“Nah. Connor’s mom has a van and Coach Patrick took four kids.” He was already rifling in the backseat. “Do you have snacks?”
“The power cookies are for the team. But there’s a turkey wrap and a container with apples and almonds for you.”
As Aidan dug in the insulated bag for his sustenance, Kim eased her Audi onto the road. She treasured these moments alone with her youngest, when he wasn’t distracted by screens or friends. She liked to think Aidan valued this time, too—otherwise he could have squeezed into Connor’s mom’s van or hitched a ride with the coach.
“How was school today?”
“Decent,” he said, removing the whole-wheat wrap and taking a huge bite.
“Anything exciting?”
“Nope.”
They drove without talking for a few minutes. Kim listened to her son chewing and the radio edit of a rap song where every third word went silent to hide the fucks and bitches and hos. Why did they bother cleaning up songs like that? There were basically no lyrics left. Kim turned down the radio, cleared her throat. “Have you seen Ronni Monroe since . . . the accident?”
“Just once.”
Kim wasn’t sure how to ask the question without sounding insensitive. But this was a teenaged boy: they personified insensitivity. “How does she look?”
Aidan turned toward his mom, and the vexation on his face revealed how Kim had misjudged him. “Not very good. Her eye . . . it’s not right.”
“It’s a glass eye, so it won’t move with the other eye. It’s just like Uncle Doug, Aunt Corrine’s first husband. He had a lazy eye.”
“It’s not like that. Ronni’s eyelid is kind of stretched across, and you can see too much of the white part of her eye. It’s freaky.”
Kim took a deep breath. “Hannah says the other kids are being unkind to Ronni.”
Aidan shrugged solemnly and bit his wrap. “I heard something about that.”
“What did you hear?”
“Some kids made a Facebook page. It had Ronni’s name with a picture of Mike Wazowski.”
“Who’s Mike Wazowski?”
“The monster from Monsters, Inc. The little green guy with one eye.”
“Jesus Christ . . .” Kim knew human nature could be ugly, and teenaged human nature was the ugliest of all. People loved it when the pretty, popular, and privileged were toppled from their roost. But Ronni was maimed. She had lost an eye. Were her peers savage enough to be delighting in her misfortune? Kim’s hands trembled on the steering wheel.
Aidan, the most sensitive member of the family, sensed his mom’s distress. “I’m sure someone’s reported it by now,” he said to console her. “It’s probably been taken down.”
They were nearing the soccer field. Kim’s questions would go unanswered if she didn’t ask them now. “Why do you think the kids are being so mean to Ronni?”
“I don’t know . . . maybe because of Lauren Ross. She’s like this power b—,” He stopped himself before he uttered the word bitch in front of his mother. “Lauren’s really popular, and people are kind of scared of her.”
“So Lauren’s leading this vendetta against Ronni? I thought they were friends?”
“Lauren doesn’t like her anymore or something. I don’t know. . . .” Aidan stared out the passenger window, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. “Ask Hannah. They’re her friends.”
Kim pulled into the parking lot next to the soccer field. “It’s hard for Hannah to talk about it. I think she feels caught in the middle.”
“Yeah,” her son mumbled, already opening the door before the car had come to a full stop.
“Careful, you,” she admonished gently. “The rest of the team just got here. There’s no rush.” But Aidan was already jogging toward his teammates, shoving the last vestiges of his wrap into his mouth.
Kim took her time following. The boys would warm up for a good twenty minutes before the game started. Gathering the plastic container of power cookies and the water bottle Aidan had left in the front cup holder, she strolled toward the team bench. She dropped the water bottle near Aidan’s running shoes and set the cookies in the designated spot near the coach’s folding chair. When Aidan was younger, moms were allowed to present the snacks at halftime, but at this age and skill level, parents were considered a distraction. Kim missed the appreciative smiles, the occasional “Thanks, Mrs. Sanders,” but she understood.
She stood on the sideline and watched her lanky son grapevine across the field with the other boys. “Pick it up!” the coach barked. He was about Kim’s age, a stocky guy in a cap who oozed aggression. The boys tried to obey him but they were just kids growing into their man-size bodies. Kim didn’t like the coach. He was too harsh, too competitive, but Jeff said that’s what it took to win the city championship. Aidan didn’t seem to mind, so Kim shook it off.
Her eyes followed one of the smaller boys. He was quicker and more dexterous than Aidan and the taller kids, moving with the easy coordination of the compact. It took Kim a moment to realize it was James, her friend Debs’s son. Scanning the handful of parents on the sidelines, she spotted her spin-class partner. Kim hadn’t been to SoulCycle in weeks. Since Lisa filed her lawsuit, Kim had struggled to make it to her twice-weekly Pilates sessions. She moved down the field toward her friend.
Debs was with a couple of women who Kim didn’t know, but the taller of the two was familiar. The woman was obviously a soccer mom, and Kim was pretty sure she’d seen her at the school, too—some parents’ night or at a school play. The other woman, the stranger, looked up and spotted Kim. She muttered something to her group, and Kim felt the perceptible shift in body language. She took in Debs’s rigid posture, the way her back was purposefully angled away from Kim. It became clear: Debs knew Kim was there, and she was avoiding her.
Kim wanted to turn and scurry back to her car, but she was practically on top of them now. It would have been too obvious, too awkward. . . . Her eyes darted around for another escape route, perhaps a friendly face in the crowd that could divert her attention, but there was no one. Debs turned around and feigned surprise. “Kim. Hey . . .” There was a hint of warmth, just enough for Kim to hope she’d read the situation wrong.
“I wanted to come say hi,” Kim responded. “It’s been ages.”
“Mmm, it has.” She’d imagined the warmth. “Do you know my friends Jane and Karen? This is Kim.”