“They’re so helpless when they’re little. They need us. And hormones?” Jane shook her head. “I’m convinced that hormones are nature’s way of keeping us from abandoning our young.”
Mary Ellen laughed through her tears. “That’s pretty cold.”
Jane smiled, feeling a new bond with the woman. “I have my moments.”
Mary Ellen opened her laptop and turned it so that Jane could see the screensaver photo of a pink-faced baby girl. “There she is.... My worst nightmare at four o’clock in the morning.”
“She’s adorable.”
“They’re all so deceptively cute. They really suck you in.”
“That they do,” Jane agreed.
Thursday’s game did not go well for Harper. She started the game playing shortstop, but clearly wasn’t comfortable playing the infield. The wariness on her face said it all. When Carrie switched her to the outfield in the fourth inning, Harper seemed to drift out to sea. Boredom was evident in her stance, glove on one hip, toes of one cleat swooping over the grass. Was she searching for four-leaf clovers?
“Heads up!” came the shout as the ball sailed off the bat of a player from Tigard. By the time Harper looked up, it was too late. The ball hit her shoulder and bounced away as she chased it through the grass. Tigard scored two runs due to Harper’s error.
Harper was taken out of the game, and she moved to the end of the team bench, Blue Lightning on her lap. If Harper couldn’t use her bat, no one would.
It was painful to watch. Jane had to fight the raw instinct to go to her daughter, enfold her in her arms, and take her away from this emotional broil. Emma and Sydney tried to cajole Harper from her black mood, but that icy blue stare did not falter. Seething hatred, Harper kept her eyes on Olivia, who played well, but could not lead the team to victory.
As the Tigard team ran a victory lap around the bases, Olivia went to retrieve her bag near Harper’s feet. Still simmering on the bench, Harper glared at her.
“What’s that look about?” Olivia asked. “Too bad, too sad for you.”
Jane didn’t hear Harper’s answer, but she hurried in that direction to defuse the tension.
“This is your fault, you know,” Olivia said. “If you hadn’t bobbled that fly ball—”
“Shut up,” Harper snapped. All at once she rose up with a growl and shoved her shiny bat into Olivia’s throat. Later, Jane would thank God that Harper had been holding the bat across her lap; if she’d been able to take a swing with it, the consequences would have been devastating.
Girls and parents swarmed around them. Some tried to pull the girls apart amid the cluster of heat and noise and fury.
“That’s enough!” The coach managed to be heard above the din. “I want you and you in my office tomorrow morning.”
To their credit, the Fergusons didn’t stick around. They pulled Olivia behind the backstop to Linda’s illegally parked Mercedes and roared out of there.
“Did you see how she came after me?” Tears glimmered in Harper’s sapphire eyes as she accepted hugs from the girls who encircled her. “I had to defend myself. You guys saw that, right? God, she’s scary. Next time, I don’t know what she’ll do.” She sniffed, then swiped at her wet cheeks, streaked with dirt and mascara. “She’s so mean.”
The other girls comforted her with pats on the back and sympathetic remarks like “I can’t believe her!” and “Are you okay?”
Harper seemed to revel in their attention, a queen bee. Was that a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes? Yes, she was gloating.
Jane had seen that look before, but she had to block the memory out. Entitlement and greed. She had seen those demons many times in Frank’s eyes.
Chapter 12
Word of Harper’s bobbled play was splashing through social media even before Jane made it to the second window at the drive-through.
“Oh my God! They’re saying that it’s my fault we lost the game!”
“Who is ‘they’?” Jane asked.
“I don’t know. . . . Olivia.”
Jane sank into the seat as she waited for the window to open. “Remember that talk we had about personal best? You’ll never be happy if you define yourself by your wins and losses in sports.”
“Mom, it’s not me; it’s them. They’re blaming me for losing the game.”
