The Fire and the Veil (Veronica Barry Book 2) (9 page)

“I needed to let you know, when you send a student to the office, I need you to send a referral form either with them or right after with a TA.”

“Lola left before I could write a referral, and I don’t have a TA in French II.”

“Well, call for a supervisor to pick up the form then. I can’t tell you how messy things get when students show up here and we don’t know why they got kicked out of class.”

“Sorry,” Veronica said. “She just refused to do any work. She said she’d take the F. I gave her a choice, get to work or go to the office. She chose the office.”

Alan nodded. “I gathered that from what she said. She’s something, isn’t she?”

Veronica raised her eyebrows and nodded. “You could say that. You know, I’m worried about her, though. I think she needs help.”

Alan blinked at her. “How so?”

“She seems unstable,” Veronica said. “She had written on her hands, the words ‘slut’ and ‘fuck.’ I think she must not have very high self-esteem…”

Alan shrugged. “It’s just another thing they do, writing on their hands. It impresses their peers. Look, I know she’s not an easy kid to deal with. Just send her to me if she gives you a hard time. But next time, fill out a referral, okay?”

Veronica could tell that she was dismissed. Alan was busy, too. He was one of only two VPs for the school. He just had too much on his plate.

“Okay, thanks,” she said to him, and turned on her heel.

That exhausted the list of people she could think of to tell her fears about Lola. She didn’t know what else to do. Call Lola’s parents? And say what? She didn’t have anything specific to say, and she didn’t see the conversation going very well without it. The parent would no doubt interpret Veronica’s call as a complaint about Lola’s behavior in class, and Veronica didn’t want to get Lola into trouble at home. She wanted to find a way to help her.

