“Thank you, Pam,” I say, standing to leave. “How is Darcy doing?”
“Better. She thinks coming back to school will be easy. I hope she’s right,” she says, holding her office door open as I leave. “Unfortunately, I’m not as hopeful as she is.”
I hurry to my classroom and unlock the door. I’ve been dreading seeing Darcy since I heard about the attack. I know the looks she’ll be receiving all day. That victim look. People can’t help it, of course. Most people, like me, are truly heartbroken by what she’s been through. That’s why they look at her, their eyes wide and glossy. Their mouths strained.
That’s the way everyone looked at me after Brian did what he did. Like I was a poor victim. Of course, that’s better than the angry reaction. People staring at me with contempt, even going so far as to blame my family for what he’d done. Only one death was really my fault. I’m sure Darcy will get loads of those looks, too. The darting eyes and arched brows. Like she brought this on herself.
Darcy is the third student to enter the classroom. She’s wearing jeans, a black shirt and a sweater tied around her waist despite the warm temperatures outside. Her hair is in a ponytail. I give her a smile and nod before looking elsewhere. She doesn’t smile back, instead taking her seat and pulling out her phone.
Adam is only a few steps behind her. He picks the seat closest to her and skids the chair across the floor. Normally, I would tell him to leave the chairs alone. But today, I’m willing to let protocol slide. She doesn’t stop him from moving closer, but she doesn’t acknowledge his presence, either.
Darcy attempts to look normal, like nothing happened and this is an average Monday at Victory Hills. Even though everyone on campus is aware something did happen to her. I imagine what her scar must look like under the tight denim fabric around her legs. I wonder how deep it is, if it’s covered by a bandage and if it’s already starting to heal.
“Good morning,” I say to the class once the final bell rings. As they retrieve their textbooks per my instructions, I realize Zoey is absent. I’d been so focused on Darcy, I’d forgotten about her. That seems to be the stance the entire school has taken. Forgetting there is someone out there to blame for Darcy’s hurt.
We’re not in class ten minutes before there’s a knock at the door. I look through the tiny pane of fiberglass and see Zoey standing there, peering into the room. I open the door to let her in.
“Zoey.” I study her reaction. If she wrote the essay, she must know I’ve read it by now. Perhaps that’s why she’s late today, so she can have me, briefly, all to herself.
“Here’s your note,” she says, holding eye contact.
“Excuse me?” I say, my mind immediately returning to the anonymous paper. I look down and see the miniature pink slip she’s holding between two fingers.
“My tardy slip,” she says, holding it out further. She offers a smug smile, but that’s no different from a typical day.
I take the slip, looking away as she walks past. She sits three rows in front of Darcy. I expect the two to ignore each other; instead, Darcy raises her head and nods. Zoey returns the gesture. The only other person who seems to notice the exchange is Adam, and he doesn’t seem happy. He clenches a fist and stares at his desk.
All weekend, I’ve been considering how Darcy might act in front of Zoey. If she knew her attacker, the pain of being in the same room must be unbearable. Darcy, however, seems unbothered. She’s got both hands back on her phone, tapping away.
“Have you graded the essays?” asks Ben, snapping me out of my trance. My eyes instinctively go to Zoey, who is already staring at me, the smile on her face still there.
“Um,” I start, but my voice sounds not fully awake. “Yes, Ben. Most of them. I’ll have them all done by tomorrow.”
There are a few grumbles, my students disappointed by their teacher’s sudden struggle to keep a deadline. But none of them know about the distractions I’ve faced this weekend. Well, one of them does.
“Will we get a chance to revise them?” asks Melanie.
“As usual,” I answer. “You’ll have an opportunity to read my feedback before submitting a final draft.”
“Will we be going back to the computer lab for that?” Zoey asks.
Is she thinking of typing another note, I wonder? Sharing more details of the grisly account only she can remember. I can’t completely hide my irritation toward her. “Do you think that’s necessary?”
“I don’t have access to a computer at home,” she says. Suddenly, I’m the teacher picking on the poorest kid in class.
“Yes, Zoey,” I say, adopting a more professional tone. “We’ll be returning to the lab soon.”
Given Darcy’s return, this isn’t the best day for group work. I give them an individual assignment, hoping some quiet and introspection will help Darcy ease back into routine. Adam takes the assignment and immediately starts working, as though through him, Darcy would see how to adjust. How to be normal again. Zoey starts working, too. Occasionally, she looks toward the back of the classroom. Everyone is writing or reading, except for one person.
Darcy unwraps the sweater from around her waist and bundles it on her desk. She places her head on the makeshift pillow and closes her eyes.
I’m waiting outside of Pam’s office before the fourth block bell even rings. I’ve been dying to hear her take on the letter.
She walks down the hallway, carrying a takeout food box. Pam’s able to leave school grounds during the day and pick up her lunch, on occasion. She’s still talking with another teacher but acknowledges me at her door by offering a simple wave.
“Can you talk now?” I ask when she
