Mr. Hollingsworth was scribbling on a yellow legal pad. “Was this the only incident involvin’ Miss Duchannes?”
Mrs. Lincoln tried to look shocked. “Heavens, no! At the winter formal, she pulled the fire alarm, ruinin’ the dance and destroyin’ four thousand dollars worth a audio equipment. As if that weren’t enough, she pushed Miss Asher off a the stage, causin’ her to break her leg, which I’ve been told, on good authority, will take months to heal.”
Lena stared straight ahead, refusing to look at anyone.
“Thank you, Mrs. Lincoln.” Link’s mom turned and smiled at Lena. Not a genuine smile or even a sarcastic smile, but an I’m-going-to-ruin-your-life-and-enjoy-doing-it smile.
Mrs. Lincoln walked back to her seat. Then she stopped and looked right at Lena. “I almost forgot.
There is one last thing.” She pulled some loose papers from her purse. “I have records from Miss Duchannes’ previous school in Virginia. Although it might be more accurate to call it an institution.”
I wasn’t in an institution. It was a private school.
“As Principal Harper mentioned, this is not the first time Miss Duchannes has had violent episodes.”
Lena’s voice in my head was bordering on hysterical. I tried to reassure her.
Don’t worry.
But I was worried. Mrs. Lincoln wouldn’t be saying this here if she couldn’t prove it somehow.
“Miss Duchannes is a very disturbed girl. She suffers from a mental illness. Let me see…” Mrs.
Lincoln ran her finger down the page as if she was looking for something. I waited to hear the diagnosis for the mental illness Mrs. Lincoln thought Lena suffered from—the state of being different.
“Ah, yes, here it is. It appears Miss Duchannes suffers from bipolar disorder, which Doctor Asher can tell you is a very serious mental condition. These people who suffer from this affliction are prone to violence and unpredictable behavior. These things run in families; her mother was afflicted as well.”
This can’t be happening.
The rain hammered down on the roof. The wind picked up, lashing the door of the gym.
“In fact, her mother murdered her father fourteen years ago.” The entire room gasped.
Game. Set. Match.
Everyone started talking at once.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please.” Principal Harper tried to calm everyone down, but it was like taking a match to dry brush. Once the fire got started, there was no stopping it.
It took ten minutes for the gym to settle back down again, but Lena never did. I could feel her heart racing like it was my own, and the knot in her throat from choking back her tears. Although judging by the downpour outside, she was having a tough time with that. I was surprised she hadn’t run out of the gym already, but she was either too brave or too stunned to move.
I knew Mrs. Lincoln was lying. I didn’t believe Lena had been in an institution any more than I believed the Angels wanted to protect the students at Jackson. What I didn’t know was if Mrs. Lincoln was lying about the rest, the part about Lena’s mother murdering her father.
But I knew I wanted to kill Mrs. Lincoln. I’d known Link’s mom my whole life, but lately I hadn’t even been able to think of her like that anymore. She didn’t seem like the woman who ripped the cable box out of the wall or lectured us for hours on the virtues of abstinence. This didn’t seem like one of her annoying, yet ultimately innocent causes. This seemed more vindictive and more personal. I just couldn’t figure out why she hated Lena so much.
Mr. Hollingsworth tried to regain control. “All right, everyone, let’s settle down. Mrs. Lincoln, thank you for takin’ the time to be here tonight. I’d like to review those documents, if you don’t mind.”
I stood up again. “This whole thing is ridiculous. Why don’t you just set her on fire and see if she burns?”
Mr. Hollingsworth tried to gain control of the meeting, which was bordering on becoming an episode of Jerry Springer. “Mr. Wate, have a seat or you will be asked to leave. There will be no more outbursts during this meetin’. I have reviewed the witnesses’ written accounts a what happened, and it seems this matter is quite straightforward and there is only one sensible thing to do.”
There was a crash, and the huge metal doors in the back of the room flew open. A gust of wind blew in, along with sheets of rain.
And something else.
Macon Ravenwood strode casually into the gym, dressed in a black cashmere overcoat and sharplooking gray pinstripe suit, with Marian Ashcroft on his arm. Marian was carrying a small, checkered umbrella just large enough to shield her from the downpour. Macon didn’t have an umbrella, but he was still bone-dry. Boo lumbered in behind them, his black hair wet and standing on end, making it obvious he was more wolf than dog.