By the time I arrive at school, I’ve pushed my thoughts about the pregnancy away. I’ll deal with family issues at home, I tell myself. Here at Victory Hills, I have other problems. I’d hoped the pregnancy news might explain my behavior in recent weeks. Perhaps my concerns about Zoey were internal after all, a strange mixture of hormones and new life wreaking havoc. Hormonal or not, I can’t wipe the concerned look on Ms. Peterson’s face from my memory. I was surprised she was as wary of her own daughter as I was. I want to hear Pam’s thoughts.
When I arrive at Pam’s office, two people I’ve never seen before are sitting inside. She sees me standing behind the glass, walks away from her desk and opens the door a crack.
“Hey, Dell, I can’t talk right now,” she says.
“No worries,” I say, craning my neck to get a better look at the two people in the room. One man, one woman. Both look official. Both are wearing gray.
“Come by during your planning period, okay?” She shuts the door, returns to her desk and resumes her conversation with the two official looking strangers. I can’t hear what they are saying, but their constantly moving mouths indicate a lively conversation being had.
The bell rings and, one by one, the students file in. Devon and Ben and Adam and Darcy. By the end of the tardy bell, Zoey still hasn’t arrived. She doesn’t show up for the entirety of first block. I’m partially happy I don’t have to interact with her, but I’m also suspicious. The only other time Zoey has been absent was after the knife incident.
As fourth block begins, I stand outside Pam’s office door. She sees me and waves for me to enter. I take my usual seat. Danny and I decided we wouldn’t announce the pregnancy yet. It feels odd sitting here, knowing I’ve got this transformative news, and not sharing it.
“I was just about to call you in here,” she says, chomping the last bite of her lunch and throwing away the Styrofoam containers.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything this morning.”
“No, it’s fine. But we’ve had a situation and I knew you’d want to be filled in. It involves Zoey Peterson.”
My throat closes in. Was I right? Zoey was absent because she’d done something? “She wasn’t here today,” I stammer.
“I know. And there’s a reason for that. Apparently, there was an incident at her house last night involving the mother.”
“Ms. Peterson?” I recall her sour stare on the porch. “My goodness, Pam, is she okay?”
“As good as can be expected. Apparently her mother went into a drunken rage last night. She was passed out on the sofa, and when Zoey tried to wake her, her mother started beating her. Zoey called the police and is now officially in CPS custody.”
I scoot toward the edge of the seat and balance my arm against Pam’s desk. “Wait, you mean Ms. Peterson did something to Zoey?”
“Yes. When officers arrived last night, Ms. Peterson was barely coherent. They’ve charged her with domestic battery and child neglect. Zoey was transferred to a foster home last night. That’s why she wasn’t at school today.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, leaning forward. “It doesn’t make any sense. The woman just started beating her daughter at random. Why would she do that?”
“According to Zoey she’s had a drinking problem for years. Last night, something must have set her off. I wouldn’t be surprised if there have been previous incidents of abuse.”
Ms. Peterson didn’t strike me as abusive during our meeting. She seemed afraid of her daughter. I don’t believe she’s capable of harming her. All of the negative thoughts I had about Zoey have re-appeared in full force. “How do we know Zoey is being truthful?”
Pam leans back in her chair, gently swaying her weight from one side to the other. “I told you. Police arrived and could see Zoey had been attacked. The mother was wasted. They could barely get her in the car.”
“But why are we immediately believing Zoey?” I ask, knowing how horrible it sounds, but feeling confident, in this particular situation, the question has merit.
Pam turns rigid. “When children come forward with abuse claims, we believe them.”
“But Zoey Peterson is not a typical child!” I shout.
Pam stares, blankly. “Della, I know you’ve had suspicions about her. She rubs you the wrong way… I understand that. But we have no reason to think she would lie about her mother abusing her.”
“I think she’s lying,” I say. “I’ve met her mother. She didn’t strike me as abusive.”
“When did you meet her mother?”
“I went to her house Friday afternoon. During the track meet.”
“Was there a particular reason for this visit?”
“I only wanted to meet the woman. Figure out more about Zoey’s background and her home life.”
“But why, Della?” she asks, confusedly. “You’ve shared your concerns about this student with me, but why would you go out of your way to visit her home?”
“Look, Zoey has displayed, in my opinion, disturbing behavior. I still believe she wrote that essay. She had me fooled when she pulled the Bad Mom card, but that was before I knew you’d already confronted her. She was bluffing me. That whole conversation. I decided to look into her home life myself.”
“What happened during the visit?” Pam asks, dryly.
“Ms. Peterson and I sat on the front porch and drank sweet tea. I was there maybe twenty minutes, but I was able to determine Tricia Peterson isn’t some unstable parent. She certainly isn’t abusive. If anything, she seems scared of her daughter. The reason she doesn’t go to the track meets is because of Zoey. She calls her a drunk skank!”
“What do you mean she seems scared of Zoey?” she asks. “Did she say anything specific?”
“She said the best thing for me to do is stay out of Zoey’s way,” I say. “She didn’t give me any
