“Oh good,” I say, straightening my posture.
“Of course I didn’t let her see it. I only told her you had received a disturbing writing sample in the computer lab and that I was questioning multiple students about it. I was pretty stern with her,” she says, clenching her jaw. “She claimed she had no idea what I was talking about. You know, I hear lies all the time in here. I think I’m pretty good at figuring out who is telling the truth. I must say, I believed her.”
Pam’s right. Students do tell her lies. They also tell her legitimate information, claims that should be taken seriously. They trust her, which is why she was the first person on staff Darcy’s parents called after the incident.
“Did she say anything else?” I ask. “Did she have any idea who might have written it?”
“No,” she says, looking down. “She said she was so busy finishing her own essay she didn’t have time to pay attention, let alone write a second one.”
I remember grading Zoey’s essay. It was well written, which wasn’t surprising considering how intelligent she is. In fact, it was one of the best in the group. And none of her paragraphs were pulled from the internet, unlike some of the others.
“All right,” I say. “Maybe I jumped to conclusions.” My conversation with Zoey yesterday changed my perspective. Before I’d seen her as a monster. An extension of Brian, in some ways. I’d forgotten she was a teenage girl struggling with her own problems, searching for a way to adjust.
“She actually seemed bothered. She wanted to know what it said and why it had disturbed you. I didn’t tell her it was about Darcy.”
“Either way, thanks for asking,” I say, standing to leave.
“It’s what I’m here for,” she says, smiling. “I meant to tell you yesterday, but the unfortunate trampoline incident impeded my plans.”
“No worries,” I say, opening the door. Then, I pause. “You weren’t here yesterday. When did you talk to Zoey?”
“On Wednesday afternoon. I actually went by your room after school, but you’d already left.”
“You’re sure it was Wednesday?”
“Positive.”
I return to my seat. “I spoke with Zoey yesterday. Briefly. I brought up the letter. She acted like she didn’t know what I was talking about.”
“Really?” She leans back in her chair and rocks.
“Yes, I specifically asked her if she’d written anything off topic in the computer lab. She looked at me like I was crazy. Like she had no idea what I was talking about. You’d think she’d mention you already questioned her.” I pause, re-examining my conversation with Zoey and trying to remember her exact reaction. “Are you sure you told her the letter was in my class?”
“Yes. I told her all the specifics without revealing the contents.”
“Then she knew exactly what I was getting at during our conversation. She played dumb. Didn’t let on she’d already talked with you about it.” I look down and grit my teeth. “Even gave me some sob story about her mom afterwards, like she was trying to gain my sympathy.”
Pam, still rocking in her chair, stares at me and thumbs her chin. “And you spoke with her yesterday?”
“Yes,” I say, a bit too loudly. “Don’t you think it’s manipulative of her to act like she has no idea what I’m talking about?”
“Look,” she said. “I do think it’s odd, but sometimes high schoolers do odd things.”
Yeah, I think. Like assault their classmates and write about it.
“I’m telling you,” I say, standing again. “This kid is up to something weird.”
“I’m not sure why she would play dumb, but maybe she really was clueless. Maybe she didn’t connect the two essays.”
“I don’t buy that,” I say, picturing those puppy dog eyes she displayed when discussing her mom. “I think she’s playing you and she’s playing me. I’m convinced she wrote that paper now.”
“Stay calm, Dell. Getting worked up won’t help anything.”
What I can’t get her or anyone else to realize is staying calm won’t help matters either.
I’m furious Zoey lied to me. She’s had fun dropping hints about Brian and she wanted to further rattle me by writing that essay. When I asked her if she attended the party, her attitude changed. She knows I see past the shiny hair and good grades and speedy running time. And everything I’m seeing, down to her manipulative actions, looks all too familiar.
I’m no longer in my teacher mindset; instead, I’m contemplating ways I can confront her again. By now, it’s after three o’clock, and the dismissal bell has turned the hallways quiet and empty. Zoey is at the field, preparing for her afternoon meet. I consider taking Marge up on her offer to join her in the stands. Maybe my presence will make Zoey uneasy.
But then, who might see me? Who might question why I’m targeting a student? I’ve already been told to let the subject of the essay rest. I can’t. Not when I know it’s the closest thing to a witness of Darcy’s struggle.
Then I consider a different option. Perhaps I don’t have to go to the game. Perhaps I don’t have to interact with Zoey at all to get a better understanding of her.
I return to my computer and log in to the information system that hosts the personal details of every student in the building. Their medical conditions, their semester schedules and their home addresses. Despite her recent arrival, all of Zoey’s information is up to date. Her file tells me she lives in a house down the road from the local library; depending on how far, it could very well be in the middle of nowhere. She only has one family contact on file. Mother: Tricia Peterson, age 37.
I
