Sample Chapters

Part One/ Into the Woods

Chapter One

Serena tugged the hem of her interview skirt. The ten-year-old suit had grown snug but it was the only one left in her closet still somewhat clean. Having gotten the call only the night before, she’d had little time to prepare. She’d given up hope on being hired. School had been in session for over a month. Openings for teachers had already been filled—all except this one in Claremont.

The principal pushed into the tiny office holding a stack of papers.  “Good Morning, Miss Petrick. Thank you for coming in on such short notice.”

“Mrs., sir. My name is Mrs. Petrick. Mrs. Serena Petrick.”

“Oh.” He lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “We were under the impression you were single.”

“I’m a widow, Mr. Quint. My husband died three years ago.”

He took off his glasses and examined her closely. Hesitating, she added, “My husband and I had divorced but were in the process of reconciling when he died.”

“Thank you for clarifying the matter, Miss—Mrs. Petrick. But no children, correct?”

“No. I mean yes. I’ve never had children of my own.”

“Living parents?”

What the heck? “No, Mr. Quint. My parents are deceased. Why do you ask?”

“Transparency is a trait we value in Claremont. We’re a small community, compared to…Williamsville.” A sudden blast from his cell phone startled her. After glancing at the screen he held up his hand. “I’ll need to take this. We’re having a problem with one of our students.”

“Of course” she said as he withdrew from the room. She might have added, I’m in no hurry.

It was hot. There were no windows and no air conditioning, though an oscillating fan blew her way every ten seconds or so. She lifted her arms in the breeze. Back in June she’d arrived at her interviews springtime-fresh and dressed exactly as her mentors recommended, in a navy blue suit and crisp white blouse.  But four months without a decent paycheck had made dry-cleaning a luxury.

She examined Mr. Quint’s  diploma: Masters in School Administration, SUNY Brockport, 1996. Underneath it hung photos of wrestling teams, football heroes, and marching bands—office decor that, for Serena, had become all too familiar. However, one picture stood out from the rest—a woman on a horse in full riding gear, clutching a crop. Her smoldering eyes met Serena’s dead on, demanding to know who she thought she was, almost forty, having done nothing professionally in her life but cut hair and paint nails, and now pretending to be a teacher. After a summer’s worth of rejection, Serena asked herself the same thing. In a minute she’d need to make the case yet again that she had what it took to lead a classroom. Pulling a Kleenex from a box on the desk, she dabbed her forehead. She needed this job. Her rent was due on Monday and her bank account had been in its death throws for weeks.

The principal returned and slapped a manila folder on the desk.  “I see that one of your references is a pastor.”

“Yes.” She winced. “Is that a problem?”

“Mrs. Petrick, our school, like the town its self, is very close-knit, almost like family.”  He flipped through the folder. “And your only actual experience was teaching Sunday school.”

“That plus student teaching.”  She jumped at another sudden blast from the phone. He was gone again, this time offering no explanation.

Strange. And so far he’d only asked personal questions, not a thing about her philosophy of education, her approach to discipline, or even her policy on homework. Still, if Serena didn’t land something soon, she’d be back cutting hair, and this time in someone else’s shop. She’d sold her business to pay for college. Responding to a posting almost two hundred miles away from home had been an act of desperation.

When Mr. Quint reappeared his face was red. Sweat rolled down his temples settling in the folds of his jowly chin. Standing behind his desk he crossed his arms. “Miss… I mean Mrs. Petrick, do you have any questions for me?”

She dropped her head. This phrase typically signaled the end of an interview. If so, it had been the shortest one yet. She’d driven all the way from Buffalo for nothing—less than nothing. If she’d had any doubts about having missed the Lord with this new direction in her life, they’d been dispelled. She’d hit a dead end. Her eyes growing moist, she clenched her fists. Since she’d apparently failed to please, again, there was no harm in asking. “OK, Mr. Quint. I do have one. Why did you assume I was single?”

“As I’ve indicated, twice now, for the welfare of all, we at Claremont are particular about those we bring into the fold.” He glared at her and sniffed. “But there is one more item we need to address before I can offer you the position.”

She blinked. Did he just say ‘before I can offer you the position’? It took her a second to respond. “Absolutely, Mr. Quint. What is it?”

“Come with me. You will need to meet my wife.” He charged out ahead of her into the main office. “Hold down the fort, Donna. Mrs. Petrick and I will be going home for lunch.”