Well, it is sort of your fault, Jane thought, but it’s only a game. “Don’t let them get to you. Do your own thing. Why don’t you turn off your phone? Have some dinner, get your homework out of the way. I’ll help you study for the history test.”
“I can’t turn my phone off. You really don’t get me.”
Jane accepted two paper bags of food and thanked the girl at the window. As she rolled away, she stole a steaming fry from one of the bags. “You’ve got a lot to do tonight, Hoppy. I know you’re upset, but you can’t let something like this pull you down. And be very careful about getting dragged into a match on Facebook or Twitter. The more you defend yourself, the more attention people will pay to your mistake on the field.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Harper insisted, and Jane ate another fry, knowing that Harper always needed to have the last word.
That night when Jane went into Harper’s room to say good night, she kissed her on the forehead and told her distraught daughter that everything would look better in the morning.
Friday morning, it quickly became clear that Jane had been wrong.
As Jane and Harper walked into school from the parking lot, Jesse Shapiro and Teddy Pitari paused outside the double doors.
Harper’s face brightened as if the wattage had been amped up. “Hi.” She cocked her head, seductive behind a lock of dark hair that fell over one eye. “How’s it going?”
“Hey.” Jesse shifted from one foot to the other. He wore faded jeans and skater shoes with holes worn through at the small toe. “I’ve been worried about you. How’s your head?”
“My head’s fine.” Harper’s eyes flashed.
Teddy leaned back warily, as if he were afraid of being punched.
“Oh. Someone posted that you got smacked in the head by the ball yesterday.” Jesse scratched his head, scraping back some dark curls. “You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” Pulling up her hood, Harper moved past the boys and ducked into the school.
The boys remained cautious, deer caught in headlights.
“She’s fine,” Jane said, minus the venom. “Don’t believe everything you see on Instagram.”
Throughout the day Harper sent texts of misery.
Coach Carrie is blaming me for fighting with Olivia when she started it all!!!
I feel really sick. Will you take me home?
Can I just leave?
Ugh . . . everyone is blaming me.
This is the worst day. EVER.
I almost threw up. Really.
“Oh, Hoppy.” Jane put her cell phone down with a sigh. Her daughter was such a drama queen, but that was the high school norm. Jane had classes full of them—queens without kingdoms. One of the other teachers attributed it to all the sugar in the American diet. Jane suspected good old-fashioned adolescence.
After school Harper wanted to escape to Emma’s house, but Jane wanted her home. “We’ve got the school picnic tomorrow,” Jane said, using it as a crutch.
“I don’t even want to go.”
“But all your friends are going. Emma’s parents even let her out of grounding for it. You’ll have a good time if you chill tonight.” Harper needed to relax and regain her equilibrium. And Jane wanted a shot at reconnecting with her daughter.
As Jane began dinner preparations, she called Harper down to the kitchen.
“Here.” Jane held out a peeler. “Make yourself useful. Wasn’t this the year when you were going to learn to cook? Help me out here, and I’ll show you how to make the goulash.”
“Do you think I have time to cook? Have you seen my schedule, Mom?”
“You’re a busy girl, but you�
�re here tonight. Have at it.”
Harper snatched up the metal utensil and petulantly sliced a disk of potato peel into the sink.
“Did you patch things up with Jesse?” It was the first time Jane had acknowledged that she knew about the boyfriend.
“I guess. Whatever.” Harper poked at a growth on the potato. “Why do potatoes look like warty old witches?”
“Idk my BFF.”
“Mom. Stop.”
Jane clamped her jaw tight in frustration. When had it gotten so hard to get through to her daughter? When had they lost the ability to have a simple, light conversation without confrontation?
Working the paring knife around the potato, Jane began to carve a mouthpiece for herself. She was going to joke that it was a new device to silence mothers, but when she popped it into her mouth for sizing and saw in the reflection of the window that it resembled horse teeth, her mind skipped ahead.
“Who am I?” Fists on the countertop, Jane galloped along.
“I don’t know.”
