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I held the shock from my face with an iron-clad determination, even while most of my blood was located somewhere in the Antarctic. No wonder Samantha had snapped, not with all the things she had been feeling about being an outcast from the other girls. Not feeling like one and then being told she was not one must have been the straw that broke the camel’s back.
“Did you say sorry about it?” I asked.
He shook his head, and darn it if he didn’t look tortured about it. “Will—” he swallowed. “Will that stop Sammie from getting hurt?”
“Yes, Tyler,” I replied. “It will help, but one day, you, your dad, Samantha, and her dad will have to sit down and talk about it, okay? Maybe I will be there, but I promise you, you’re not in trouble.”
“I like Sam,” he replied. “I don’t know why I said it.”
I had to strike while the iron was hot. “Tyler, do you know that Samantha doesn’t have a lot of girlfriends, that she likes boys more?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I-I didn’t know.”
“Well, it's true,” I replied. “And what you said hurt her a lot because she is still a girl, and I remember when I was her age. Not having girl friends makes you feel like no one understands or cares about you. How would you feel if you had no boy friends here? You wouldn’t feel good, would you?”
He shook his head again.
“And that is how Samantha feels, but I am sure if you apologize, she’ll feel better,” I added. “Okay? Can you do that for me? Can you apologize to Sam at recess?”
“Yes.” He nodded, his expression clearing. “I’ll do that.”
“Good.” I smiled, then went to my drawer and pulled out two lollipops. “Give her one while you’re apologizing. Now, go back to class.”
Tyler took them and left, allowing me to sink to my seat, feeling like a ton of bricks had just been lifted off my shoulders. Now, I had something to work with. I reached for my landline, called Mrs. Morton, told her what I had found out, and then asked her to schedule a mediation meeting with both families before I hung up.
Now, I needed to find a way to help Sam embrace who she was.
* * *
Channeling my inner James Bond, I stood in a doorway and gazed out over the playground, looking over at Samantha. She was on the swings but just sitting and scuffing her sneakers on a tuft of grass. Tyler walked over to her and said something that made her look up. I was too far away to hear what he was saying, but from his constant words, it was more than a paltry “I’m sorry.”
He dug into his pocket and handed her one of the sweets I’d given him. Samantha took it with a smile, and then Tyler took the other swing near her. Soon they started a game of who could swing higher, and I retreated into the school to have my lunch.
Giddy with relief, I took out my cell and called John…but it rang out to voicemail. A little disappointed, I left him the message, telling him what I’d learned from what the principal had told me, and then told him what Tyler admitted. Then, I suggested ways to approach Samantha.
Ultimately, I tacked on, “I think it will be best for you to do it, but if you need me there with you, I’ll come.”
Hanging up, I set the phone aside, dug into the lunch I’d packed, and went about my job for the rest of the day with a lighter heart and a smile.
* * *
That night at my cottage, I had showered, dressed, arranged my files for the next day, and slipped into bed when my phone buzzed. A smile tilted the corners of my mouth when I saw who it was.
“Hey, handsome,” I greeted.
He laughed softly. “Back at you, beautiful.”
Cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder, I turned on my side. “I suspected you were busy. Long day, huh?”
“Very,” he said, and I heard the fatigue coming through his tone. I wanted to be there with him, perhaps sitting on his bed and massaging the strain from his back. “But I got your message, and God knows the worry I had before seemed to shift and double down now. I’m glad I know what happened, but I feel like I am failing my baby girl in ways I can’t even see, much less solve.”
“I understand,” I replied, holding back the sigh. “Have you decided to go and talk with her then? Tyler did apologize to her today, so maybe hold back and pretend you heard it when we all get together?”
“I suppose,” he replied, and I heard a rustle. Maybe it was his clothes or sheets. “It is private, and I want her to have privacy too. Maybe I should let her have her secrets, but…”
“But, what?” I asked after his long pause.
“What if something like his happens again?” he asked. “Something worse.”
