“Shoot it, sister,” she says.
“Will you come to my classroom?” I ask. I don’t want to have the conversation where others might hear.
She follows me through the hallway. I unlock my door, throw my bag on the desk and offer Marge a seat.
“Everything all right?” she asks, concern in her eyes.
“I need to talk with you about Zoey Peterson,” I say, rolling my computer chair toward her.
“Okay,” she says, a smile on her face. “You know, I thought she was a good kid when I had her in class. You should have seen how helpful she was yesterday. I think she set up every table in the gymnasium.”
“Look, the reason I came to your house yesterday is because I wanted to talk to you about Zoey. I didn’t realize at the time she had moved in with you.”
“Well, it was a last-minute arrangement.”
“I think it’s admirable you offered her a place to stay,” I say, dropping my head into my hands. “But there are some things about Zoey you need to know.”
“What’s going on, Dell?”
“I think Zoey is disturbed.” I know it sounds ridiculous, and the blank stare Marge returns doesn’t make me feel any better. “I think she was the student who attacked Darcy Moore. She’s displayed more threatening behavior since then. And I really don’t think she should be living in your house.”
“Okay.” She stretches out the syllables and repositions herself in the cramped student desk. “What makes you think Zoey hurt Darcy?”
“I… I saw them at the dance,” I begin, feeling already like what I say won’t be enough. I clear my throat, restart with a stronger voice. “I saw them at the dance. I know she went to the after-party where Darcy was assaulted, even though she lied about attending. A week after the attack, I received an anonymous written account of what happened that night. I think Zoey wrote it.”
“But why Zoey?” she asks, turning her head. “How do you know she wrote this message?”
“She was in the computer lab when it happened,” I say. “None of my other students would have written something so disturbing.”
“How do you know that?” she asks. “Was her class the only one in there that day? Or did you take your other classes?”
“All of my classes were in there—”
“When did you find this paper?”
“It wasn’t until the end of the day—”
“So you don’t know which class period it might have come from?” she asks, aggressively.
I stare at her, knowing I’m already losing the battle. “I know it was Zoey.”
“Why are you so convinced?” she asks. “You’re making an allegation about a student I’ve only had pleasant interactions with.”
“That’s the thing. I haven’t had pleasant interactions with her. She shows me a different side. And it’s not just the essay. I think she’s done other things. Violent things.”
“Like what?” She leans against the back of the chair, crossing her legs as best she can under the tabletop. At least she’s willing to hear me out, but she wears the same expression Pam did earlier in the week. She’s unconvinced.
“The week following the attack, Adam told me there were students harassing him. He even suspected someone killed his cat.”
“Adam’s on edge with everyone these days. I’ve heard his other teachers talk about it.”
“I think Zoey is using that to her advantage. She’s purposely pushing Adam’s buttons. That’s why she killed his cat.” I’m afraid to tell her the next part, but I must so she can start making connections for herself. “I called Zoey’s former schools. She was expelled from an elementary school for killing a cat on school grounds.”
Marge raises her hand to her chin and steadies herself on the desk. She’s thinking. Finally, she speaks. “How old was she?”
“She was in sixth grade.”
“And none of this was on her official record?”
“The school secretary told me about it. I’m not sure why none of this is in her file.” I roll my eyes and flick my hand. “Maybe she was an athlete there, too.”
“Come on, Della,” Marge says. “They wouldn’t ignore something like that for sports.”
“You’re right,” I say. “But for whatever reason, they didn’t add it to the official file. They told her to leave and she did.”
“The cat incident is… disturbing. But that was several years ago. Maybe there were things going on at the time we aren’t aware of.”
“Really?” Now I’m the one who sounds frustrated, leaning back and straightening my posture. “There’s no excuse for it, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Adam’s cat was killed, too.”
“I appreciate your concern,” she concedes, leaning forward. “Based on what you’ve told me, I will be more alert.”
Her words are as empty as her face is blank. She doesn’t believe me. She thinks I’m blowing this out of proportion.
“I think Zoey hurt her mom,” I say, knowing it’s my last hope. She thinks the Darcy attack is unlikely, and she deems the cat incident a coincidence. I can see it in her eyes. But harming another adult—her own mother—will make her see how dangerous Zoey is.
Marge, who was in the process of standing, sits down again. “What makes you think that?”
“I spoke with her mother. I don’t believe she’s an abusive woman. If anything, I think she’s a victim.”
That disbelieving stare returns to Marge’s face. “When did you speak to her mother?”
“The same weekend she was attacked,” I say, flailing for backup. “I told her to ask Zoey about the after-party. I think she did. And I think that’s what got her hurt.”
“You told the woman you think her daughter might have committed a crime against another student?”
“No. I didn’t even tell her what happened at the party. I just told her to ask Zoey.”
“Well,
