at a specific teacher in the room. 'Adding to the problem is that Emma is extremely shy. She doesn't like attention. She's willing to put up with a lot of bullshit in order to fly under the radar. She's certainly had her moments of immaturity, but mostly, she's just a naturally introverted kid who has to try extra hard to fit in.'
Will was leaning so far forward he was practically off his chair. 'How did her parents react to this information?'
'I've never met the father, but the mother's very proactive.'
'Is there a cure for it?'
'As I said before, dyslexia is not a disease, Mr. Trent. It's a wiring problem in the brain. You would just as soon expect a diabetic to spontaneously produce insulin as you would a dyslexic to wake up and suddenly be able to tell you the difference between left and right and over and under.'
Finally, Faith thought she understood where Will was going with his questions. She asked, 'So, if someone like Emma was being chased, would she be likely to take the wrong route-go up the stairs instead of down, where she could get away?'
'It doesn't work like that. She would probably be more likely than you or I to intuitively know the best route, but if you asked her, ‘How did you get out of there?' she wouldn't be able to tell you, ‘I hid under the coffee table, then I took a left down the stairway.' She would simply say, ‘I ran away.' The most fascinating thing about this disorder is the mind seems to recognize the deficit and create new thinking pathways that result in coping mechanisms that the typical child would not otherwise consider.'
Will cleared his throat. 'You said that she would be more observant than a normal person.'
'We don't really use the word ‘normal' around here,' Bernard told him. 'But, yes. In Emma's case, I would think that she would have better observational skills.' He took it a step farther. 'You know, in my experience, dyslexics are far more keyed in than most people. We see this with abused children sometimes, where, as a form of self- defense, they've learned to read mood and nuance better than the typical child. They absorb an incredible amount of blame to keep the peace. They are the ultimate survivors.'
Faith took some comfort in his words. A glance around the room told her that she wasn't alone in this feeling.
Will stood up. 'I'm sorry,' he told the group. 'I've got another meeting. Detective Mitchell has a few more questions for you.' He reached into his pocket, she assumed to turn off the recorder. 'Faith, call me when you get to city hall.' He meant the morgue. 'I want to sit in with you.'
'Okay.'
He made his excuses and quickly left. Faith glanced at her watch, wondering where he was going. He didn't have to be at the Campanos for another hour.
Faith looked around the room, all the eyes that were on her. She decided to get it over with. 'I'm wondering if there was something specific that happened with Kayla Alexander. There doesn't seem to be a lot of sympathy for her considering what happened.'
There were some shrugs. Most of them looked at their hands or the floor. Even Daniella Park didn't have a response.
The principal took over. 'As I said, Detective Mitchell, Kayla was a challenge.'
Bernard let out a heavy sigh, as if he resented having to be the one to clarify. 'Kayla liked to cause trouble.'
'In what way?'
'The way girls do,' he said, though that was hardly an explanation.
'She picked fights?' Faith guessed.
'She spread rumors,' Bernard provided. 'She got the other girls into a tizzy. I'm sure you remember what it was like to be that age.'
Faith had tried her damndest to forget. Being the only pregnant fourteen-year-old in your school was not exactly a walk in the park.
Bernard's tone turned dismissive. 'It wasn't that bad.'
Matthew Levy agreed. 'These spats are always cyclical. They tear into each other one week, then the next week they're best friends and they hate someone else. You see it all the time.'
All the women in the room seemed to think otherwise. Park spoke for them. 'It was bad,' she said. 'I'd say that within a month of enrolling, Kayla Alexander had crossed just about everybody here. She split the school in two.'
'Was she popular with the boys?'
'And how,' Park said. 'She used them like toilet paper.'
'Was there anyone in particular?'
There was a series of shrugs and head shaking.
'The list is probably endless,' Bernard supplied. 'But, the boys didn't rile up. They knew what they were getting.'
Faith addressed Daniella Park. 'Earlier, you made it sound like Emma was her only friend.'
Park answered, 'Kayla was Emma's friend. Emma was all Kayla had left.'
The distinction was an important one. 'Why did Emma stick by her?'
'Only Emma knows the answer to that, but I would guess that she understood what it meant to be an outsider. The more things turned against Kayla, the closer they seemed to get.'
'You said the school was divided in two. What exactly happened?'
Silence filled the room. No one seemed to want to volunteer the information. Faith was about to ask the question again when Paolo Wolf, an economics teacher who had been quiet until this point, said, 'Mary Clark would know more about that.'
The silence became more pronounced until Evan Bernard mumbled something under his breath.
Faith asked, 'I'm sorry, Mr. Bernard, I didn't catch what you said.'
His eyes darted around the room, as if to dare anyone to challenge him. 'Mary Clark barely knows the time of day.'
'Is Mary a student here?'
McFaden, the principal, explained, 'Mrs. Clark is one of our English teachers. She had Kayla in her class last year.'
Faith didn't bother to ask why the woman wasn't here. She would find out for herself in person. 'Can I speak with her?'
McFaden opened her mouth to respond, but the bell rang. The principal waited until the ringing had stopped. 'That's the assembly bell,' she told Faith. 'We should head over to the auditorium.'
'I really need to talk to Mary Clark.'
There was just a second of equivocation before McFaden gave a bright smile that would rival the world record for fakeness. 'I'd be happy to point her out to you.'
FAITH WALKED ACROSS the courtyard behind the main school building, following Olivia McFaden and the other teachers to the auditorium. Oddly, they were all in a single line, as were all the students following their respective teachers to the assembly. The building was the most modern looking of all the structures on the Westfield campus, probably built on the backs of hapless parents shilling candy bars, magazine subscriptions and wrapping paper to unsuspecting neighbors and grandparents.
One line of students in particular was getting a bit too rowdy. McFaden's head swiveled around as if it was on a turret, her gaze pinpointing the loudest culprits. The noise quickly drained like water down a sink.
Faith should not have been surprised by the auditorium, which was really more like what you would find housing a small community theatre in a wealthy suburb. Rows of plush velvet red seats led to a large stage with state-of-the-art lighting hanging overhead. The barrel-vaulted ceiling was painted in a very convincing homage to the Sistine Chapel. Intricate bas-relief around the stage depicted the gods in various states of excitement. The carpet underfoot was thick enough to make Faith glance down every few steps for fear of falling.
McFaden gave the tour as she walked, students hushing in her wake. 'We built the auditorium in 1995 with an eye toward hosting overflow events during the Olympics.'
