Bloodstream (31 page)

He gave a startled jerk and looked at her.

“I heard about you and J.D.
,“
she said.

“Then I guess you heard I’m the one who got kicked out of class.”

“J.D.’s a jerk. No one’s ever stood up to him before.”

“Yeah, well I’m sorry I did.” He spun his combination and opened the locker. The door swung open with a bang. “Not worth opening my big mouth.”

“It is worth it. I wish everyone was brave enough.” Her head drooped, the golden hair sliding across her cheek. She turned away.

“Amelia?”

She looked at him. So many times before, he had sneaked furtive glances at her, just for the pleasure of looking at her face. So many times, he had fantasized about what it would be like to touch that face, that hair. To kiss her. He’d had opportunities, but had never mustered the courage to actually
do
it. Now she was gazing at him with such

quiet intensity, he could not stop himself. His locker door hung open, concealing them from the hallway. He reached out, took her hand, and gently tugged her toward him.

She came willingly, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushing as she leaned close. Their lips brushed so softly, it was almost as if it didn’t happen. They looked at each other, a wordless confirmation that it had not been long enough. That they were both willing to try again.

They came together in another kiss. Firmer, deeper, drawing courage from each other’s lips. He put his arm around her, and she was as soft as he’d imagined, like sweet-smelling, lustrous silk. Now she had her arm around him as well, her hand clinging to the back of his neck, claiming him.

The locker door slammed wide open, and suddenly there was someone else standing there.

“What a
touching
scene,” sneered J.D.

Amelia jumped back, staring at her stepbrother.

“You cheap little tease,” said J.D., and he gave her a shove.

Amelia shoved right back. “Don’t you touch me!”

“Oh. You’d rather have Noah Effiot feel you up?”

“That’s it!” said Noah. He advanced on J.D., his hand already closed in a fist. Then he froze. Mr. Sanborn had just walked out of the band room and was standing in the hail, eyeing them both.

“Outside,” said J.D. softly, eyes glittering. “The parking lot.
Now.”

Fern Cornwallis dashed out of the building and ran through ankle-deep snow toward the faculty parking lot. By the time she reached the brawling boys, her brand new leather pumps were soaked through and her toes were numb. She was in no mood to be reasonable. She shoved her way into the circle of spectators and grabbed one of the boys by his jacket.
It’s Noah Elliot again,
she thought furiously as she hauled him away from J.D. Reid. J.D. snorted like a mad bull and rammed his shoulder into Noah’s chest, sending both Noah and Fern sprawling.

Fern landed flat on her back on the pavement, grinding sand and dirt into her wool suit. She scrambled to her feet, snagging her nylons in the process. Uncontrollable rage pulsing through her, she charged right back into the fight, this time grabbing hold of J.D.’s collar. She yanked him back so hard his face turned purple and he made choking sounds, but he continued to flail his arms, fists waving in Noah’s general direction.

Two teachers dashed to Fern’s aid, each one grabbing an arm, and they dragged J.D. backwards across the pavement.

“You stay away from my sister, Elliot!”

“I never touched your sister!” Noah yelled back.

“That’s not what I saw!”

“Then you’re blind
and
stupid!”

“I see you two together again, I kick both your asses!”

“Stop it! Both of you!” screamed Amelia, pushing forward and planting herself between the two boys. “You’re such a loser, J.D.!”

“Better a loser than the school slut.”

Amelia’s face flushed bright red. “Shut up.”

“Slut,” J.D. spat out. “Slut,
slut.”

Noah broke free and rammed his fist into J.D.’s mouth. The loud
thunk
of bone on flesh was as startling as gunshot in the crisp air.

Blood splattered on the snow.

“Some sort of action has to be taken,” said Mrs. Lubec, the sophomore history teacher. “We can’t keep putting out small fires, Fern, while the whole forest burns down around us?’