“Owivya.” Jane popped the potato out so that she could speak audibly. “Did you ever notice how Olivia runs like a horse?”
“Oh my God, she does!” Harper’s sulk began to drain as she started carving horse teeth of her own. Soon, her hood was knocked back as she followed Jane around the counter, neighing and snorting.
They laughed so hard that Jane had to spit out her potato teeth. “Ach! That really makes me salivate.”
“Put your teeth back in, Mom, and do a selfie with me. I want to show my friends.”
“No! Harper . . . you can’t tell other kids about this. You know it would get back to Olivia, and it’s inappropriate, especially since I’m a teacher.”
“But it’s funny. And my friends won’t show anyone.” She popped the potato back into her mouth and stretched her cell phone out to focus.
“You can’t do that!” Jane snatched the phone from Harper’s hand. “Haven’t I told you a million times to think twice about anything you send out on social networks? Inappropriate photos have ruined careers. Torn apart friendships.” She checked to make sure that the photo hadn’t been taken. “Really, Hoppy, sometimes I feel like you don’t listen at all.”
“Just because I don’t follow your every command doesn’t mean that I don’t hear you.”
Not wanting to completely ruin the tenuous connection between them, Jane pretended not to hear the last comment as she poured water over the uncorrupted potatoes and set them on the stove to simmer. “Now, the stew. Here’s the recipe. Why don’t you pull out the spices while I start browning the meat.”
Cooking with Hoppy brought out the teacher in Jane, nurturing yet challenging. Harper was happy to take on the task, measuring and stirring.
“The best thing about cooking is that you get to eat the end result,” Harper said. “I wish there was some reward for homework.”
“What about knowledge? Or enhancing your mind?”
Harper winced. “Jury’s out on that one, Mom. They teach us a lot of stupid stuff. I think I can make it through life without understanding quadratic equations or how a windmill works.”
“Mmm.” Although Harper’s negative attitude toward education needled at Jane, it was clear that Harper’s gifts would take her to nonacademic fields. When Harper was on, she was fearless, clear-minded, and kind. Jane could imagine her taking the business world by storm.
“You have a good point,” Jane conceded. “The curriculum you learn was originally designed years ago to educate rich young men. It’s been tweaked over the years, thank goodness. Otherwise, you would be learning Greek and Latin.”
“And I thought Spanish was hard.”
While the goulash simmered, Jane sent Harper upstairs to collect the dirty clothes that littered her room. There was a softball practice in the morning before the picnic, and Jane suspected that Harper had nothing clean to wear to either event. As she loaded the machine, Jane explained about washing the dusty uniforms and socks in a separate load and rinsing out stains with cold water. “Okay, Mama-dish,” Harper said without looking away from the faces of teen angst on the flat-screen TV.
After dinner Harper brought her plate to the sink—her idea of helping with cleanup. Jane didn’t complain as she loaded the dishwasher and started the pot soaking in the sink. You created this routine, she told herself. Over the years, Jane had done the cooking and the cleaning, letting Harper off the hook because she had homework or practice or both. It wasn’t that Harper sat around wasting time. Many a night the two of them were up late at the kitchen counter, trying to piece together a logical lab report or figure out an algebraic function.
“If I have to be stuck at home, can we buy a movie on demand?” Harper asked.
“If it’s something we both want to see,” Jane said. Harper knew Jane found it hard to sit through violent suspense films.
To her surprise, Harper chose a Disney movie that had come out over the summer.
“Yay. I wanted to see that.” Jane tossed Harper a blanket, and they each settled in at either end of the sofa.
The past two weeks had taken their toll, with rescuing Harper at the police station, school starting, Olivia’s power play and last night’s dustup at the game. Leaning into the soft cushion of the leather sofa, Jane fought to stay awake and savor the moment with her daughter. Hoppy was a good kid. When light shined from her eyes, it was dazzling. That was Jane’s hope for the future: less shadow, and more light.
