The Princesses of Iowa (35 page)

“They can’t do that!” I said, looking to my father for reassurance. “Just because he’s gay?”

My father frowned. “That’s discrimination. Homosexuality is not legal grounds for dismissal.”

“Oh, of course not!” My mother’s lipstick left red smears across the white china cup. “But this man was a pervert. Jake told his mother that this teacher attacked him after the school bonfire and tried to sexually assault him. Can you imagine? Richard went to the principal to demand his resignation.”

“WHAT?” All the little boxes inside my heart flew open at once, releasing years of stuffed rage. I could feel it inside me, swarming like Pandora’s thousand demons poised to wreak havoc on the world. “THAT FUCKING
ASSHOLE
!”

My mother’s cup clattered into its saucer. “Language, young lady!”

I ran up the stairs to find my sister. She was tucked into the third-floor window seat, one of our favorite hiding places. I thrust out my hand. “I need the phone.”

She glared at me like a cat. “Fuck you!”

“Mir, I have to call Jake.”

Her eyes flashed blue diamonds. “Oh, in that case . . .” she said sarcastically. Into the phone, she softened her tone. “No, it’s Paige. I know, she wants to call her boyfriend.” Pausing a moment, listening. “I know, exactly.”

“Fine!” I turned and clattered back down the stairs.
Cell phone, cell phone.
A part of my mind wanted to rehearse what I’d say to Jake, but all I could hear was my own voice in the dining room, filling the vaulted ceilings. The words became a mantra, pushing me through the house.
Fucking. Asshole.

My cell phone was dead, its little battery box empty of bars. I punched at the
POWER
button, but all I got was a cheerful little message:
PLEASE RECHARGE BATTERY NOW.
I threw it on the bed. Where the hell was my charger? I ran upstairs again. “Where’s my phone charger?”

Miranda held her hand over the phone. “Like I care!” And then, into the phone, “No, sorry. It’s nothing. Anyway, what?”

I ran back down to my room and looked around as if I could will a phone into existence. On my desk, my car keys glinted in a sliver of moonlight.

Seconds later, I was running out the door, yelling over my shoulder as I flew. “I’m going out!”

The drive out to Sauvignon and Jake’s house normally took about eighteen minutes. I made it in twelve. Before I knew it, I was marching up to his front door and smashing at the doorbell. The night glowed silver in moonlight, and I could see my breath. Doorbell chimes echoed dimly through the house.

Stella Austin opened the door. “Paige!” she said.

“I need to see Jake.”

Mrs. Austin smiled tightly. “We’re at dinner, dear.” Her voice was calm, with the faintest trace of a Southern accent.

“It’s important.” I sounded like such a brat, I thought distantly. My mother would be horrified. I didn’t care. I pushed past Mrs. Austin into the house.

Piped Vivaldi floated through hidden speakers. Candles flickered on the table. How many nights had I sat at this table, with this family, their evening ritual nearly a carbon copy of my own.

Jake stood, taking the cloth napkin from his lap and laying it on the table. “Paige.”

“How dare you!” I yelled, surprising even myself. Mrs. Austin looked like she’d been slapped. “What is
wrong
with you!”

Mr. Austin appeared in the archway from the kitchen, nodding, a beer in his hand. “Here to dump his sorry ass? I don’t blame you.”

Jake’s face turned white. Mrs. Austin held out her hands. “Now, Paige, dear . . .”

“You have no right!” I cried. “The world doesn’t belong to you. You can’t just destroy people’s lives because you feel like it.”

Mr. Austin grunted and took a step into the room.

I ignored him. “For years, I’ve forgiven you, all of you! I looked away, pretended not to hear you.” I glanced at his parents, seeing a flash of myself in the ornamental mirror behind them. “The stupid racist comments, the snide, judgmental, self-satisfied conversations about
those
people — I never said anything because I was in love with Jake.”

Vivaldi stopped, and my voice rang in the sudden silence.

