Misty gave her an incredulous look. “Like that’s ever going to happen with some big rally on Saturday. You might as well put a big sign on me that says Bullying Victim or Big Crybaby.”
Laura frowned at her perceptions of herself. “First, you are not a crybaby. I don’t want to hear you describe yourself that way. And while you were absolutely a target for Annabelle, only you can allow yourself to be perceived as a victim. That’s a mind-set over which you have control.”
Misty didn’t look convinced, but she was clearly intrigued.
“What does that mean, that being a victim is a mind-set?”
“You can choose how you respond to what other people do,” Laura explained. “If you hide out and act ashamed, then not only will people think of you as a victim, you’ll think of yourself that way.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“You find a way to stay strong,” Laura said, then held up a hand to stop Misty’s protest. “I know that’s not as easy as it sounds, but you surround yourself with friends who know who you really are. You fight back, appropriately, of course.” She gave her a meaningful look. “I think it might even help if you got on that stage this weekend and told your story. Let people hear how what happened affected you. Take back your self-esteem by speaking out for others. Keep this from ever happening to anyone else.” She shrugged. “Just a thought. It’s up to you.”
Misty seemed to consider the idea, but her expression remained skeptical. “You really think what I say could make a difference?” she asked.
“Absolutely, and it’s a way to show everyone—yourself included—just how strong you are.” She studied Misty, gave her some time to think it over, then asked, “What do you think?”
“Will you be on stage, too?”
“Me, Dr. Fullerton, Mrs. Donovan, Frances Wingate,” Laura confirmed. “Maybe Hamilton Reynolds from the school board.”
“What if the kids start heckling me?” Misty asked worriedly.
“What if they do?” Laura said. “It’ll say more about them than it does about you. And I imagine the crowd won’t tolerate it for more than a second. If anything, any hecklers will be proving just how important a rally like this is. You know Dr. Fullerton and the rest of us won’t allow it to get out of hand. We’ll be right there with you.”
“Can I think about it?” Misty asked eventually. “It would be good to feel strong and in control again. I’m just not sure I’m ready to stand up in front of a crowd like that. Public speaking’s never been my thing. I want to throw up when I have to give a book report in class.”
“Think about it for however long you need,” Laura told her. “And no matter what you decide, it’s okay.”
“You won’t be disappointed in me if I say no?”
“Not a chance. I just think this is a great opportunity for you to move forward.” Laura reached in her desk and drew out a notepad with her name printed on it and wrote a note for Misty’s next class. “Here you go. Now run along to your next class. And anytime things get tough around here, come find me or go to Mrs. Donovan’s office. No more hiding in stairwells, okay?”
Misty regarded her with surprise. “How did you know that’s where I was?”
“Lucky guess,” Laura admitted. “I’d looked practically everywhere else in the building. Now you’ve confirmed it, so you’ve blown your cover. If you skip again, it won’t take me more than a minute or two to track you down.”
“Maybe Mr. Jenkins will let me sit in the closet with the mops,” Misty said, her expression thoughtful, but a twinkle in her eye.
“Don’t even think about it,” Laura said sternly. “Now run along. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”
Misty was almost to the door when she turned and ran back to embrace Laura. “Thank you,” she murmured, then raced off, her cheeks flushed pink.
Laura stared after her, tears welling up in her eyes. Over the years she’d wanted desperately to believe she was making a difference in the lives of the kids she taught, a difference as powerful and lasting as the one Vicki Kincaid had made in hers. Now, with Misty and this terrible situation, she honestly felt she could say she had, at least with one student.
* * *
J.C.’s day had been filled with frustration. Two parents had the audacity to bring up what had happened to “poor Annabelle” and expressed outrage that she’d been suspended over something they considered to be so minor. To their shock, he’d delivered a stinging lecture on the possible consequences of bullying that had sent them scurrying off looking chagrined.
He was about to write his notes in the file for his last patient of the day when Bill walked into his office.
“Exactly what did you say to tick off Delilah Jefferson and Jane Trainor?” Bill asked. “Debra says they left here muttering about switching to a doctor in Columbia.”
When J.C. started to respond, Bill held up a hand, a grin spreading across his face. “She also told me they deserved every word you said.”
J.C.’s quick rise of temper cooled. “I suppose that’s something,” he said, appreciating his nurse’s support. He explained about both incidents. “I couldn’t let what they said go unchallenged. If that bothers you, I’m sorry, but this is one subject about which I intend to take a stand.”
Bill nodded. “I gather half the town is taking a stand on one side or another. I talked to my son last night. Ty says Annie’s smack in the middle of planning this rally on Saturday.”
“And I’m one of the speakers,” J.C. said.
Bill nodded slowly. “Something tells me I need to be there as a show of support. I may not have seen anything as extreme as what’s gone on with Misty Dawson, but I see kids all the time starting in grade school who suddenly don’t want to go back. They develop stomachaches and every symptom known to man to avoid having to go to school. It can almost always be traced to some other kid picking on them, stealing their lunch money or knocking their books out of their arms and pretending it’s an accident.”
J.C. regarded him with surprise. “I don’t suppose you’d want to speak on Saturday, too. Maybe if these parents hear just how early
