The friendly sheen in her eyes disappears. She stands and closes her office door.
“Didn’t Bowles come talk to you?”
“No,” I say, my curiosity heightened.
“Not surprising.” She leans against the door, tilting her head upward to the ceiling. “He said he wanted all of Zoey’s classroom teachers to be aware, but besides that he’s keeping quiet. There was an issue on the school bus this morning.”
“What happened?”
She looks at me, crosses her arms and shifts her weight to one side of her body. “The bus driver caught Zoey with a knife.”
My mouth drops. This was not what I was expecting to hear. We never have students—let alone female students—being reprimanded for carrying weapons. A series of potential blades flash in my mind, and my pulse picks up pace. “A knife? She brought it to school?”
“Well, not technically.” Pam raises her hands in an attempt to calm me. She walks back to her desk and takes a seat.
“She brought it on the bus, which is good enough,” I say. “What was she doing with it?”
“She didn’t even have it out—”
“Then how did the driver see it?” I suck in a breath and slowly exhale. In my mind, I start counting to de-escalate my worry. One… two… three. It’s a trick Dr. Walters taught me in one of our early sessions. Any weapon would be concerning, but I’m particularly bothered by knives. I hate knives.
“It was a little pocketknife. She was getting off the bus when her bag fell. That’s when the driver saw it.”
“Well, what did he do?”
“It’s not like he could ignore it. He radioed the SRO and got an administrator to meet Zoey at the bus. Bowles handled it from there.”
“Bringing a knife to school is zero tolerance. It should be an immediate expulsion,” I say. That’s our policy, although in my time at Victory Hills we’ve never had to enforce it.
“Well, they aren’t looking at the situation like that.”
“What do you mean?” I remember what brought me to Pam’s office to begin with, the OSS flag on the attendance website. “They aren’t just giving her OSS, are they?”
“For today and tomorrow. Bowles talked to Zoey. He asked her why she had the knife, and she explained she didn’t realize it was in her bag. It was a pocketknife. Not like an actual weapon.”
“Yes, it is,” I argue. I imagine all the damage a person can do with a little knife. The damage that had already been done. The tragedy that could have been prevented, if only I’d acted sooner.
“A pencil can be a weapon, too.” Pam’s tone mimics that of an obnoxious child. “That’s Bowles’ theory, anyway.”
I sigh at the ridiculous comparison. “Yeah, maybe if James Bond is using it. It’s 2020. Every student knows you can’t bring a knife to school.”
“Look, I hear everything you’re saying. I even agree with you, but Zoey claimed to have brought it by accident. They are giving her the benefit of the doubt.”
“OSS is a slap on the wrist and we both know it. It’s school-approved vacation.”
I suddenly feel I am in the position of a student, being counseled from the other side of the desk. Four… five… six. I can’t help but think Bowles is giving Zoey a pass because she’s female. He must not consider her a threat, and maybe she’s not. I wonder if I’m hoping Zoey will be punished because of her attitude on her first day. Sometimes it’s harder for me to shake a grudge than I’d like.
“Bowles is handling the situation quietly. That’s why he wants to speak with all of Zoey’s teachers. Make sure they’re hyper-aware of her behavior. I mean, why would this kid bring a weapon to her first week of school on purpose? Maybe she did just forget.” Pam sighs and looks down at her desk calendar, which is covered in colorful scribbles and doodles. Her efforts to de-escalate the situation aren’t convincing, even to herself. “I think Bowles is giving the kid a chance.”
There’s an edge in Pam’s words, like maybe we should do the same. I don’t like the feeling. I’m not a ballbuster, but I think this is a pretty big offense to let slide. Even if it is her first week.
I uncross my arms. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Zoey’s performance at the track meet, would it?”
She arches her eyebrows and curves her lips. “She will return before next week’s meet. Interesting timing, huh?”
I shake my head, hoping I am wrong, and our school isn’t bending the rules solely for sports.
Pam continues, “We’ll keep an eye on Zoey. Maybe this is the environment she needs in her life.”
It is an optimistic idea, that a certain place or person can make a difference. We all want to feel that way, like we’re doing our part to better the world. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.
Six
Summer 2002
“Della,” Dad shouted from downstairs. I was still in bed, my lavender comforter pulled tight over my head to muffle the sounds of him and everyone else.
“Della,” he said again, this time his voice quieter and closer.
I pulled the comforter down, disrupting a few strands of hair in the process. Dad stood in the doorway. He held a cup of coffee and smiled.
“It’s Saturday,” I reminded him, as though he’d broken some rule.
“Correct,” he said. “But it’s also nine.”
“On a Sat-UR-day,” I said, dissecting each syllable in that way teenagers do when they’re trying to make a point.
“Your mom has already called looking for you.”
“Why?” I rolled to the side and stretched my legs.
“She’s been at the clubhouse for hours,” Dad said. “She’s decorating for the party and needs your help.”
“Have Brian help her,” I said, rolling to my left.
“He’s been down there over an hour.” Dad walked into the room and sat on the bed. He put down his coffee and shook me.
“Why do I have to help?” I whined. “This is her job.”
Mom was the Wilsonville community planner. In my short life,