Jake held out his hands, echoing his mother’s gesture. “Paige —”

“No!” I yelled, regaining my momentum. “You listen to me. I’ve looked away too many times.” My voice was low, on the verge of breaking. I took a ragged breath. “I will not let you hurt other people. Mr. Tremont didn’t attack you —
you
attacked
him
!” Somewhere in the distance, I thought I heard Stella Austin gasp. Ignoring her, I forced myself to keep going. To stay strong. “You lied to Dr. Coulter. I lied for you! I didn’t know you’d say —” I sputtered. “Mr. Tremont is a good teacher, a good person, and you have no right — no right!”

“Paige —”

“No!” I yelled. “We’re done, Jake.”

The Austins all stared at me. In the mirror I looked like someone else. I turned to Mrs. Austin. “And
you.
You’ve been stringing my mother along for years! Making her jump through hoops for you! But we both know you have no plans of ever promoting her!”

Mrs. Austin’s eyes were cold, her face unmoving. “Paige Renee Sheridan. You are out of control.”

I spun on my heel and stormed out of the room. At the front door, I stopped and turned back. Jake had followed me halfway and stood at the edge of the dark foyer. “Paige, wait. I’m sorry about what I said. And the door . . . I don’t know what came over me —”

Flashes of the night in the rain came back to me. His face. His angry voice.
Who’s a fag now?
I gasped. “It was you? On the door? You did that?!”

“I’m sorry, babe. I —”

“WHO ARE YOU?”

Stella Austin appeared behind him. “I think you’d better leave.”

“I’m leaving!” I yelled. She took a step back, and I sucked in a breath. “I’m leaving.”

When I got home, my mother met me at the door, her face ghost white. “Stella Austin just called.”

I nodded, waiting for the wrath.
What is wrong with you? How dare you yell at the Austins! How dare you lose control of yourself! Are you on drugs? What happened to the perfect daughter I kept under my thumb all these years?
It didn’t come. I looked up at her colorless eyes, her pale set mouth.

“She fired me.”

I was a ghost. I walked through the hallways Tuesday morning without creating a single ripple in space, without seeing myself reflected in anyone’s face. By the end of homeroom, I wasn’t even sure if my teachers saw me. I drifted back through the crowds to my locker. On the door, just below eye level, someone had written
FAG HAG
in thick black marker. My hands shook as I twisted the lock, and my mind tried to put together sentences to describe my situation.
I’ve never — I don’t — This can’t be —

I ditched physics, heading to the office instead. I would report the vandalism to Dr. Coulter. He liked me; he’d fix it. I’d explain — reasonably, adult to adult — that Jake had lied, that Mr. Tremont would never hurt a student, that Mr. Tremont was the best teacher we’d ever had. I clenched my jaw and focused on my mission. I could fix this. I could help Mr. Tremont. I had to.

Dr. Coulter’s secretary wasn’t there, so I went to the open door of his office and peeked in. “Hello there, Paige,” he said. “I didn’t hear you come in!”

“Hi, Dr. Coulter,” I said, fighting nervousness. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Of course,” he said grandly. “Come on in! What can I do for you? More streamers for homecoming? Worried that the float won’t be pretty enough?” He winked at me.

“Um, no,” I said. “Actually, it’s . . .” My mother played tennis with Lydia Coulter. Stella Austin Events had done their twentieth anniversary party last spring. She was going to kill me. I took a deep breath. “You said to come see you if I thought of anything else? Last weekend? It’s about Mr. Tremont.”

Dr. Coulter frowned. “That’s not anything you have to worry about, Paige. You’re not in danger. We’ve, uh, taken care of the problem.”

I was thrown off course. “In danger?”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Paige,” he repeated. “Now, why don’t you get back to class? Mrs. Manning will write you a pass.”

“Dr. Coulter,” I said, trying to keep the note of urgency out of my voice. “Sir. What Jake said — it’s not true. Mr. Tremont would never do anything like that. Jake lied.”

His face pulled together in a hundred fierce wrinkles. “It’s none of your concern, Miss Sheridan.”

“But Dr. Coulter —”

“Mrs. Manning will write you a pass,” he said again, and turned back to his computer.

