“The truth is never as simple as it seems, and people will believe what they need to believe.”
He stood and walked to the door, opening it for her. “I'm sure it isn't, Miss Quinn, but you have to understand I have a job to do here. Make sure I see your grandmother tomorrow. Make sure she gets that note.”
AT OUTDOOR RECESS, Sean did not notice that they had been shunned, for they were too busy hunting the first clues of spring. As she pushed through the doors, Norah pointed out a line of bloodroot blossoms peeking along the fence, and they made a game of counting flowers and other plants pushing through the detritus of dead leaves and mulch. Sean found a green frog in a wet patch of ground behind the baseball backstop, and Norah discovered the ferns coiled like snail shells next to the maintenance shed. A flock of robins landed in the yard, flashing their ocher breasts, and they tried to count them all. With their shoes muddy and reeking, they went inside happy as explorers.
The banishment continued through lunch. Sharon and Mark picked up their trays and moved silently to another table when Sean and Norah approached. The other children wound through an obstacle course of chairs and tables so as to avoid the slightest contact. Exile lasted the entire day. Nobody spoke to them in the classroom, and the slightest word from either one drew a cold stare and quick rebuke. In the breaks between classes, the whispers began. Notes circulated. A malicious plot hatched by signals and shorthand.
As they packed their knapsacks to go home, Norah took the letter from the principal intended for Mrs. Quinn, folded it in half, and placed it between the leaves of her grammar book. Then she opened the lid to her desk and buried the grammar inside. “I don't like it that nobody's talked to us all day.”
“They're only mad because their parents are mad at us,” Sean said.
“But on Friday they believed—”
“Sometimes adults can get you to believe or not believe in things.”
From a departing schoolbus, the first taunts came. A boy rolled down his window and yelled “crazy” at the passing pair. “Why don't you just get out of here?” another said from the front steps. A pack of fifth graders flapped their arms as Sean and Norah walked by, and she looked over her shoulder to see one of them sneering and holding up his middle finger. The space between the school and home provided a calm interlude, and as they neared the end of the bike path and the Quinns’ backyard, they flushed a covey of mourning doves. The birds cried and beat their wings to launch themselves higher and disappear into the treetops. Because he was distracted by the birds flying away Sean did not see the figures emerge from their hiding places until the gang of boys had encircled Norah. He stepped to her side.
Strangers, mostly, bigger boys, but two of the followers—Lucas and Matt—and a few other faces from their class. “Why did you do it? Why did you get us all in trouble?”
“You belong in a lunatic asylum. They're going to take you away in a wagon.”
“Crazy bitch.” A boy spat at her.
“Why don't you just fly back to where you came from?” “Angel. Where are the other angels to protect you now?” Sean stepped in front of the accuser. “Leave her alone.” “Show us your wings, if you're an angel. I don't believe you. Liar.” “Show us your wings, freak.” The boy edged closer, sneaker to sneaker. He was a head taller than the rest, but Sean pushed him back. “She's telling the truth. Just leave her—”
“Faggot,” the boy said. “Pussy. Hanging out with girl angels—”
“Show us your wings,” a voice came from behind, and two boys stepped forward and grabbed at her blouse. Sean moved to help her but the boy who had spat and cursed him jumped and wrestled him to the ground. Others pounced upon him, punching and kicking till he had to cover his face. Crumpled on the pavement, he flailed about blindly, striking out with his elbow and bloodying the boy's nose. Someone lifted his boot and stomped on Sean's hand. The others, angry for their comrade, struck more viciously, and from the tangle of limbs and fists, he could hear Norah crying, her books being thrown and scattered in the woods, and the ugly rending of her clothes. And then a woman's voice hollered out a warning, and a clump of dirt landed like a grenade and exploded on the tarmac, scattering the attackers like a pack of stray dogs. The boys ran off, scared and helpless. Head bowed, her blouse torn in two, Norah bent at the waist, revealing her naked back, the sharp bones of her shoulder blades heaving like wings against her skin as she wept. From the Quinns’ backyard, a young woman sped to save them both.
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