girl wouldn’t release it. She didn’t look angry or even afraid. Mariella seemed bewildered, as if she had awoke from a coma and found someone stealing her blanket. As the boy dragged her into the sand box surrounding the jungle gym, Mariella found her footing. Suddenly, Cole couldn’t move her an inch.
“You wanna get hurt?” the boy asked her. “If you don’t let go, you will get hurt really bad.”
“Cole Buckley! Don’t you dare!” Mrs. Mint shouted as she hurried over. She wouldn’t make it in time, and neither would the officer.
“Make her eat dirt!” Kyle commanded his brother.
Cole grabbed Mariella around her shirt collar with one hand and kicked at her ankle so she would fall into the sand. As she released the ball, Mariella avoided his foot by stepping into him and delivering an explosive shove to the boy’s chest. Cole flew backwards, flinging the ball into the air. He banged his head on the bottom rung of a metal ladder with a jarring ping. When the shock wore off after a few seconds, Cole started wailing. His sobs were so ear-splitting that Mrs. Mint didn’t care whether he brought it upon himself or not. Cole didn’t deserve such pain. Blood streamed out of his mouth from the hole left when his baby tooth had been knocked out on the bar.
Mariella turned her back on the boy as if he didn’t exist and calmly retrieved her ball from the sand. Williams ignored the wounded kid as she finally reached the girl. She scooped the unharmed Mariella up in her arms.
“I got you now, baby. Don’t worry,” the detective told her foster child, who still held the ball tightly. “I’m so proud of you. You defended yourself from that bully. I promise, next time he won’t even touch you.”
Mrs. Mint didn’t understand where the girl’s sudden outburst had come from. Mrs. Mint had seen grief transform into aggression many times, but never such cold aggression. Mariella didn’t seem mad when she pushed Cole. She must have tapped some deep reservoir of adrenalin-filled rage to chuck him across the playground with the force she did. She should suspend Mariella for that. Yet, given all that the poor girl had been through in the past few days, Mrs. Mint decided she’d call the DCF and let them figure out how long a leash they should put on Mariella.
They can’t let Mariella in my class unless she’s under control. It’s going to be a nightmare explaining to the Buckley parents that I let a socially-disturbed girl attack their son. I better not mention she’s Mexican or they’ll really flip.
Mrs. Mint unfolded Cole from the fetal position and got a good look at the large red bump growing on the side of his head like an apple budding on a branch in fast motion. His eyes were glassy and could barely follow her fingers. He had a concussion. He should consider himself lucky that he didn’t have something worse. A fall like that could have fractured his skull.
With his brother watching in pale-faced shock, Cole got scooped up by Mrs. Mint. She trudged across the playground toward the nurse’s station. She didn’t tell him anything about how he had misbehaved, even as he bled all over her white shirt. Mariella had told him plenty.
Chapter 7
The terrified girl wouldn’t release Moni’s free hand so she could answer her phone as she drove Mariella home. She had a notion that the person on the line would tell her something that would punch a hole in her gut. Moni wished she could just whisk Mariella back to her house, barricade the door and bar the windows.
I’m not hiding in the closet like a scared child anymore.
She wiggled free of the girl’s hand and answered her phone. DCF agent Tanya Roberts told her they better meet at the child psychologist’s office-now.
Mariella’s pleading eyes begged her no, but Moni had little choice. If she didn’t take the girl back for another mental probing, the DCF would surely revoke her temporary custody. She could imagine the young one kicking the air as two burly officers dragged her into an interrogation room, where Sneed would sit with drool dripping from his bulldog choppers. The door swings shut. Bang! She’s gone.
“Just act like you’re sorry-even though that brat deserved it,” Moni told the girl as they waited in the elevator to Dr. McKinley’s office. Afraid he might have a camera in there, she put in a little something extra for show. “But just because he was mean, doesn’t mean you should hurt him.”
She had trouble saying that convincingly. Moni had endured endless teasing in elementary school. The white girls called her “dummy darky” and asked each other whether somebody smelled a monkey when she came around. Some of the darker-skinned black children labeled her “Oreo baby” and scorned her when they saw her playing with white boys. She dressed herself in Martin Luther King shirts, but they called her a “poser” and only half a King. The other half of her had shot King dead, they told her.
Moni’s parents hadn’t helped her much with the bullies because they were locked in a feud with each other. If her father had given a damn about her, he would have found her another school.
As she entered the psychologist’s waiting room with Mariella in hand, Moni realized what the girl needed. She didn’t belong in school in such a fragile state. Moni should care for her at home. She must protect the girl above all else. The blood vessels in Moni’s head pulsed so hard that it felt like pistons pounding inside her skull. Mariella quickly released her hand as Moni rubbed her temples. That eased the pressure.
“Are you okay, there?” Dr. Ike McKinley asked from the doorway of his office. “Can I get you some Aspirin?”
“No, I’m fine,” Moni said as she shook her head. The recesses of her brain rattled into working order. As quickly as it had come, the headache vanished. “I haven’t had one like that before. Must be a sign that I need more sleep.”
“Between the investigation and the girl, I’m sure a lot’s on your mind. I hope it’s not overwhelming,” the psychologist said as he ushered Moni and Mariella into his office.
Obviously, he implied that a first-time parent and novice at investigating homicides couldn’t juggle so many responsibilities, Moni thought. So much for the shrink bolstering her confidence.
Tanya Roberts scooted her plump booty over so they had room on the couch. She welcomed them with a warm smile that didn’t do squat to reassure Moni that she didn’t have terrible news waiting for them on the tip of her tongue. With her feet digging in as heavy as cement, the girl clung to Moni’s leg. Moni patted her on the head. Mariella loosened up and found a spot beside her on the couch.
“Don’t be afraid, little one,” Tanya said. Mariella hugged her knees against her chest. “You’re not in trouble. What you did was wrong, but I think you know that. We’re not here to punish you.”
The DCF agent probably wouldn’t consider it a punishment if she took the girl from the home she’s grown so comfortable in, Moni thought. Tanya had always made sound judgments in their past child abuse cases together, but for some reason, this time her intentions seemed more ominous.
“So what are we here for?” Moni asked.
“You are a successful career woman, Officer Williams, but parenting is quite a different challenge,” McKinley said. “Even people who have experience raising children can find themselves overwhelmed by a child who presents… certain special challenges.” He extended his palms as if he were balancing eggs on them.
“This girl needs me.” Moni draped her arm around Mariella, who nestled her head on her shoulder. “I’m the only person in the world she trusts right now.”
“That’s great, but if a wounded dolphin that washed up on the beach falls in love with me, does that give me the power to heal it?” the psychologist asked. “Should I not call a dolphin expert?”
Moni knew the answer, but she refused to let him hear it from her mouth.
“I’ve taken courses about dealing with juveniles in traumatic situations,” Moni said. “I can handle it.”
“You’ve taken classes on how to comfort kids for a few hours and interrogate them,” said McKinley, who couldn’t have known that unless Sneed had given him all the dirt on her. “And from what I understand, you still haven’t gotten her to communicate, so I don’t see how your training has been all that effective.”
All her life, every white authority figure she had known doubted her ability. Even when she aced English in middle school, her teacher passed her over for the spelling B and the essay contest. It didn’t matter what she did, no one would show an ounce of faith in her.
“Let’s not make this about her training,” Tanya said. Finally, a sister came to her rescue. “Moni, I can see you’re trying real hard. But you better understand that we can’t have another disaster like this. You’re the only person the girl will listen to right now. So you go tell her that she can’t go getting in any more fights.”
