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Authors: Charles Benoit
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and that was with Ms. Augustyn, so thereâd be no making that up. In science they were dissecting mice. Missing that unit would be a good thing. French was just starting to make senseâa week out of class would leave her
dans la merde.
As for the discussions in religion class, Shelly was pretty sure that she was the discussion.
So much for academics.
Her school required three hours of volunteer work each week. She had until the first week of October to sign up somewhere, and she was running out of time. When they first told her about the policy, Shelly had been tempted to point out the logical fallacy of required volunteerism, but she didnât think the people in the main office would share her appreciation of irony. Before the move, she had volunteered at a shelter that cared for rescued pit bulls, not because the school required it but because she wanted to. She was too young then to work with the dogs, so she had cleaned cages and filled food bins. It wasnât glamorous, but it still felt good, and the dogs seemed to enjoy her company. The first Saturday in February was the last time she had been there. She never went back. Better to walk away than to be told you werenât wanted.
She made a mental note to Google the address of the local animal shelter.
And, oh yeah, her motherâs birthday was Tuesday.
She could buy a card on the way home, mail it first thing Monday morning. Itâd get there on time. But why bother? She would never open it, Shelly was sure of that. Her mother didnât want to hear from her. Why would she? So that she could be reminded of what happened? Like sheâd ever forget. Sheâd be better off pretending she didnât have a daughter. And as for the letters her mother had sent her? Straight to the trash. The phone messages? Deleted as soon as they came in. Shelly could guess what they said, the words her mother would use to describe her, the same words she had heard whispered in the corridors of her last school. And worse.
So no stupid card.
But there was one more thing she had to get done that week.
At least, thatâs what the caller had said.
Well, there was no way it was going to happen, so . . .
For one, she was suspended. If she went back to school earlyâfor
any
reasonâsheâd get kicked out. Sister Teresa had made that clear. And it was no secret that she had to stay a hundred feet from Heather. If she so much as walked into the room where Heather was sitting, every teacher in the building would be on her.
Then there was the callerâs ridiculous requirement that she video the whole thing and put it up on YouTube, which was impossible because her phone didnât have video. Besides, if someone else filmed it for herânobody would, but saying they didâthe cafeteria at the school didnât even serve macaroni and cheese. The closest they came was chili, and that was on Tuesdays. And this, for
some
reason, had to be on Thursday.
She didnât see any way to make it happen. Not by Thursday.
And this time next weekend, theyâd know. Miranda Eduardo, the hyperexcited senior behind every fundraising event at St. Anneâs. Deborah Knight and LJ Martin, the library geeks. Julie Redfern, future nun. They were the closest she had to friends since sheâd arrived, and they liked her for who they thought she was.
But that would all change once they learned her secret.
The St. Valentineâs Day Massacre, all over again, thanks to a voice on the phone.
Shelly spent the rest of the ride trying to think of some way out of it, but when the bus pulled up in front of the Jefferson County Community Center at exactly 12:32, she still had nothing.
Eleven
âQ UESTION ONE . W HAT DID YOU THINK OF THE VIDEO clip you just saw?â
There were only eight of them in the class.
Impossible to hide.
Ms. Owens had arranged the desks in a circle and made them tape sheets of paper with their names in block letters to
dans la merde.
As for the discussions in religion class, Shelly was pretty sure that she was the discussion.
So much for academics.
Her school required three hours of volunteer work each week. She had until the first week of October to sign up somewhere, and she was running out of time. When they first told her about the policy, Shelly had been tempted to point out the logical fallacy of required volunteerism, but she didnât think the people in the main office would share her appreciation of irony. Before the move, she had volunteered at a shelter that cared for rescued pit bulls, not because the school required it but because she wanted to. She was too young then to work with the dogs, so she had cleaned cages and filled food bins. It wasnât glamorous, but it still felt good, and the dogs seemed to enjoy her company. The first Saturday in February was the last time she had been there. She never went back. Better to walk away than to be told you werenât wanted.
She made a mental note to Google the address of the local animal shelter.
And, oh yeah, her motherâs birthday was Tuesday.
She could buy a card on the way home, mail it first thing Monday morning. Itâd get there on time. But why bother? She would never open it, Shelly was sure of that. Her mother didnât want to hear from her. Why would she? So that she could be reminded of what happened? Like sheâd ever forget. Sheâd be better off pretending she didnât have a daughter. And as for the letters her mother had sent her? Straight to the trash. The phone messages? Deleted as soon as they came in. Shelly could guess what they said, the words her mother would use to describe her, the same words she had heard whispered in the corridors of her last school. And worse.
So no stupid card.
But there was one more thing she had to get done that week.
At least, thatâs what the caller had said.
Well, there was no way it was going to happen, so . . .
For one, she was suspended. If she went back to school earlyâfor
any
reasonâsheâd get kicked out. Sister Teresa had made that clear. And it was no secret that she had to stay a hundred feet from Heather. If she so much as walked into the room where Heather was sitting, every teacher in the building would be on her.
Then there was the callerâs ridiculous requirement that she video the whole thing and put it up on YouTube, which was impossible because her phone didnât have video. Besides, if someone else filmed it for herânobody would, but saying they didâthe cafeteria at the school didnât even serve macaroni and cheese. The closest they came was chili, and that was on Tuesdays. And this, for
some
reason, had to be on Thursday.
She didnât see any way to make it happen. Not by Thursday.
And this time next weekend, theyâd know. Miranda Eduardo, the hyperexcited senior behind every fundraising event at St. Anneâs. Deborah Knight and LJ Martin, the library geeks. Julie Redfern, future nun. They were the closest she had to friends since sheâd arrived, and they liked her for who they thought she was.
But that would all change once they learned her secret.
The St. Valentineâs Day Massacre, all over again, thanks to a voice on the phone.
Shelly spent the rest of the ride trying to think of some way out of it, but when the bus pulled up in front of the Jefferson County Community Center at exactly 12:32, she still had nothing.
Eleven
âQ UESTION ONE . W HAT DID YOU THINK OF THE VIDEO clip you just saw?â
There were only eight of them in the class.
Impossible to hide.
Ms. Owens had arranged the desks in a circle and made them tape sheets of paper with their names in block letters to
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