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I hold up my hand to stop her. “I know you don’t,” I say. “But I don’t care.”
Her mouth drops open in outrage. I can’t say I blame her. It’s beyond rude for me to keep interrupting her. I know it as well as she does. But I need to get to the bottom of this.
Ramirez looks resigned. He sighs heavily. “From what the other kids told me, Kyle made fun of Ella’s hair. When that didn’t seem to bother her, he said something about how she shouldn’t have let that—” He clears his throat and I can see how much he doesn’t want to continue.
“Excuse me,” he goes on. “He said that Ella shouldn’t have let that whore of a hairdresser mess with it.” He keeps his gaze on the desk, unable to meet my eyes. “That’s when Ella hit him.”
I clench my fist, seeing red. I can’t understand why an eight-year-old boy would talk that way. Or why he’d even know that Harlow had been around Ella.
“Well, I don’t believe that for a second,” Hillary says. “Those kids are lying. Kyle wouldn’t talk that way.”
“I assure you, he did,” Ramirez says, his hard tone making it clear he’s losing patience with Hillary’s innocent act.
I turn to glare at the woman. “Where would an eight-year-old learn words like that? And why would your son know or even care about who’s styling my daughter’s hair?”
Hillary’s eyes go wide, and she sputters, unable to form a sentence.
“I have a pretty good theory,” I say. “Unless you want everyone in this town to know what a jealous, petty, insecure person you are, you’ll make sure neither you nor your son ever mentions Ella or Harlow again. Do you understand?”
If my voice conveys even half the anger I’m feeling right now, Hillary should have gotten the message. I don’t wait for her response. Instead, I turn to Principal Ramirez.
“How long is she suspended?”
He looks surprised that I’ve asked him a question and it takes him a few seconds to formulate an answer.
“Three days,” he says. “She can come back on Monday.”
I nod. “Thank you. I’m sorry about this incident. I can assure you she won’t do anything like this again.”
Ramirez nods. “Thank you, Mr. Prescott.”
Without another word, I turn to leave the office. When I reach the front waiting area, I don’t say anything. I just look at Ella and point toward the door. She scrambles from her chair and follows me out the door and out to my truck. I open the door for her and she climbs inside, buckling her seatbelt. We ride in silence for a full ten minutes before I hear a loud sniff from the backseat. Ah, hell.
I turn the truck at the next right, pulling into the parking lot of Peach Tree’s main grocery store. I park in an empty spot and shift in my seat to look at Ella who’s doing her best to look like she’s not crying as she stares out her window.
“Hey,” I say, softly. “I’m not mad at you.”
She sniffs again and swipes her hand over her face. “I can tell when you’re mad,” she says in a voice that sounds too small for her.
“I am angry,” I admit. “But not at you. Hitting that boy wasn’t the right thing to do. I know you know that. I’ve taught you better than that.”
She nods as more tears fall down her cheeks and her lower lip begins to tremble.
“Ella, look at me, sweetheart.” When she turns her big brown eyes on me, I give her a small smile. “I’m not mad at you. Yes, you did something wrong. Yes, you’re going to be in trouble for it. But I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at what happened. I’m mad at the mean things that boy said about you and about Harlow. It was wrong. But you don’t need to cry, okay?”
She nods, sniffing again. “I’m sorry,” she says.
“I know you are. You can’t hit people who say mean things.” I sigh. “I was hoping you had a few more years before I needed to teach you this, but the world is full of mean people who will say and do mean things. But it’s full of good ones, too. Usually more good people than bad. It just doesn't always seem that way. People being mean to you says more about them than it does you. But how you react to it is what’s important. You can’t hit everyone who says mean things to you. No matter how badly you might want to.”
I reach back and take her little hand in mine. “You’ve got to rise above the ugliness. I know it’s hard. Believe me, I wanted to say a whole lot of mean things to Kyle’s mom today, but I did my best not to.”
That gets a smile out of her. But it only lasts a second before she turns her sad eyes on me.
“Don’t tell Harlow,” she says.
I blink. Of all the things I’d expected her to say, this wasn’t it.
“Why not?”