Shaken, I stood and hurried out of the office. No one had ever called me “Miss Sheridan” in that tone of voice before. I’d always been one of Dr. Coulter’s favorites. The hallways were empty, so at least I didn’t have to hear the accusing silence of conversations ending as I went by. There was no way I was going to physics. I just wanted to get out. I headed for an obscure back door in the east wing, planning to slip out and drive around for a while. Maybe I’d write. Maybe I’d disappear altogether.

Jeremy caught me in the hallway just before I could escape. “What are you doing?” His voice was lower than normal, rougher.

“I, uh . . .” I said.

Jeremy shifted the stack of papers he was holding. “Running away?” He was accusing, the triumphant prosecuting attorney.

“No,” I said. “I just — I talked to Dr. Coulter. I tried to help . . .”

He raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And nothing,” I said. “He called me
Miss Sheridan.
” My voice choked on the shame of it. The injustice.

Jeremy was quiet for a moment, looking at me.

“Someone wrote on my locker,” I whispered. I looked down at my feet in their black boots.

“Yeah,” he said. “I saw.”

I bit my lip.

“This is what your friends do to people,” he said. “It sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Not just my friends,” I said quietly. “About Friday, what I said — I’m so sorry.”

Jeremy sighed. “Me too.”

“I wish there was something I could do,” I said. “I tried — but Dr. Coulter —”

“You want to help? You can start by getting over yourself.” Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes. My throat was tight.

He softened. “We’re going to fight for Mr. Tremont. Come help?”

I nodded, concentrating on not crying.

“Great,” he said.

I followed him down the hall into the staff room. Five or six people were crowded around a central table, flipping through thick books and scribbling in notebooks. Several more were scattered at computers throughout the room, scrolling through pages online. I expected to see Shanti and Ethan, but they weren’t there.

“I went to the law library on campus yesterday,” Jeremy explained, gesturing to the pile of thick leather books. “We’re going to fight this.”

“Yesterday? How did you —?” I asked.

Jeremy smiled for the first time. “I have my sources. I’m not the editor in chief for nothing.” He sat me down next to Elizabeth, who was scrolling through an online news site. “We’re calling everyone,” Jeremy said.

Without taking her eyes off the screen, Elizabeth nodded. Beside her hand lay a notebook, quickly filling up with precise notes. She glanced at me. “I’m compiling the names and numbers of influential people in the media and community. You can work with me, if you want.”

“Who do you have so far?” I asked, pulling the list toward me. Many of the names I recognized, Iowa City news anchors and journalists.

“We need to talk to everyone,” Elizabeth said. “The news media, the mayor, the city council, the school board, everyone.”

“I can help find names and numbers. My parents are friends with most of them.”

“Great! Can you call them?”

I heard my mother’s voice from last night.
She fired me.
“No . . . I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m up to that.”

“That’s okay,” Elizabeth said, her eyes turning back to the screen. “Just making a list will be really helpful.”

It was nice of her to say. But making a list, I knew, wasn’t enough. Ashamed, I ducked my head and pretended to look for a pen until I was sure I wouldn’t cry.

Jeremy ordered pizza, and we all worked through lunch. Someone brought in a radio, tuning it to the college station out of Iowa City. The energy in the room was grimly festive; the reason for our gathering was terrible, but there was pleasure in the meeting itself, the rush of working toward a goal in a room of like-minded people. I tried to explain it to Jeremy, but he looked puzzled. “You’re on student council, aren’t you?”

“Just the social committee stuff,” I said.

“Oh, right.” He looked at me as if seeing two people at once, overlaid. I knew the feeling. “Well, the education committee is doing some really cool stuff. They’re bringing in this presentation on Friday morning. . . .”

I remembered Ethan saying something about a project he was doing in his student council committee. Nikki’s presentation. All my ex-friends teaming up to change the world. Before Jeremy even had a chance to finish, I smiled my princess smile. “Sounds really great!”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said slowly, with a strange look. “Anyway, do you want to help me round everyone up for seventh period?”