Fern huddled in a borrowed sweatsuit and gulped her cup of tea. She knew everyone sitting around the conference table was watching her and waiting for some sort of decision, but they could damn well wait a little longer. She had to get warm first, had to get the feeling back in her frostbitten bare feet, which were now swaddled in a towel under the table. The sweatsuit smelled like perspiration and stale perfume. It smelled like its owner, chubby Miss Boodles, the gym teacher, and it was stretched and saggy around the hips. Fern suppressed a shudder and focused on the five people sitting around the conference table. In two hours, she was scheduled to meet with the district superintendent of schools, and she had to present him with a new plan of action. For that, she needed guidance from her staff.

In the room with her now was the vice principal, two teachers, the school guidance counselor, and the district psychologist, Dr. Lieberman. Lieberman was the only man in the room, and he’d assumed that superior attitude that men often adopt when they’re the lone rooster among hens.

The freshmen English teacher said, “I think it’s time to clamp down harder. Be draconian. If it takes armed guards in the hallways and permanent expulsion of troublemakers, then that’s what we do.”

“That’s not the approach I would take,” said Dr. Lieberman, adding with a noted lack of humility, “in my humble opinion.”

“We’ve tried intensive counseling,” said Fern. “We’ve tried conflict resolution classes. We’ve tried suspension, detention, and pleading. We’ve even taken desserts off the menu to cut down on their sugar. These kids are out of control, and I don’t know whose fault it is. I do know that my staff is wrung out, and I’m ready to call in the cavalry.” She glanced at the vice principal. “Where’s Chief Kelly? Isn’t he joining us?”

“I left a message with the dispatcher. Chief Kelly’s been delayed this morning.”

“Must be those late-night vehicle inspections,” Mrs. Lubec wisecracked.

Fern looked at her. “What?”

“I heard it over at Monaghan’s. The Dinosaurs were all talking about it.”

“What did they say?” Fern’s question came out more sharply than she’d intended. She fought to regain her composure, to keep the flush from rising to her cheeks.

“Oh, Chief Kelly and that Dr. Elliot were really steaming up the car windows last night. I mean, it’s not like the poor man doesn’t deserve a break, after all these years Mrs. Lubec’s voice trailed off as she saw Fern’s thunderstruck face.

“Look, can we get back to the problem at hand?” cut in Lieberman.

“Yes. By all means,” whispered Fern.
It’s only gossip. Lincoln defends the woman in public, and the next thing you know, the town thinks they’re sleeping together.
Just a few months ago, Fern herself had been the rumored woman in his life. More false gossip,

based on the long hours they’d worked together on the student DARE project. She forced the subject of Claire Elliot out of her mind, and focused her irritation on Lieberman, who was trying to wrest control of her meeting.

“Brute authority doesn’t work well with this age group,” he was saying. “We’re talking about a stage of development where authority is precisely what they rebel against. Clamping down on these kids— asserting your power—doesn’t give them the right message.”

“I’m beyond caring what message I give these kids,” said Fern. “My responsibility is to keep them from killing each other.”

“Then threaten them with the loss of something that matters to them. Sports, class trips. What about that dance you had on the schedule? That’s a pretty major social event for them, isn’t it?”

“We’ve canceled the harvest dance twice already,” said Fern. “The first time because of Mrs. Horatio, the second time because of all these fights.”

“But don’t you see, it’s something positive you can hold out to them. A carrot for good behavior. I wouldn’t cancel it. What other incentives do they have?”

“How about the threat of death?” muttered the English teacher. “Positive reinforcement,” said Lieberman. “That’s the mantra we have to keep in mind. Positive. Positive.”

“The dance could be a disaster,” said Fern. “Two hundred kids in a crowded gym. All it takes is one fistfight, and we’d end up with-a screaming mob.”

“Then you weed out the troublemakers ahead of time. That’s what I mean by positive reinforcement. Any kid steps one inch out of line, they don’t get to go.” He paused. “Those two boys today—the ones who got in the fight.”

“Noah Effiot and J.D. Reid.”

“Start off by making examples of them?’

“I’ve suspended them for the rest of the week,” said Fern. “Their parents are coming to pick them up now.”

“If I were you, I’d make it clear to the whole school that those boys won’t be allowed into the dance, and neither will any other troublemakers. Turn them into poster boys for what
not
to do.”

