order to make it seem like everybody is in on it.”
“Alpha girls?”
“You know, the queen bees, the girls who really work at being popular.”
“They start rumors?”
“Some of these girls will do anything to stay at the top of the heap,” said Molly, flicking through the list of calls. “When I was in high school, it was the two Jennifers. They drove one kid, Michelle Moore, right out of school. Her folks ended up sending her to a private school.” She paused. “Look at this. Somebody called ASH is accusing Sara of offering to have sex with CM so he would ask her to the prom.”
Lucy’s jaw dropped. “No! Sara wouldn’t do that.”
Molly was quick to reassure her. “Of course not. It’s a favorite trick to start a fake rumor. TS here says RUNTS, which means ‘are you nuts?’ and says he’ll see her in school.”
Lucy tapped her lip with her index finger, remembering the warning Tommy had given her about Chad. “Maybe that’s what the fight was all about,” she said. “Maybe Tommy Stanton thought Chad was going to take advantage of Sara.”
“Could be,” agreed Molly, who was still reading the messages. “Oh, here’s somebody new, SK8TR. That must be skater. Ring any bells?”
“Heather Nowak is a figure skater.”
“Well, she thinks Sara is lying to her, DLTM, and warns her to QB, quit bitching.”
Lucy remembered the distraught teen she’d seen outside Lenny’s office. “I can’t believe that’s really Heather, not right after her mother was shot.”
“Pretty weird,” agreed Molly. Soft cries were coming from Patrick’s room, and she shut the phone. “My master calls,” she wisecracked and hurried down the hall to his room. A few minutes later she emerged with the baby.
“Every time I see him, he looks as if he’s grown,” said Lucy, taking her grandson in her arms. “And he’s sure getting heavy.” But Patrick wasn’t interested in being sociable; he wanted a second breakfast and dove for her breast. “Sorry. You need Mommy for that,” she laughed, handing him back.
“Don’t worry too much about Sara,” said Molly, settling down in a rocking chair with the baby. “There were also some friendly messages from her GFs and BFFs.”
Lucy ventured a guess. “Girlfriends?”
“And best friends forever. See? Even you can figure it out.”
“Even a fossil like me.”
Molly blushed. “You know what I mean.”
“Thanks for helping,” said Lucy, pulling the slider open. “I’ve got to get to work.”
But first she had to go home and put Sara’s phone someplace not too obvious where she’d find it easily. She finally decided to put it on the floor in Sara’s room, sliding it under the unmade bed so it was mostly hidden by the drooping duvet. Then, giving the dog a parting pat on the head, she was out the door.
As she drove, her mind kept returning to the accusation Molly had uncovered. Lucy knew these things happened in high school; she remembered when Elizabeth was on the outs with her friends because she’d gone out for field hockey and they all wanted to play soccer. But that was all about Elizabeth making an unpopular choice, and when she stuck to her guns and refused to give in and switch teams, they’d eventually come around and let her sit at their lunch table again.
But this was different. These girls were attacking Sara’s reputation, and that wasn’t fair. Or was it? What if they were telling the truth? Mothers didn’t know everything, she conceded to herself, but her intuition told her that Sara was flattered by Chad’s attention but figured it probably wouldn’t last. Was she right, or was Sara about to make a terrible mistake?
This was uncharted territory, and Lucy had no idea what to do. If she confronted Sara, it would tip her off that her mother had been snooping into her private life, and she would surely be angry. And whatever influence Lucy had with her daughter would take a serious hit. Sara would assume her mother was in league with her enemies.
And if it was just a rumor, Lucy didn’t see how Sara could fight it. The more she protested, the more legitimate the accusation would seem. And even more unnerving was the way this campaign was carried out in secret, away from adult eyes. When Elizabeth had had her difficulties, she’d received support from her teachers and coach, as well as her parents. But poor Sara was suffering alone, in secret. These messages were sent in a shorthand that most adults did not comprehend, and kids even had a special code to alert each other if an adult was present.
It was almost a relief when she arrived at the cemetery for Tina’s burial and had to take off her mother cap and put on her reporter cap. For a little while, at least, she’d be too busy to fret about Sara. She joined the handful of cars parked in the cemetery, on the aptly named Lilac Drive, observing that the bushes were loaded with purple and white buds on the verge of blooming. Lilacs and cemeteries, they always seemed to go together, she thought as she got out of the car and made her way along the winding road to the grave site. Passing the parking area around the stone chapel, she noticed several TV trucks and felt a surge of sympathy for Lenny and Heather, who couldn’t even bury poor Tina in privacy. Lenny had intended to keep the burial private, by invitation only, and to hold a memorial service at a later date, in hopes that by then the media would be busy elsewhere and Tina’s life would be the subject of the service, rather than the sensational way in which she died. But somebody hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to pass along a tip. The funeral director had ordered the reporters and cameramen to stand at a distance, however, and a couple of serious, young, black-suited as
sistants were making sure they obeyed.
The service was already under way when she joined the small group standing around the neat rectangular hole that had been cut in the ground. Tina’s coffin was lying beside it, a simple pine box with only a small bunch of lily of the valley, obviously handpicked, lying on top.
Lucy scanned the group, recognizing a few neighbors. An elderly couple, looking extremely frail and somber, must be her parents, she thought, feeling a surge of sympathy for them.
“Today we return the body of Florence Christina Nowak to the earth, from which she came,” began the minister, Rev. Tom Sykes, from the nondenominational community church. “She was a friend, a sister, a wife, a mother. She believed the world could be a better place and worked hard to make it so. She was respected and admired, remembered not only for her good works but for the spirit of love and compassion and generosity that she brought to everything she did. May she rest in peace.”
And then the coffin was lowered into the grave. Lenny stepped forward and tossed a handful of dirt on top, then stepped back. His face was expressionless, Lucy noticed. She was having a hard time herself, blinking back tears and trying not to sniffle in the quiet that had grown so very loud, but Lenny seemed to have his emotions well in check, and so did Heather, who stepped forward next and stooped down to pick up a handful of dirt. She tossed it on the coffin in an offhand, awkward motion and then stepped back to stand beside her father. The two stood there, a good yard apart, with stone faces, while the others filed past, some adding a handful of dirt, others simply bowing their heads.
The engine of the front-end loader that would cover the grave was already starting up when Lucy approached Tina’s parents, Alice and Stanley, to offer her condolences.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said, taking Alice’s palsied hand.
“Did you know Tina? Were you friends?” Alice asked eagerly. She had bright eyes, despite her age and the tremor in her hand; she looked like a wizened and shriveled version of Tina.