Young heads turned as Serena followed Mr. Quint through the hallway of Claremont High. An old-style bell jangled, signaling the change of classes, and students filled the narrow space. Boys laughed and poked each other. Girls squinted in Serena’s direction.

Once outside the sun blinded her and she stumbled over a step. Marveling at the advanced age of the masonry she noted that the stairway, though ornate, was crumbling. Mr. Quint stopped to talk to a man in overalls who’d been sandblasting a small statue crouching along the stairs—one of a pair of sphinxes. Sphinxes? Human heads on lions’ bodies belong in a creature feature not in front of a public building! She’d been too nervous earlier to notice that the building’s facade looked more like a temple than a school. But that was crazy talk. She pinched her wrists and reminded herself to focus.

The statue had been sprayed with red paint. The principal barked at a man in overalls. “I want it all off, every speck.”

The workman raised his safety visor. “Yes, sir.”

A younger man running down the steps locked eyes with Serena for more than a second. A teacher, no doubt, with his button-down shirt and briefcase. Not bad looking, though the beard needed trimming and she’d have lobbed off the ponytail. But what struck her most was his sad expression, like a boy stuck in a man’s body, a boy who’d somehow lost his way.

“Dan, a word” said Mr. Quint.

“Yes, sir.”

The principal stood close to the man, his volume on low. Still, Serena overheard him referring to their “situation.” The sandy-haired forty-something nodded at Quint, but his eyes returned to Serena. Big and mournful, they expressed something other than the flat-out flirtation to which she’d been accustomed. At thirty-nine her slim body, clear skin, well-balanced features and thick blond hair still turned heads.

She responded to the man’s hangdog look with a smile, projecting wholesomeness and sincerity. Hopefully, her potential colleague hadn’t noticed that she’d also blushed. Of course he was married. Every man his age was—at least that’s how it seemed.

The workman with the sandblaster tipped his hat. “So, Miss, are you the new hire?”

“I’m not sure. But it’s nice to meet you. I’m Serena Petrick.”

“I hope you take the job. You look like a nice lady. These kids have been through a lot. They need someone decent who’ll want to stick around.”

She glanced at the handsome teacher running up the steps then added, “Yes. Young people thrive on stability.”

“You got that right. Mr. Eggers was stuffed up in that corner room forever, well, until he wasn’t.” He pointed to an ivy-covered window on the second floor. “Believe it or not, I had old Eggers when I was in school.”

Serena asked the workman if Mr. Eggers was who she’d be replacing. Alarmed, he failed to answer, instead lowering his visor and revving up the sandblaster. Funny. The man hadn’t seemed rude. Maybe he just hadn’t heard her question.

Mr. Quint led Serena down the steps and her parting glance at the sphinx revealed the reason for all the fuss. The graffiti on the creature’s haunches was a blurry message ending with the letters R-U-N.

Chapter Two

  

            The Quint estate stood on top of a steep hill. Towering over the village, its two large second story windows faced the town square like a pair of eyes. A Civil War monument of a Union soldier rose high in the middle of a roundabout, directly in front of the hill. Huge oaks missing most of their leaves granted no shade as Serena followed the principal across the street. A hot breeze kicked up the odor of dying geraniums and she sneezed three times as they climbed a flight of stairs. They approached the  end of a stone veranda as the massive front door opened. There a maid took Mr. Quint’s briefcase and waited for Serena to offer up the jacket she’d draped over her arm.

The maid, who had looked neither of them in the face and hardly seemed to have one of her own, led them over an expanse of gleaming checkerboard tile to a dining room spangled with rainbows. Serena traced the colors to their source, a crystal chandelier. Her delight faded when at the head of the table sat the same woman whose photograph in the office had set Serena’s nerves on edge. Dressed in a green kaftan, she hadn’t aged much since the day she’d ridden that horse, maybe a few lines around the mouth, adding to a pronounced smirk.

“The new English teacher I presume.”

“I thought you two should meet. Mrs. Petrick, this is my wife, Una Quint.” He pulled out a chair and addressed the maid. “Ellie?”

“Yes sir.”

“Set a plate for Mrs. Petrick.”

Una Quint leaned forward. Her gray eyes sparked as they shot over Serena’s head. “Hmm. We were under the impression you were single.”

There it was again. Serena struggled to sound casual. “As I’ve explained to your husband, I’m a widow. Is it important?”