But how to do that? There was only fifteen minutes left for lunch. She had French III afterwards, and after that, she was finished for the day. Maybe she’d follow Lloyd’s advice, then, and look at Lola’s cumulative file. Maybe something in the file would help make Veronica’s case a little more solid. But she had to be careful not to spend too much time on that—she was meeting Khalilah at four, and after that, she had her doctor’s appointment.

~~~

There were photos of Lola from kindergarten, second grade, third grade, fifth grade and sixth grade stapled to the outside of Lola’s very thick cumulative file. Veronica touched the edge of the kindergarten photo. Such bright eyes, full of intelligence and fun. Her hair was in two braids tucked behind her ears, and she wore a purple sweatshirt with bunnies on it. Things sure had changed. And yet, Veronica still recognized the hard Lola she knew in the cute, innocent face.

Looking at the next photos, Veronica could see the change taking place. Not at first—second grade Lola looked happy and open. Third grade Lola was also still grinning, still looking like a normal kid. But fifth grade Lola wasn’t smiling, and the light was gone from her eyes. Sixth grade Lola looked chubby and hostile. There was no picture for fourth grade. Had she been absent for picture day?

Veronica leafed through the file. Most of it was of no real use to her. Records of vaccinations. A copy of a letter home about a lost PE uniform. Transcripts: Lola had changed schools three times before fifth grade, and twice more during middle school. She had also attended two other high schools before Eleanor Roosevelt. Most of the transfers seemed related to family moves. They started in Stockton, then moved to Concord, in the Bay Area, then to Sacramento, then back to Stockton, then to Lodi, then Stockton, then back to Concord, then Sacramento. Nothing said why they moved. The transcripts also showed that Lola had above average grades until fourth grade. Then the As and Bs turned to Bs and Cs. In fifth, they became Cs and Ds. In middle school, she started to fail. By freshman year every grade was an F.

The progression existed for many students, actually. Many of the cumulative files Veronica had seen showed the same thing: kids seemed to lose it in middle school, and sometimes it started a bit before, like with Lola. By the time they reached high school they had given up.

Lola’s STAR scores were also in the file, revealing a similar pattern: average or above average in elementary school. By middle school they dipped. The most recent ones were “below basic” in every area except vocabulary, which stayed at “proficient.”

Veronica kept flipping through. Letters from Lola’s mother and her doctor had instructions for the main office for Lola to take Ritalin. They started in third grade, and continued until she left the second time for Concord in freshman year. There were referral forms starting in fourth grade, written by Lola’s classroom teachers. “Defiance.” “Lola expresses a great deal of aggression for a girl her age.” “Called Miss Parkins, classroom aide, ‘Fatty stupid bitch.’ Behavior unacceptable.” Fifth grade: “Refused to dress for PE. Defiant.” “Called seat partner a ‘s—t-eating f—-er.’” “Shouted obscenities when asked to sit in the corner.” Sixth grade: “Hit peer with ruler. Denied it when confronted, but I saw it happen.” “Got in fist fight in the hall with two other girls. See related referrals.” “Defiant, refused to work. Called me a ‘f—-ing b——.’” In seventh and eighth grade, more of the same. Freshman year: “Implied inappropriate things about Mr. Cruz, PE teacher.”

Veronica frowned. She shuffled the pages and sure enough, she found several more documents about that incident. It started a series of problems that led to Lola being expelled—which coincided with the second move to Concord. One copy of a letter home said, “Lola accused Mr. Cruz of inappropriate actions in the boys’ locker room. We take accusations of this nature very seriously. Considering the potential damage to a teacher’s reputation and career, when such an accusation is false, we have no choice but to severely punish the student…” It went on to detail a five day suspension for Lola and the terms she must abide by when she returned to school. “There will be zero tolerance for defiance and hostility towards teachers. Lola must use appropriate language at all times. Further disruptions of this nature will result in expulsion.”

And it had. She’d gotten in a fight, and to cap it off, they found controlled substances in her locker.

Well, this certainly painted a picture of Lola’s school career, but it didn’t give Veronica any indication that she was suicidal. No disturbing drawings, no copies of referrals to the school psychologist—although the fact that she took Ritalin indicated she’d seen a doctor, or doctors, who diagnosed her with ADD or ADHD. Veronica didn’t like the idea of Ritalin. She’d seen several students who used Ritalin as children develop drug problems as teenagers.

Veronica sighed. There was more to the file. She flipped through quickly. Nothing helped Veronica with her present dilemma. Lola certainly had problems but if suicidal inclinations were among them, no record of that existed here.

Veronica chewed on her bottom lip. She wished she knew what happened. Things seemed to have taken a turn for the worse around fourth grade. The first move to Sacramento occurred at about that time. What happened when they moved here?

Maybe nothing specific. Plenty of the kids had a rough time at home. Add being uprooted three times, changing schools, the lost friends and the difficulties making new friends, the gaps in learning that would lead to more frustration as she tried to adapt to new classrooms… That could be enough, Veronica mused, to make any happy kid into a hostile one.

She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. 3:20. She had to get back to her classroom, tidy up, and head to Penny Coffee. If she missed the 3:30 bus she’d be late meeting Khalilah.

Veronica straightened the stack of papers and made sure everything was back in the right file folder. She shut the drawer and locked the file closet behind her as she left. Cumulative files were confidential. She’d catch real hell from Candleman and the rest of the administrators if she forgot to lock the closet.

Back in her classroom, Veronica made a quick attempt at cleaning up her desk, but without any real success. She glanced around the room and trotted between the rows of tables, picking up pencils, wadded paper, candy wrappers, and other odds and ends. The pencils she put in a cup on her desk. The rest she threw away.

The clock showed that she was cutting it close. She stuffed a file of papers to grade in her bag, made sure she had her keys and her phone, and bolted from the room.

~~~

Khalilah was already there, sitting a small table far from the comfy chairs Veronica favored. Oh, well. This wasn’t an occasion for comfy chairs anyway.

Veronica waved at Khalilah and then pointed to the counter. Khalilah nodded. Veronica was glad she seemed not to mind; no way was Veronica going to deal with Khalilah’s strange request to meet without a nice mocha to sip. The day had been too long already.

Armed with her large mug of mocha, covered in whip cream and drizzled with chocolate sauce, Veronica made her way over to Khalilah’s table. She saw as she approached that Khalilah had a large cup with a tea bag in water. For a moment, Veronica wished she’d resisted the temptation of the mocha for a cup of calorie-free tea. Then she looked down at the whip and chocolate sauce, and decided it was worth every last calorie.

“Hello,” Veronica said as she approached.

“Hello,” Khalilah replied. She picked up her cup of tea and had a sip.

Veronica sat down, carefully setting her cup and saucer on the table before unloading her bag onto the floor. She needed to clean it out. A quick look in it revealed that she carried a teacher’s edition of the students’ workbook for French I, a French novel she was using for excerpts for French III, a hair brush, a stick of deodorant, a bottle of mouth wash, and the file she’d just put in it with her grading. Veronica closed the bag and tucked it under her chair so it leaned against her foot.

