Janie shouldered her way through the jammed hallways, her free hand clenched at her side. She’d figured out the Heather Millers of the world long ago. They were experts at sizing up people’s vulnerabilities and then pressing the right button every chance they got. Heather was more accomplished than most because somehow she always managed to be the wounded party.
Anger scorched Janie’s stomach as she made her way toward the office. Latham wouldn’t cut her the slightest slack when it came to making a speech in front of the class, but he lacked the balls to send her to Templeton. And she knew exactly what was behind his sudden solicitousness. The days of you getting a free pass because of your poor dead sister are almost over.
There was a kernel of truth in the taunt. Between the accommodations required for her social anxiety and her family tragedy, there were few teachers in the school who didn’t treat her just a little bit differently from other students. Barely perceptible, but the kid gloves were there. Which was another reason she was determined to attend college as far away from West Bend, Ohio, as possible. There was nothing that burned quite as much as pity. Kelsey would have despised it even more than Janie did.
She was jostled again by the wall of students, this time harder. Janie tried to right herself but tripped over something and fell to all fours. A knee to her back sent her sprawling face-first.
“Oh, goodness, Janie, are you hurt?”
The voice ringing through the hallway was instantly recognizable. A moment later, Heather crouched gracefully down beside her, her hand extended. “Let me help you.”
It was unplanned. Automatic. Janie reached out a hand to grasp Heather’s before yanking her down, hard. Off balance, the other girl toppled to the floor, rapping her face smartly on the edge of the laptop she clutched. On cue, the perfect nose her parents had bought for her two summers earlier began to gush.
Heather stemmed the flow with her fingers, looking at the bright-red blood with disbelief quickly followed by rage. “You . . . bitch!” Her hand flew out, slapping Janie with enough force to snap her head to the side. She dropped her things and launched herself toward Janie, fingers curled.
She clamped her hands around Heather’s wrists, struggling to keep the other girl’s nails from raking her face.
“Cat fight!”
“Throw a punch!”
“Lose the clothes!” The crowd around them began to swell. Then was abruptly parted.
“That’s enough! Heather! Enough!”
One moment Janie was dangerously close to losing an eye. The next, the other girl was gone, lifted away and held tightly by—Janie’s heart took a nosedive—Susan Booker, the principal. Shit.
“She started it! I was just trying to help her up, and she . . .” Predictably, Heather dissolved into tears. “She hit me! Look at my nose!”
Slowly Janie gathered her things and got up. As she rose, she glanced at the crowd of students being dispersed by a couple of teachers and felt everything inside her go to ice. Her lungs clogged. Anxiety balled in her chest, spreading its tentacles to curl around her heart. Squeeze. She was the center of attention and for a moment couldn’t move. Speak. Breathe.
“Janie!” The principal’s voice cracked like a whip as she moved Heather away with a hand at her back. “To the office! The rest of you, get to class!”
“I don’t know whether to be baffled at this turn of events, or proud.”
Janie’s surprised gaze met Rimble’s for the first time since entering her office moments ago. She’d sat outside the counselor’s door for a couple of hours. She hadn’t seen Heather, but that was unsurprising. The outer offices were a rabbit warren of exits, inside hallways, and smaller rooms. The nurse’s room was next to the principal in the interior space. Rimble had just appeared moments ago. Janie could guess where she’d been.
“On the one hand, I’m disappointed that you engaged in violence, which is never the answer to solving problems. But I’ve known you for four years, Janie.” Lori Rimble clasped her hands on the table separating them and leaned forward. “And I realize what it cost you to stand up for yourself this way when you’re being bullied at school.”
Eyes widening in shock, Janie could only stare. This was definitely not the conversation she’d expected to hear after bloodying Heather Miller’s nose. “I’m not bullied.” Bullied implied victimhood, and she’d never allow herself to be that vulnerable. She might have been powerless to prevent what happened to her sister and the toll it took on her and her parents, but she’d fought for years against the diagnosis that could control her life if she let it. She was nobody’s victim.
“You didn’t let yourself be.” A smile flickered at the corners of the woman’s lips before she firmed them. “But as I mentioned, your response was ill advised. That said, there were several witnesses to the altercation in the hallway and in Mr. Latham’s class before that. I believe Mrs. Booker has been quite thorough in talking to all of them and has a clear picture of what transpired. Would you like to tell your side of things?”
Wary, she remained silent. She was vaguely familiar with the progressive-discipline policy at the school, although she’d never thought to find herself on this end of it.
Rimble smiled wryly. “I thought not. Mrs. Booker has decided—and I agree—that this matter would best be handled at the minimal level of consequences. Neither you nor Heather has ever been in trouble before, and both have distinguished academic records. I will warn you that if there’s another occurrence of this behavior, it will be dealt with more severely. And as your friend, I want to caution you that by allowing yourself to be manipulated into a reaction, you’re playing into Heather’s jealousy of you.”
Manipulated. The arrow hit its mark. It was another moment before the rest of the counselor’s words registered. “Jealousy?” Janie was incredulous. Heather? The idea that anyone would be jealous of her was hard to fathom. That Heather would be was downright unbelievable.
For the first time, the counselor’s expression looked stern. “Don’t sell yourself short, Janie. You and Heather are at the top of your class. Don’t give her an edge.” Without allowing Janie time to digest her advice, she went on. “Heather will serve her after-school suspension tomorrow. Yours will be Friday.” Her smile was back. “Now, is there anything you’d like to say?”
Janie shook her head, still mentally reeling.
“Then you can go. Your father is here and will take you home for the day. But don’t forget what I said. Given the recent news stories, I know this is going to be a difficult time for you and your family. I’m here to help if you’ll let me.”
Blindly, Janie rose, went to the door. She could have told the woman that there was nothing she could do. Nothing anyone could do.
The longer Whitney DeVries remained missing, the worse it was going to get for the Willards.
Claire Willard
November 4
11:35 a.m.