“Excuse me?”

“I just wondered what difference it makes.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, dear. First, I have a question for you. Do you know why we’re in need of a new teacher so late in the year?”

“No, but it had crossed my mind.”

“Ask and you shall receive, Miss—Mrs. Petrick.”

“A line from the gospel of Matthew.”

“Why, yes. Of course. You’re familiar with the Bible. The answer is because the last one is no longer available.”

“Mr. Eggers?”

Mrs. Quint’s hand  searched the table and Chanel #5 wafted from the billows of her sleeve. “Ahh. True. The old man is dead. But his demise was, how shall I put it, expected.” The principal’s wife’s attempt at a laugh was dry and joyless. After locating her cigarettes she stuck one between carefully lined lips, lit it, and with a breath filled the air between them with smoke. “No. Eggers’ passing is not why you’re here.”

Mr. Quint snapped opened his napkin. “The girl we found to replace him was…um…not the right fit.”  He turned to face his wife. “An unfortunate blunder and entirely my fault. Which, Mrs. Petrick, is the reason you’re joining us for luncheon.” Frowning, he added, “Between the two of us, Una has always been the better judge of character.”

A cloud hovered over them as the lady of the house, who was apparently blind, continued to smoke. Her red-tipped fingers grasped the ashtray. “When one sense is taken, the others must compensate and my hearing, Miss…Mrs. Petrick is extraordinarily keen. You are breathing rapidly. What are you afraid of?”

“From what I understand, Mrs. Quint, I’m still on a job interview. Naturally, I’m a bit nervous.”

The principal’s wife dismissed the idea with a flick of her wrist. “Never having been in the position, I wouldn’t know. Your hands are sweating.”

“How can you tell?” Serena bit her lip. Not the best time to challenge authority.

“My dear, the first thing you did before sitting down was wipe them on your skirt.”

Swallowing hard, Serena told herself that she hadn’t completely ruined her chances, at least not yet. But since when did the boss’s wife need to approve a new hire? And they still hadn’t explained why the last English teacher was “no longer available.”  Most of all, she would love to find out how they’d known she was single and why it was so darned important. The principal had referred to the town as one big happy family. This had sounded fine to Serena, until she’d met Una Quint.

And she had more questions for the Quint’s, many more. Like why hadn’t they asked about her qualifications? Whether or not she’d be a good teacher didn’t seem to matter. Sure, she had a burden for children, and badly needed a fulltime job, but this principal’s wife might have stepped right out of The Adams Family, and her stubby dark-haired husband played a perfect Gomez to her Morticia. She shuttered. Perhaps she’d been over-protected in her nice suburban neighborhood but this scene was just too weird.

Praying for an escape hatch, Serena thanked God when the maid returned. She would ask for her jacket, thank the Quint’s for their hospitality, and run for the door.  Another would open. And there was always subbing. But before she could put her plan into action the principal got another phone call. Another one that couldn’t wait? He covered the receiver, and addressed the maid, “Just coffee for me, Ellie, and I’ll take it in the den. Excuse me, ladies.”

“Yes, sir.” The servant laid a fruit cocktail in front of Serena. She looked at Ellie’s work-worn hands and decided to stay put—for the moment at least. Whatever else Mrs. Una Quint wanted to know Serena would do her best to answer.

“Miss…Mrs. Petrick, we’re looking for someone willing to commit to the town, to live here and become a part of the community. Claremont is a peaceful place. We have a police department though we rarely have the need.”

Serena chewed a chunk of pineapple, her mouth smarting. “Mrs. Quint, at this point, my main problem would be living so far away from my family.”

“What family?”

There she goes again, popping off the details of my life.

Serena’s heart pounded. They were right, she was single and childless, her parents were deceased, and she had no siblings, but these things had not been on her resume. How in the world did this woman know? “My church, Mrs. Quint. It’s like a family to me.”

“So, at least we were not misinformed about you being a Christian.”

“I am a Christian. But how did you…”

“That’s exactly what made you such an attractive candidate.”

Serena nearly choked on a grape. They wanted an unmarried Christian woman with no family ties to fill the job, a policy that New York State would claim smacked of discrimination. “I was under the impression that Claremont was a public school.”

Una Quint squashed out her cigarette. “You mean as opposed to private.” She waved away the maid who’d attempted to set down a plate. “Claremont is a public institution however our board of education has certain priorities.”