In the prolonged silence, everyone looked to Fern for a decision. She was tired of being the one in charge, the one who got blamed when things went wrong. Now here was this Ph.D. Lieberman, telling her exactly what to do, and she almost welcomed the chance to defer to his judgment. To pass the responsibility to someone else.

“All right. The dance is back on the schedule,” she said.

There was a knock on the door. Fern’s pulse quickened as Lincoln Kelly stepped into the room. He was out of uniform today, dressed in jeans and his old hunting jacket, and he brought with him the scent of winter, the sparkle of snowflakes on his hair. He looked tired, but fatigue only emphasized his appeal. It made her think, as she had so many times before:
You need a good woman to take care of you.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I got back into town a few minutes ago.”

“We’re just finishing up the meeting,” said Fern. “But you and I need to talk, if you have the time right now.” She stood up, and instantly felt embarrassed when she saw him glance in surprise at her shabby attire. “I had to break up another fight, and ended up getting shoved to the ground,” she explained. She tugged on the sweatshirt. “Emergency change of clothes. Not exactly my most flattering color.”

“You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“No. Although it is painful to ruin a good pair of Italian shoes.”

He smiled, an affirmation that despite her bedraggled appearance, she could still project both charm and wit, and that this man appreciated it.

“I’ll wait for you in the other office,” he said, and stepped out again.

She could not just walk out of the room and join him. First she had to make the necessary graceful exit. By the time she’d successfully disengaged herself, it was five minutes later, and Lincoln was no longer alone in the outer office.

Claire Elliot was with him.

The two of them didn’t seem to notice Fern as she came out of the conference room; their attention was focused so completely on each other. They didn’t touch, but Fern saw, in Lincoln’s face, a vibrant intensity she’d never seen before. It was as if he’d suddenly awakened after a long hibernation to rejoin the living.

The pain she felt at that instant was almost physical. She took a step toward them, but found she had nothing to say.
What is it he sees in you that he never saw in me?
she wondered, looking at Claire. All these years she had watched Lincoln’s marriage deteriorate, had thought that in the end, time would be her ally. Doreen would fade from the picture and Fern would step into the void. Instead here was this outsider, such an ordinary-looking woman in her snow boots and brown turtleneck, moving straight to the head of the line.
You don’t fit in here,
thought Fern spitefully as Claire turned to face her.
You’ve never fit in.

“Mary Delahanty called me,” said Claire. “I understand Noah was in another fight
.“

“Your son’s been suspended,” said Fern, pulling no punches. If anything, she felt the urge to inflict damage on this woman, and she was glad to see Claire flinch.

“What happened?”

“He got into a fight over a girl. Apparently Noah’s been playing fast) and easy with his hands, and the girl’s brother stepped in to protect his sister.”

“I have trouble believing this. My son’s never mentioned any girl—”

“It’s not easy for kids to communicate these days, when parents are so busy with their jobs.” Fern had wanted to hurt Claire Elliot, and it was obvious she had, because a guilty flush appeared on Claire’s cheeks. Fern had known exactly what target to aim for, a parent’s sorest point, where self-blame and overwhelming responsibility have already left them vulnerable.

“Fern,” said Lincoln. She heard reproval in his voice. Turning to look at him, she felt suddenly, deeply, ashamed. She’d lost control, had unleashed her anger, showing off her worst side, while Claire played the role of the innocent party.

In a subdued voice, she said, “Your son’s waiting in the detention room. You can take him home now.”

“When can he return to school?”

“I haven’t decided. I’ll meet with his teachers and consider their recommendations. The punishment has to be severe enough to make

him think twice before he causes trouble again.” She gave Claire a knowing look. “He’s been in trouble before, hasn’t he?”

“There was just that skateboarding incident—”

“No, I mean before. In Baltimore.”

Claire stared at her in shock. So it was true, thought Fern with satisfaction. The boy has always been a problem.

“My son,” said Claire with quiet defiance, “is not a troublemaker.”

“Yet he does have a juvenile record.”

“How do you know that?”

“I received some newspaper clippings, taken from a Baltimore paper.”

“Who sent them?”

“I don’t know. That’s not relevant.”

“It’s very relevant! Someone’s trying to ruin my reputation, drive me out of town. Now they’re going after my
son.”