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Jasmine followed her into a room with a couple of folding tables and metal chairs. A microwave and dated refrigerator sat in one corner next to a coffee pot.
“I only have a couple minutes before the kids line up to go home,” Miss Stevens said, taking a seat.
Jasmine took the one across from her. “I’ll get right to the point, then. Zoey came home yesterday and told me one of her classmates kissed her.”
Miss Stevens smiled and nodded. “Oh yes. The kids were having a bit of fun.”
“Zoey didn’t want to be kissed.”
The teacher waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it was just on her cheek. I promise there was nothing nefarious going on. Boys will be boys.” She laughed.
Jasmine’s nails dug into her palms. Boys will be boys. Over her fucking dead body. “Zoey said she did not consent. He never asked.”
The woman crossed her arms, sitting forward. “Zoey laughed, so she must have enjoyed it.”
Something snapped inside Jasmine. She rose to her feet, her chest heaving, body trembling. “Maybe I need to find another school for my daughter. One that teaches consent. One that doesn’t perpetuate rape culture like boys will be boys.” Jasmine scoffed.
Miss Stevens rose to her feet, face flushed. “Now, Miss Evans. I don’t see how you can say such a thing. These are kids we’re talking about. There’s no need to make an accusation like that.”
“Today, it’s a kiss on the cheek. But what about tomorrow? If no one tells this little boy he must ask before he touches someone else, that even when someone laughs nervously, it must mean they want it, what happens when he gets older? Consent starts long before sex.” Jasmine kept her voice steady, despite her shaky body.
“Oh, come on. Ever since the Me Too movement, we have to put this pressure on little boys. They’re just kids. They shouldn’t have to worry about that yet.” Miss Stevens glanced at her watch.
The words were a punch to Jasmine’s chest, sucking the air from her lungs. The back of Jasmine’s eyes burned. She would not lose it here. She forced a breath in. “I’m sure the other parents at this school would think differently. And I’m sure the director might take my concerns more seriously.”
Miss Stevens’s eyes snapped to hers, her mouth going flat. “I’ll keep your comments in mind in the future. Keeping these kids safe and teaching them is my number-one priority.” Her tone was devoid of emotion and insincere, like a robot spitting out a prerecording.
Jasmine straightened. “I’d like to collect my daughter now.”
* * *
Zoey was all smiles as she climbed into her car seat. Jasmine buckled her in and handed her the snack she’d brought. Her hands hadn’t stopped trembling. Remnants of the adrenaline pumped in her veins. What am I going to do? The other preschool in Shattered Cove was private and cost an arm and a leg. Homeschooling wasn’t an option. She had an inn to run by herself, renovations to finish.
She rubbed her temples; a migraine was coming on.
“Can we listen to music, Mommy?” Zoey’s sweet voice broke through the panic, easing her soul.
“Sure, baby.” Jasmine flicked on the radio, searching their favorite stations until she found something upbeat.
“Yay! I love this one,” Zoey said excitedly, waving her hands and bobbing her head to Beyoncé’s “Run the World (Girls).”
Zoey and Jasmine shout-sang along to the chorus.
“Girls run the world, Mommy!” Zoey yelled after the song ended. They both laughed.
Jasmine shifted the car into gear and drove away from of the parking lot towards the inn. They sang at the top of their lungs. She danced it out, pushing her cares from her mind for a few miles as they headed back to the one place she felt safe—her lighthouse in the storm. Their home.