Principal Quint dashed back into the dining room, carrying another folder. “Una, you’ll be pleased to learn that they’ve identified the suspect.”

“In record time. I told you those cameras were a wise investment.” Una Quint stood and proclaimed “On to new business. Nicholas, I approve the appointment on the condition that she abides by all of our conditions.”

Serena spoke up. “Excuse me, what are your…”

“Wonderful. Mrs. Petrick, here is the contract.” He slid the folder across the table. “Complete the paperwork and be in my office tomorrow at eight. My secretary will work out the details.”

Before Serena could respond, Quint swept his wife out of her chair and the two of them disappeared behind closed doors. Goosebumps rose on Serena’s arms. She eyed the folder as if it might bite though she couldn’t resist peeking at the salary. It was the first item on page one—more money than Serena had ever made in a year—and for only ten months of work.

The maid removed the plates which had barely been touched and Serena jumped at her presence. “Sorry, Ellie is it? I’m in your way.”

“Not at all, Miss.”

“I’ll have to finish reading this later.”

“No hurry, Miss. You seem nice. That’s why they picked you. Please take the job.”

“Why?”

“There’s trouble here, Miss. With the children.”

Chapter Three

           

Dan Maguire greeted his first period class, but they didn’t return the courtesy—too busy gawking at the drama taking place outside. He didn’t blame them. A fellow sophomore was being escorted out of the building in handcuffs.

“Mr. Maguire, can I open the windows? It’s hot.”

“You may. The rest of you take out your American History packets and prepare to…”

The student at the window called, “Yoh, Grant!”

Raising his fists the boy being pushed into a squad car shouted back, “Freedom!” Braveheart-style, loud enough to bring the whole room, perhaps the whole school, to the windows.

“Everyone, return to your seats.”

His students moved across the room as slow as prisoners, fist-bumping and nodding their heads. Maguire grabbed chalk from the tray. “Packets out.” He turned to write on the board and, for the first time in years, took a spit ball at the base of his neck.

Up until now Dan Maguire had been a favorite among the students of Claremont High. Younger than most of their parents, they rated him as considerably more with-it than the average teacher. He’d often intercepted notes passed between girls who’d described him as “hot.” Of course, he destroyed such incriminating material immediately. But over the years he’d enjoyed universal approval from the student body, more than the rest of the faculty put together.

He faced them. “Listen. I know how you guys feel.”

A dozen hands shot up, each student asking to go to the lav. “No, sir. I really need to go.”

“Me too.”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Enough! Let’s clear the air. You’re mad at what’s happening to Grant Stokes. The punishment not fitting the crime and all.” Twenty-seven sets of eyes followed his every move. At least they were giving him a chance to explain. The problem was, he had no explanation—at least none that he could offer. The clock ticked.

“It’s like this, folks.” He cleared his throat. “Actions have consequences.”

A book dropped. Then another. “OK, silent study hall. And I mean silent. That is unless you want to join Grant.”

A voice emerged from the back of the room. “Because actions have consequences, right Mr. Maguire?”

“Get out.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

A storm of complaints, pounded desks, and dropped books followed. “You think I’m joking?” Dan pointed at the nearest offender and sent him packing. “Anyone else?” Silence.

Lost in thought, the global studies teacher barely registered that his class had just defied him, most of them choosing to sit in angry silence instead of copying what he’d written on the board. After an eternity, the bell rang and the group fled the room as if they’d been held hostage. A quiet voice startled him.

“Mr. Maguire?”

“Casey!”

“Don’t take it personal, Mr. Maguire, you know, the way we’re acting. It’s just that what they’re doing to Grant—it isn’t right.”

The teacher looked around. No one there but him and Casey Cowen. “How do you know what they’re doing to Grant?”

She rolled her eyes. “We all know. But nobody blames you. None of this was your fault.”

Wiping away tears, Casey blurted out an unnecessary apology before running out of the room. Maguire closed the door. A fourteen-year-old girl had just done something that he’d been trying to do for twenty years. She’d let him off the hook.

He’d seen what was going on in their town but had never addressed it. And the poor kid didn’t know the worst of it. Anyone who did, would never forgive his lack of action. He sank behind his desk and picked up his vibrating phone. “Yes?”

“Maguire. In my office. Now.”

.           .           .          