Chapter 13
The weather cooperated with the picnic plans, allowing a lingering spell of summer with startling sunshine and broad cerulean skies. Manning her position at the gate with Mary Ellen Kitcher, Jane savored a warm spot on the low stone wall.
“This is heaven, isn’t it? God’s green acres. And look at that sky.”
Mary Ellen pushed her sunglasses up on her nose and lifted her heart-shaped face to the sun. “Mmm. Those white jet trails remind me of sugary piping on a cake.”
“You’re in a festive mood.”
“Yeah. And hungry.”
The principal had already read them the riot act, warning them about gate crashers. Now they waved through teachers and administrators. A group of phys-ed teachers had just come from a soccer tournament. A handful of staff helped the caterer by carrying in bins of sliced watermelon and foil trays of hamburgers and hot dogs. Half a dozen teachers arrived on bikes, one on a motorcycle.
“Hello, ladies. I see you’re already manning our post.” Marcus Leibowitz looked crisp and summery in a pink button-down shirt and crisp khaki shorts. Tall and thin, with a sand-colored beard and thick hair tied back in a ponytail, Marcus was a popular advisor and friend to students. Jane suspected that most of the kids didn’t realize he was gay, and that seemed fine with Marcus, who lived across the river in Sellwood with his partner of more than a decade.
“We’ve got it covered, but I’m glad you’re here.” Mary Ellen looked toward the trees to make sure the principal was still out of hearing range. “Dr. Gallaway warned us about party crashers. Told us to beware of biker gangs.”
“Really?” Marcus clasped his hands together. “My heart be still.”
“Dr. G does have a flare for the dramatic,” Jane said.
Luke came by with a camera and snapped a photo of Jane and Mary Ellen arm-in-arm. He had volunteered to take some photos for the yearbook, since the student photographers tended to stick to their own groups of friends.
“You’re a lifesaver,” Mary Ellen said.
“I’ll do my best. But you might want to run a contest for the best selfies after this is over. These kids photograph everything.”
Gray Tarkington, the vice principal, trudged up the street with a net sack of balls slung over one shoulder. “Good morning, ladies,” he said, his face stern as usual. “Don’t even try to make a joke.”
Jane tipped her face up to the six-foot-five man, biting back a smile. “Not a word. But you might want to stash that bag behind the snack shack and get some o
f the students to help you give them out when the time comes.”
“Good idea.”
A cool breeze tumbled off the lake, rolling up the gentle slope along with music from the deejay’s speakers. “I love this tradition,” Jane said. “Isn’t it great?”
“Can’t beat the lakefront.” Marcus agreed.
Mary Ellen flipped up her sunglasses, revealing sympathetic brown eyes. “How’s Harper doing? Last I heard she wasn’t going to come today if Olivia was attending.”
“She’s coming around. When you’re usually the player who wins the game, it’s really a come-down to be pointed to as the loser.”
“A tough lesson, no doubt,” Mary Ellen said. “And kids are cruel.”
“Oh, please.” Marcus scoffed. “Adults are just as bad. We all suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.”
“Harper’s coming with her friends, straight from practice. She made noises about not showing up, but I don’t think she could stand to miss it.”
A few minutes later, the students started arriving, streaming through the gate. There was no admission fee, but the administration wisely restricted the event to students only.
“Hey there, Austin. Blake. Hi, Palmer.” Jane greeted the students with a smile. There was a certain advantage to teaching a freshman class; she got to know a lot of the kids by name in their first year.
Girls traveled in packs, and boys came in smaller groups of two or three. There was a point when the line backed up, and they formed two lines to move things along. This was one of the few events that attracted all grades, pointing up the difference between tall, bearded senior men and smooth-faced freshman boys.
“Don’t forget to take lots of pictures for the yearbook,” Mary Ellen reminded some of the kids.
When three older guys tried to scoot in through the gate, Jane took them aside.
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