Emily’s mother came floating through the
rainbow painted door to the lobby. Joe gripped the sides of her plastic chair
and shut her eyes. Then she started crying, too.
The detective wrapped little Joe in her
arms, feeling sorry for the supposed simple girl she was holding, when she
should have been feeling sorry for the simple girl who’d just been stolen.
“Shh. It’s okay,” the detective said. “It’s okay. We just want to know if you
can tell us anything you might remember about the man who came and picked up
your friend Emily. Can you describe him to me?”
Little Joe’s sobs came harder and harder,
and she brought her pale hands up to cover her pale face. The detective decided
not to ask the poor girl any more questions. Joe sat crying that way until her
mother came and picked her up, her body shivering and shaking, with the sketch
of the stranger tucked firmly away in her Winnie the Pooh backpack.
At that point in her life, Joe had yet
to become a fool, but somehow, she knew she was already a failure.
Chapter
Twelve
Mina
“Fail?
Did you say he could fail the third grade?”
“Well, Mrs. Carter—”
“Miss.”
“Excuse me?”
“ Miss. It’s Miss Carter.”
“I see. Miss Carter, your son has
shown no interest in his studies and on many occasions, abrupt disrespect to
his teachers and classmates. Yesterday, he hit another student on the head with
a tissue box and said he was swatting a fly.”
“His ‘studies’? Are you kidding me? He’s
nine years old. And a tissue box? You’re going to hold him back an entire year
because he swatted a bug with a tissue box ?”
The principal of Santa Fe Elementary, a
balding man of forty-five, sat back in his leather chair. Principal Crosby
said, “ Miss Carter, we are not holding your son back because he ‘swatted
a bug with a tissue box.’ We are holding him back because he has shown
difficulty with the subject matter of his courses and a pattern of disruptive
behavior. Perhaps he is not getting enough attention at home?”
It took everything Mina had not to reach
across the bald man’s desk and slap the shit-eating smirk off his face. Where
did the sonofabitch get off judging her like that? He had no idea the shit she
had to deal with. He wouldn’t be able to do what she did even on her easiest
day. But the man was talking about failing her son. She had to try and play
nice for Davis, even if he didn’t deserve it.
She pasted a smile on her face. “Mr.
Crosby, please, is there nothing he can do to make it up? Extra homework or
something? I really don’t want him to lose a whole year.”
Mr. Crosby let out a nasally sigh. “I’m
sorry, Miss Carter. There’s always summer school. Many single parents find it to
be a convenient alternative.”
Mina almost told him to go screw
himself, but instead she stood and exited the office, shutting the door behind
her. “Let’s go, Davis,” she said.
Davis stood up from the chair outside of
Principal Crosby’s office, and followed his mother out of the school building.
When they were in the car heading home, and his mother still hadn’t spoken,
Davis asked, “What happened?”
Mina whipped her head toward him, but
her angry green eyes stayed on the road. “What happened? What the heck do you
think happened, Davis? You got expelled! You’re just going to have to go to
summer school.”
“Summer school! No, Mom, please, no,”
Davis pleaded.
“Yes, Davis! Yes! You are going to
summer school. Would you rather repeat the third grade? Be a year older than
all your classmates? You are going to summer school. End of story.”
“But Mom—”
“End. Of. Story. Not another word,
Davis. Not another word.”
Davis slumped down in his seat and
crossed his arms. Mina blew out her breath and ran a hand across her damp
forehead. It was always something. Just when things seemed to be going well,
something like this would happen and mess it all up. Just when she thought she
was finally getting a
rainbow painted door to the lobby. Joe gripped the sides of her plastic chair
and shut her eyes. Then she started crying, too.
The detective wrapped little Joe in her
arms, feeling sorry for the supposed simple girl she was holding, when she
should have been feeling sorry for the simple girl who’d just been stolen.
“Shh. It’s okay,” the detective said. “It’s okay. We just want to know if you
can tell us anything you might remember about the man who came and picked up
your friend Emily. Can you describe him to me?”
Little Joe’s sobs came harder and harder,
and she brought her pale hands up to cover her pale face. The detective decided
not to ask the poor girl any more questions. Joe sat crying that way until her
mother came and picked her up, her body shivering and shaking, with the sketch
of the stranger tucked firmly away in her Winnie the Pooh backpack.
At that point in her life, Joe had yet
to become a fool, but somehow, she knew she was already a failure.
Chapter
Twelve
Mina
“Fail?
Did you say he could fail the third grade?”
“Well, Mrs. Carter—”
“Miss.”
“Excuse me?”
“ Miss. It’s Miss Carter.”
“I see. Miss Carter, your son has
shown no interest in his studies and on many occasions, abrupt disrespect to
his teachers and classmates. Yesterday, he hit another student on the head with
a tissue box and said he was swatting a fly.”
“His ‘studies’? Are you kidding me? He’s
nine years old. And a tissue box? You’re going to hold him back an entire year
because he swatted a bug with a tissue box ?”
The principal of Santa Fe Elementary, a
balding man of forty-five, sat back in his leather chair. Principal Crosby
said, “ Miss Carter, we are not holding your son back because he ‘swatted
a bug with a tissue box.’ We are holding him back because he has shown
difficulty with the subject matter of his courses and a pattern of disruptive
behavior. Perhaps he is not getting enough attention at home?”
It took everything Mina had not to reach
across the bald man’s desk and slap the shit-eating smirk off his face. Where
did the sonofabitch get off judging her like that? He had no idea the shit she
had to deal with. He wouldn’t be able to do what she did even on her easiest
day. But the man was talking about failing her son. She had to try and play
nice for Davis, even if he didn’t deserve it.
She pasted a smile on her face. “Mr.
Crosby, please, is there nothing he can do to make it up? Extra homework or
something? I really don’t want him to lose a whole year.”
Mr. Crosby let out a nasally sigh. “I’m
sorry, Miss Carter. There’s always summer school. Many single parents find it to
be a convenient alternative.”
Mina almost told him to go screw
himself, but instead she stood and exited the office, shutting the door behind
her. “Let’s go, Davis,” she said.
Davis stood up from the chair outside of
Principal Crosby’s office, and followed his mother out of the school building.
When they were in the car heading home, and his mother still hadn’t spoken,
Davis asked, “What happened?”
Mina whipped her head toward him, but
her angry green eyes stayed on the road. “What happened? What the heck do you
think happened, Davis? You got expelled! You’re just going to have to go to
summer school.”
“Summer school! No, Mom, please, no,”
Davis pleaded.
“Yes, Davis! Yes! You are going to
summer school. Would you rather repeat the third grade? Be a year older than
all your classmates? You are going to summer school. End of story.”
“But Mom—”
“End. Of. Story. Not another word,
Davis. Not another word.”
Davis slumped down in his seat and
crossed his arms. Mina blew out her breath and ran a hand across her damp
forehead. It was always something. Just when things seemed to be going well,
something like this would happen and mess it all up. Just when she thought she
was finally getting a
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