 

The next morning Serena sat in another chair with a wobbly back watching the attendance monitor take notes from the answering machine. An inordinate number of students had failed to report to their homerooms that morning. Parents were being called.

Serena fanned her face with a copy of the October lunch menu. Whoever chose its graphics must have really liked snarling black cats, vampires and square-headed monsters. During three journeys to Claremont and then home again Serena had seen enough Halloween lawn decorations to last her for life. She used to love Halloween. Her parents had made a big production out of it. But she’d developed reservations. If she’d had children, she’d be shielding them from witches and demons. And, like her friend Anya Worthy, she would probably be called out by other women for taking the holiday’s roots too seriously.

Serena had often been accused of overreacting. And refusing this job because of something crazy that the principal’s wife had said, or a word she’d seen scrawled on a statue might be just that. She needed to keep an open mind. And, of course, there was the mailbox full of bills which she had no money to pay.

On the way to Claremont that morning, even with the AC on full-blast Serena’s hands had sweated so badly they’d slid around on the steering wheel. Upon arrival, she stopped in the girls’ lavatory to wash them and try to revive some shape to her hairstyle, a long bob which had seen better days. So far no one had mentioned what this orientation would involve.

She yawned. Last night she’d been too wound-up to sleep. The full moon shining in her bedroom window hadn’t helped. She’d pulled the blanket over her eyes, but her mind still raced; although she must have dozed a little since she’d had an interesting dream about a message scrawled all over that misplaced sphinx. The words had impressed her as extremely important. Once fully awake she tried to piece them together, but they’d already slipped out of reach.

In the main office, she sipped tepid coffee and prayed for discernment about whether or not to take this job. Quint had implied that his secretary would answer her questions. So far, however, the woman hadn’t found a minute to spare. But she had all kinds of time when the shaggy forty-something with the sad eyes that she’d seen yesterday cruised in. “Good morning, Mr. Maguire,” she chirped, cheerful as the red, red, robin. “TGIF! Just a minute. Let me get you your check.”

“Thanks, Donna. Nick wanted to see me.”

“He’s waiting.” She pointed to a door. “Have you met Mrs. Petrick?”

“Not formally.” He shook her hand. His grip was firm but instead of his eyes locking on hers like they had the day before they wandered up to the clock. “Dan Maguire, global studies.”

“Serena Petrick, English.”

Mr. Quint burst out of his office looking like he’d slept in his clothes. “Dan, inside. Oh, yes. I nearly forgot Miss-Mrs. Petrick. We’ll get to you in a minute. Donna, print her a schedule.”

Fifteen minutes later Serena still had no schedule, but the two men emerged, Quint patting Maguire on the back. “I’m counting on you Dan. Work out some kind of…” The principal hesitated.

“Appeasement?”

“Yes. That’s right. You’re good at that sort of thing.”

“As long as I don’t have to read it.”

“I’ll handle that.” Quint turned his attention to Serena. “And, Dan, will you show Mrs. Petrick around?”

“Sure, Nick. Anything else?” The teacher’s smile looked forced.

Serena followed Dan Maguire down the hall. “So you and the boss are on a first name basis.”

He glanced at his watch. “We’ve known each other a long time. Mrs. …”

“Petrick.”

“Mrs. Petrick, I have a class next period, so we’ll need to make this quick.” He motioned toward a pair of double doors. “Here’s the auditorium.”

“Hmmm. Unusual. Looks more like a ball room.”

“I’d advise you to keep any comments about the building to yourself. And a heads up, we may be having an all-school assembly on Monday. I don’t know how much you’ve heard but this morning a student was arrested.”

“Is that what it was? I saw the police car. But why an assembly?”

They stepped inside the oval-shaped room. A few students sat swinging their feet off the edge of a stage. “Hey, Mr. Maguire. Did you hear about Stokes?”

Her guide waved at them but turned away fast. “To answer your question, Mrs. Petrick, Quint likes everyone on the same page.”

She noted the art nouveau light fixtures. “Except he takes it a little too far, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“He insisted that his wife approve of me before offering me the job.”

Mr. Maguire rolled his eyes. “I guess that would seem a little unusual.”

“More than a little. Maybe I’ve led a sheltered life, Mr. Maguire. See, for years I ran my own business.”

“You don’t look sheltered.” He gave her a once-over. “Nervous maybe but not sheltered.” He pointed across the hall. “There’s the gym.”

