He shrugged. “He’s in the lowest reading group, and some kid called him a dumb hick. So he slugged him.”
“Why didn’t I hear—”
“The bell rang, and recess ended, and everybody went inside,” he said. “The teachers didn’t see.”
She gripped the steering wheel in stunned silence, forcing her mind to focus on the rudiments of driving, yielding to a bicyclist crossing the street before making a left-hand turn.
“Don’t tell him I told you, okay?” Matt said.
“Okay.” She paused. “Is Lukeokay?”
Matt shrugged again. “He hates this new school, just like I do. And I think he’s already flunking math. And maybe English. And science too. But otherwise he’s fine.”
How could Luke be failing when the teachers hadn’t even had time to give outtests?
She eased her minivan into the school parking lot and took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing mind. Matt shouldered his enormous backpack and groaned softly.
She shot him a sharp look. “Is your shoulder—”
He raised his palm, cutting off all further questions. “I gotta go, Mom. I have a science test.”
Kiersten swallowed her next question and followed him into the school. She flashed a warm smile at Mrs. Bile, the school secretary, which was not returned. Then she signed her son in and reached for a goodbye hug. His young face contorted with pain when she touched him.
“Do you need some Tylenol?”
“I already took two this morning.” He shrugged. “It’s just sore from pitching yesterday.”
The knot inside her stomach expanded again, like a malignant anxiety tumor. He’d been diagnosed with something called Little League shoulder a few weeks ago. He was supposed to rest his arm, but he’d pitched four innings yesterday.
“I’ll make another appointment with the orthopedist.”
He rolled his eyes. “Great. Another appointment.”
“I love you,” she whispered, forcing herself not to reach in for another hug. “Today will be better, I promise.”
“Yeah, right,” he muttered softly as he turned away. “Bye, Mom.”
He disappeared down the hallway, thin shoulders slumped in defeat as her heart flooded with pain.
Chapter Two
Piper
Piper Mondello entered the “Stinky Room” at the sprawling Hollin Terrace Elementary and Middle School complex, taking note of the exits, the windows on the north and south walls, and the extra-large purse belonging to a woman sitting in the first row.
Incendiary device? Grenades? Or just a metric ton of Target receipts and broken crayons?
Probably just crayons. But you never knew for sure. Piper sat in the empty seat behind the woman with the purse. Best to keep an eye on her.
Mr. Vex, principal and overlord of both the kindergarten through grade five elementary school and the grades six through eight middle school, stood beside a folding table at the front of the room, swiping on his iPad. Young and nattily dressed, he referred to this space in all written and spoken communication as thePresidential Room.
But this name didn’t stick, probably because of the mysterious odor that sometimes permeated the area, which seemed to come from either a perpetually malfunctioning water heater or an unmentionable issue in the boys’ bathroom next door.
Piper wasn’t crazy about the smell, but she objected to holding PTA meetings here for different reasons.
The windows had no shades, and in the winter when it grew dark early, anyone could lurk outside and peep at the people seated within. The room had only one exit, and the long, narrow dimensions provided little space to maneuver if things went south.
Plus, all forty-five US presidents gazed down at her from the walls, and that didn’t help either. She gazed back, wondering if Rutherford Hayes had been as difficult as he looked. Chester A. Arthur must have been a stinker. And Warren G. Harding allegedly had two mistresses. Every protection agent’s worst nightmare.