Khalilah set down the tea. “I’m sure you’re wondering what this is all about.”

Veronica smiled and gave her a little nod. She tested the side of her mug with a finger. Too hot.

Khalilah took a breath. “I know I already apologized, Veronica, but I think under the circumstances, I really should do it again. I am truly sorry for being so untrusting when I encountered you and your friends that day.”

“I get it,” Veronica said, waving a hand. “I can see where you were coming from, really. Detective Felsen told you I was a scammer. We’re all running around from one spot to the next, and I keep saying I see things that aren’t there, and I send us to the next spot… it must have seemed crazy.”

Khalilah shook her head. “Psychics aren’t something I believed in, until that day. And I admit, it took me a while to get on board. But I saw how it all turned out. I was forced to believe that what you said you could do… that it was real.” She let out her breath. “And it took me a while… to get over the shock, I suppose. I almost… resented you, for shaking my… my preconceived notions. Does that make any sense?”

Veronica began to wonder if Khalilah had asked to meet her simply so she could explain all of this. It was nice to get another apology, and an explanation for why the first apology had been so long in coming, but it seemed like overkill to have a whole meeting for it.

“Um, I appreciate what you’re saying,” she said carefully. “But it’s okay, really. Water under the bridge.”

“I’m truly glad,” Khalilah said. “The thing is, I need your help.”

Veronica frowned. So the timing of these apologies wasn’t so random after all.

“Or, rather, I have a friend who needs your help. Sort of a friend. He’s sort of a friend of my brother’s.”

“Your brother’s?” Veronica said. She hadn’t realized Khalilah had family locally. She’d assumed they all lived in Tunisia.

“Yes,” Khalilah said. “My brother’s name is Fayez. He’s very devout, and he does a lot of work at the Sayeed Islamic Center. A man came to the center. He’s a refugee, from Iraq. His name is Jahid. He has a daughter. She’s missing.”

Veronica held up her palms. “Wait, I’m confused. You need my help to find your brother’s friend’s daughter?”

Khalilah nodded. “That’s right. She’s been abducted.”

Veronica frowned. “That sounds like a job for the police, not me.”

“They don’t want to go to the police.”

“What? Who doesn’t?”

“The girl’s family; Jahid, and her uncle, Hamza.” The way Khalilah said the uncle’s name made Veronica think she might not like him very much. “I spoke to both of them about it. I tried to talk them into it. But it’s complicated.”

“How is it complicated? If she was abducted—”

Khalilah shifted in her chair. “You have to understand, Veronica, these people are from a rural part of Iraq. Their culture is full of tribal customs. It’s possible they’ll decide it brings dishonor on their family.”

“I don’t understand.”

Khalilah looked pained. “If she was raped. If they find out she was raped, they’ll consider it to be a dishonor on their family.”

“So they don’t want the police involved, because they’re… embarrassed?”

“Not exactly,” Khalilah said. “It’s that if they find her, and she’s alive, and they believe she was raped, they think they may have to kill her, to restore the family honor.”

Veronica gaped at Khalilah. “You aren’t serious.”

“I’m afraid so.”

Veronica scrunched up her face, squeezing her eyes shut and raising her hands defensively. “If this is some kind of weird joke—”

“I assure you, Veronica, I’m quite serious.”

Veronica lowered her hands and opened her eyes to stare at Khalilah. “You want me to help some people find their possibly abducted, possibly raped daughter so that they can
kill
her?”

Khalilah shook her head. “I’m sorry, Veronica, I’ve made a mess of explaining this.”

Veronica relaxed a little. “Okay, I figured. They don’t actually want to kill her.”

“Well, sort of.”

Veronica widened her eyes at Khalilah.

“Let me start over. Amani Ahmad is a young woman, I think she’s about twenty. Her father, Jahid Ahmad, sometimes goes to the Sayeed Islamic Center. Recently, he came in and he was quite distraught. He told my brother, Fayez, that he saw someone abduct Amani. He refused to call the police, however, and he told Fayez that he was afraid that if Amani turned up that tribal law would dictate that she must be killed to preserve the family honor. They more or less consider it automatic that if she was abducted, she was raped.”