From the bleachers a student called, “Hi, Mr. Maguire! What do you think about Stokes?”

He saluted his fans but said nothing. “We’re running out of time. I better take you to your room.”

He led her up two flights of stairs, and she caught her breath while he sorted out the keys.

“Here it is. The oldest one.”

Serena unlocked the door. As they stepped in, stale air fell out.

“I’m not sure what’s here in the way of curriculum.” Mr. Maguire looked around. “Well, it could be worse. At least you have textbooks.” The volumes he referred to had broken bindings, tattered edges, and were chained to the desks. Checking his watch he said, “I assume Quint mentioned that we all have two prep periods. Hmm. What else? I should show you how to log into the system.”

“You know, Mr. Maguire, I’m not even sure I’ll be taking this job.”

He shielded his eyes. “Then why are we doing this?”

“I didn’t mean to waste your time. But if you recall, this orientation was Mr. Quint’s idea. I haven’t signed the contract yet and the only reason I came back today is because I’ve heard the students here have had it rough. Well, that and…”

“And what?”

“And I really need a job.”

The man who had previously seemed in such a hurry sat on the teacher’s desk. “Do you have anyone else who relies on you, Mrs. Petrick? kids, parents?”

“No. Do friends count?”

“It depends. In this case, being completely unattached is a good thing. But if you want my advice, go back to whatever it was you did before. Forget Claremont High. Run while you can and don’t look back.”

The bell rang, causing Serena’s heart to pound. “That’s just what the boy wrote on the sphinx.”

“Run. Yeah.” He hung his head. “Grant thought he had the town figured out…I did my best to explain…I did my best.”  He took a deep breath. “Listen to me, Mrs. …Serena, if you really want to help these kids, you’ll need a whole lot more than a teaching degree. The people who control this town are…”

“Are what? Worse than people anyplace else?”

He got up and paced across the front of the room. “Are you a Bible reader, Mrs. Petrick? Don’t answer that. If you weren’t you wouldn’t have been chosen. There’s a verse in one of the gospels, ‘If then the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness.’ Do you know it?”

“I’m familiar with the verse.”

“If you really have the light of Christ, you’ll need more of it than you can imagine here in Claremont.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Maguire, I just don’t buy that. How could one town be that much better or worse than any other? I mean, a town is a town and people are people, right? Nobody’s perfect but most of us are basically OK, or we at least try to be, especially those in charge. I mean, why wouldn’t they? We pay them to take care of us.”

He stared at her. “Mrs. Petrick, I couldn’t disagree with you more.”  Jamming his hands in his pockets, he said “You sound very sincere; I’ll give you that. I hope you do stay, and that you make more of a difference than I ever have. But fair warning, if you take on this town, you will never be the same. You’ll uncover things you wish you hadn’t and see things you will never unsee. Trust me.”

Before Serena could reply the door swung open, and a tangle of students pushed through it. “Hey, Mr. Maguire. They told us to come up here. I guess the old English room’s open for business again. Man, it stinks in here. Who’s this lady? Your girlfriend?”

Dan stepped aside for the influx of students and wished Serena good luck before ducking and running.

Sweat rolled down her inner arms. Her worst fear was coming to pass—teaching a rambunctious class with zero prep time. Spying a piece of chalk she wrote her name on the board. When a hand shot up, Serena responded. “Yes?”

“Are you our new English teacher?”

“Well, at the moment, but I’m just filling in.”

Sighs of disappointment spread around the room. “Another sub.”

“What happened to Miss White?” At the mention of her predecessor who Serena had been told was “no longer available” the class erupted.

A chorus of questions: “Did she get fired?”

“Was it because of the story?”

“Did my parents have something to do with it?”

A girl with bangs hiding her eyes said, “I knew it.”

“Figures. We finally get someone half-way decent, and they fire her. Are you at least a real teacher?”

“Yes. I’m a real teacher. So let’s get started. What have you been reading?”

Hands waved. She called on a girl sitting by the window who looked calmer than the rest. “Yes?”

“Nothing.”

The class laughed. Serena called on another student. “Seriously, Miss. It’s true. We haven’t read anything since Miss White left.”

“So what do you do?”

“Worksheets, crossword puzzles, other junk.”

“I notice a picture of Nathanial Hawthorne on the bulletin board.”  A hush fell. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

Once again hands flew up. This time Serena called on a boy in the back. “It’s like this, Miss. We did read a story by that guy. I mean we really read the thing. Talked about it for days.”

