“Good point,” Harry said, typing faster.
“The second speaker is going to talk about how calling teachers by their first name promotes trust between teacher and student, which in turn, leads to students asking more questions and getting better outcomes. They will quote some direct studies to support this. And the third speaker will…”
The blackness against her eyes was like a cool compress to her self-doubt, and Zoe found herself able to think surprisingly well. Usually when she spoke in front of someone her entire consciousness was focused on herself, and more debilitatingly, what others were thinking about her. This time she was thinking about the debate. And funnily enough, she was thinking of things other than the debate. Like Harry. Although he was several paces away, she was hyperaware of his presence in the room. The tap of his fingers on the keyboard. His smell—deodorant and chewing gum. When he shifted on the bed, or reached for something, she could practically feel it. He paused occasionally to make the odd—usually good—point, but other than that, Zoe did most of the talking. After about forty-five minutes she heard the metallic thunk of the laptop closing.
She opened her eyes.
Harry was on the edge of his bed, his body a mirror to hers. Their knees faced each other, inches apart. Zoe wanted to look away, she knew she should, but somehow she couldn’t. She felt something. A pulse. And she had the distinct feeling that Harry felt it too, because they both immediately dropped their gaze and began to fidget. And any reprieve she’d had from her anxiety vanished, just like that.
“Good job,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I think we’re done.”
Zoe’s cheeks, judging by the heat in them, were fiery red. She was looking at a hangnail, so she didn’t notice Harry reach out. He touched her flaming cheek. “Red,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Yeah,” she said in the same tone.
“So I guess you’re seriously shy?”
She shrugged. “I guess I am.”
“So why volunteer for the debate?”
Zoe hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t know, it was more that she didn’t think Harry—or anyone—could possibly understand.
“Have you ever wanted to do something so badly but your body won’t let you?” she said.
Harry was silent for a long time. “Actually I have.” He gazed off, thinking deeply. “Sometimes you think if you want something bad enough, your body will have to go along with it.”
“Exactly,” she said. “But so far, for me … it’s not working so well. My body has a mind of its own. The blushing. The sweating. The shyness. You know.”
Harry stared at her for so long Zoe thought she might explode with mortification. “Well,” he said. “I think it’s cool that you’re trying.”
Zoe dropped her gaze, suddenly overwhelmed. “Oh wow,” she said, looking at her watch, “is that the time? I’ve, um, really got to get going.”
She stood, tripping over a shoe on the floor but catching herself before she fell flat on her face.
“Zoe—”
“Sorry, I’ll see you at school,” she said and bolted. But as she descended the stairs, amid all her feelings of horror and humiliation, she realized she actually felt pretty good.
32
Theo waved his hands theatrically in front of Sonja’s face. “Sonja? Anybody home?”
“I was listening,” Sonja said snippily. But she wasn’t. She’d always thought team meetings were pointless. She felt for the clients of her colleagues, of course, but she didn’t see how it was a good use of her time to be updated on ill people she had nothing to do with.
“Update on Alice Stanhope?” Theo prompted after a few seconds.
“Oh. Right. Well, she’ll be released from the hospital tomorrow. She’s refused Meals on Wheels, but her daughter will be back with her, so she won’t be completely alone. I’ll take her home and make sure she has everything she needs.”
The truth was, Sonja was feeling guilty. She still wasn’t sure what she could have done differently with regard to putting Zoe in foster care, but she had put her concerns to rest about Alice. Clearly Alice was a good mother. She certainly hadn’t been responsible for the bruise on Zoe’s face. The only thing Alice was guilty of was, perhaps, being a struggling single mother without much support.
“Will she be having further treatment?”
“Chemo, starting in a couple of weeks. I’ll be in touch with her about transport. And I’ll attend appointments with her as a support person.”
“All right,” Theo said, looking at the notepad in front of him. “That’s it for updates. Now, the Donaldsons are having trouble understanding the costs for Tom’s surgery. Can someone give them a call?” He glanced up. “Sonja?”
“I can do it,” Dagmar said. Dagmar was fresh out of college and a little too keen for Sonja’s liking. Always watching what everyone else was doing, and talking about “best practices.” Sonja was tempted to let her call the Donaldsons, but it wouldn’t look good in front of all these people, and Sonja understood all about keeping up appearances.
“It’s okay,” Sonja said, reaching for the file. “I’ll do it.”
The meeting ended with Theo delivering his mandatory speech about how they did a tough job and they all needed to support each other. Then, one by one, people filed out of the room.
Sonja remained where she was, flicking through the Donaldsons’ file, though her mind was elsewhere. Everything ached. Her legs, her arms, her breasts. Her mind. She’d spent the whole night berating herself. What was wrong with her? Some women would probably love the unpredictability of sex with George. It was spontaneous. Exciting. Creative. Perhaps if she weren’t such a frigid old bore, she would have thought so too.