The bleachers were filled with Gatlin’s finest. Mrs. Lincoln and her DAR lynch mob were taking up the first three rows, with the members of the Sisters of the Confederacy, the First Methodist Choir, and the Historical Society taking up the next few. Right behind them were the Jackson Angels—also known as, the girls who wanted to be Emily and Savannah, and the guys who wanted to get into Emily’s and Savannah’s pants—sporting their freshly screened Guardian tees. The front of the shirts had a picture of an angel that looked suspiciously like Emily Asher, with her huge white angel wings spread wide open, wearing what else—a Jackson High Wildcats T-shirt. On the back, there was simply a pair of white wings designed to look like they were sprouting right out of the person’s back, and the Angels’ battle cry, “We’ll Be Watching You.”
Emily was sitting next to Mrs. Asher, her leg and its huge cast propped up on one of the orange cafeteria chairs. Mrs. Lincoln narrowed her eyes when she saw us, and Mrs. Asher put her arm around Emily protectively, as if one of us might run over there and beat her with a club like a defenseless baby seal pup. I saw Emily slip her phone out of her tiny silver bag, text-ready. Soon, her fingers would be flying. Our school gym was probably the epicenter of local gossip for four counties tonight.
Amma was sitting a few rows back, fiddling with the charm around her neck. Hopefully, it would make Mrs. Lincoln grow the horns she’d been so artfully hiding all these years. Of course, my dad wasn’t there, but the Sisters were sitting next to Thelma, across the aisle from Amma. Things must have been worse than I thought. The Sisters hadn’t been out of the house this late since 1980, when Aunt Grace ate too much spicy Hoppin’ John and thought she was having a heart attack. Aunt Mercy caught my eye and waved her handkerchief.
I walked Lena to the seat in the front of the room obviously reserved for her. It was right in front of the firing squad, dead center.
It’s going to be okay.
Promise?
I could hear the rain pounding on the roof outside.
I promise this doesn’t matter. I promise these people are idiots. I promise nothing they say will ever change the way I feel about you.
I’ll take that as a no.
The rain beat down harder on the roof, not a good sign. I took her hand and pressed something into it.
The little silver button from Lena’s vest, that I’d found in the Beater’s cracked upholstery, the night we met in the rain. It looked like a piece of junk, but I had carried it in my jeans pocket ever since.
Here. It’s sort of a good luck charm. At least it brought something good to me.
I could see how hard she was trying not to crack. Without a word, Lena took off her chain and added it to her own collection of valuable junk.
Thanks. If she could have smiled, she would have.
I made my way back toward the row where the Sisters and Amma were sitting. Aunt Grace stood up, resting on her cane. “Ethan, over here. We saved you a seat, darlin’.”
“Why don’t you sit down, Grace Statham,” an old blue-haired woman sitting behind the Sisters hissed.
Aunt Prue turned around. “Why don’t you mind your own business, Sadie Honeycutt, or I will mind it for you.”
Aunt Grace turned to Mrs. Honeycutt and smiled. “Now you come right on over here, Ethan.”
I squeezed in between Aunt Mercy and Aunt Grace. “How you holdin’ up, Sweet Meat?” Thelma smiled and pinched my arm.
Thunder crashed outside, and the lights flickered. A few old women gasped.
An uptight-looking guy sitting in the middle of the big folding table cleared his throat. “Just a little hiccup in the power is all. Why doesn’t everyone kindly take their seats so we can get started. My name is Bertrand Hollingsworth, and I’m Head a the School Board. This meeting’s been called to respond to the petition requestin’ the expulsion of a Jackson student, a Miss Lena Duchannes, is that right?”
Principal Harper addressed Mr. Hollingsworth from his seat at the table, the Prosecution, or more accurately, Mrs. Lincoln’s hangman. “Yes, sir. The petition was brought to my attention by several concerned parents, and it was signed by over two hundred a Gatlin’s most respected parents and citizens, and a number of Jackson students.” Of course it was.
“What are the grounds for expulsion?”
Mr. Harper flipped some pages on his yellow legal pad like he was reading a rap sheet. “Assault.
Destruction a school property. And Miss Duchannes was already on probation.”
Assault? I didn’t assault anyone.
It’s just an accusation. They can’t prove anything.
I was on my feet before he even finished. “None of that’s true!”
Another jumpy-looking guy at the other end of the table raised his voice to be heard over the rain, and the twenty or thirty old women whispering about my bad manners. “Young man, have a seat. This is not a free-for-all.”
Mr. Hollingsworth pressed on over the din. “Do we have any witnesses to substantiate these accusations?” Now there were more than a few people whispering to each other to see if anyone knew what “substantiate” meant.
Principal Harper cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yes. And recently, I received information that indicates Miss Duchannes had similar problems at the school she previously attended.”
What is he talking about? How do they know anything about my old school?
I don’t know. What happened at your old school?
Nothing.
A woman from the School Board flipped through some papers in front of her. “I think we’d like to hear from Jackson’s Parent Partnership President, Mrs. Lincoln, first.”