“You enjoyed a story by Nathaniel Hathorne?”

“Heck, yeah. It was like, I don’t know, so real. I mean the dude got it right. And it made us all think, really think about stuff, you know, real life stuff, not your usual phony subjects. Then just like that, they go and fire Miss White.”

“What was the story?
They answered in unison, “Young Goodman Brown.”

Serena turned to the page in the teacher’s edition, recalling the classic tale of small-town corruption.

“So, Miss, do you think that’s why they fired Miss White? I mean, for making us read that story?”

“I can’t imagine how using something from a textbook that the school board had to approve would get a teacher fired.”

A boy in glasses held together with tape raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“It was our parents, Miss. Not everyone’s, but enough of them. They complained.”

“Hmm. Tell you what. Take out pens and paper.” Relieved to see nearly one-hundred percent compliance, she asked them to write three paragraphs explaining what it was they liked so much about “Young Goodman Brown.”

.           .           .

 

That night, while heating her ramen noodles, she scanned a few student papers. She’d need food in her stomach to get through the stack. Something unusual, if not criminal, was going on in that school. She’d sensed it during her interview with the principal’s wife who couldn’t care less whether Serena could teach, only that she was an unmarried Christian with no family. What was up with that? But what really haunted her was that word “run” on the sphinx sprayed by a boy who, if she could trust what some of the students had written, might never be seen again.

She blew on her soup but the next paper caused her to set down the bowl. She’d lost her appetite. The boy described going to parties with adults as if it were all perfectly normal. He said he’d been told if he mentioned what they did at these parties to anyone, he’d be sorry, so he was trusting her not to tell. This sounded more like a plot from DC comics than a student’s essay. She considered the possibility that these kids were only testing her—seeing if the new lady would fall for their practical joke. Thank God it was Friday. She’d have the weekend to sort it all out.

She speed-dialed her closest friend. “Hello, Anya? Am I getting you at a bad time?”

“Not at all. I’ve been waiting to hear from you. How’d the interview go?”

“Unreal. The principal here is whack. And it gets worse.”

“We prayed for you on Wednesday.”

“Good. Don’t stop. Something strange is going on in this school. Either the kids are exceptionally imaginative or some of them are being exploited.”

.           .           .

 

The third time Mrs. Cowan yelled “Supper!” Casey clicked off her computer, careful to delete her search history.

“I’m coming.” She dragged herself to the table even though for a change she didn’t feel much like eating. “Where’s Dad?”

“At a meeting.”

Her father’s new job with the highway department included all sorts of meetings. He was never home anymore. Her mother dropped a slab of meatloaf on her plate, but Casey pushed it away. “I’m not hungry.”

“What did you eat for lunch? Pizza again? It’s not healthy, Casey. Skipping supper is not the way to lose weight.”

“I didn’t even go to lunch. I took a walk.”

“Since when do they let you leave the campus? In my day you weren’t allowed out before the last bell.”

“Mom, in your day, kids didn’t get arrested for tagging a statue.”

Her mother spooned strained spinach into her little brother’s mouth. “You mean for defacing public property. We pay taxes to keep that building looking nice.”

“Nice? You call those ugly statues nice? And from what I’ve heard the place was never meant to be a school in the first place.”

“Who told you that?”

No one had told her. She’d found it out on the internet. But the less her mother knew about her private research the better. “Oh, I just made it up.”

“Well, stop it. They used to call that lying. Anyway, we had our share of graffiti artists back in the eighties.”

“But if they got caught they got suspended for a few days, they weren’t arrested.”

Casey’s mother wiped green slime off the baby’s chin. “If you’re referring to your cousin, Grant has always been trouble. Maybe reform school is the best thing for him.”

“Or maybe someone who claims to care about him should ask what’s been on his mind. And he’s not the only kid in school who’s ready to bug out.” Her baby brother threw his sippy cup across the room.

“Listen Casey, I don’t care what the kids are saying—or doing. You keep out of this thing with Grant. Your father finally has a job that pays enough to support this family.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Squinting into the fading light made her mother look even older. “Grant is not our problem and if you know what’s good for you, Casey Cowen, you will not bring the matter up again. To anyone. Is that clear?”

Retrieving her brother’s cup, Casey threw it in the sink. “Perfectly.”