Dreamcast 3, page 3
“Is that when you hit him?” I would have; I would have decked him.
“No, later. This morning Pierce followed Leanne and cornered her under the steps. He kept pushing coke at her. She resisted but he didn’t stop and she broke...” Breathless we waited for the outcome. “Next, she was fucking the Posse in the second story washroom.”
“Is that when you hit him?”
“No. I confronted him. Didn’t he realize how close she was to suicide? He laughed at me. Said she’d never do it, she didn’t have the guts. But he could, he’d push her over the edge. No problem. One less dirty whore.”
“Did he say that?” I jumped in.
“Nooo...” She hesitated.
“Then how do you know?” I asked, trying to make sense of it.
“I heard him think it,” she said in a very small voice. As if electrified, Amanda and I gaped at each other. I sat bolt upright.
“You heard him... heard him think it?” Amanda begged for confirmation.
“I know. I know it’s unbelievable. But it’s true. I heard him as clearly as if he shouted it. I’m not lying. I heard every word, the hate and contempt in his tone, his gloating... all of it.” Her face became hard. “And that’s when I hit him. As hard as I could. He fell and blood was pouring down his face. I would have killed him if Ginger hadn’t gotten in the way to hold me back. The bastard crawled away, trailing blood.” The anger slowly drained away and her face became pinched by anxiety as she probed our reactions. We were stunned, speechless. I found myself holding my breath as I was trying to cope with a new fact: she heard him thinking! Heard him thinking.
Aghast Amanda and I looked at each other, thinking the same: Cindy has ESP!
Worried, Cindy swiveled between Amanda and me, like a bird trapped in a narrow cage. “Sometimes I can hear what people are thinking. I hear their voices in my head. I know it’s them because I don’t talk like that or think like them. I hear them as clearly as if I was on the phone.” Panic-struck, her eyes flew from her mother to me. What if she was crazy?
“I believe you,” Amanda said, grabbing both of Cindy’s hands, steadying her daughter.
“You do?” We’d never told Cindy about my special abilities. Never warned her in any way. And now, the poor girl thought she was going crazy. At odd times, I had wondered if my children might have inherited a vestige of ESP, and now this. A part of my mind expected it; another part didn’t want to believe it. As with Miles, I had a new fact to cope with. The circle was full, I kept thinking.
“You’re not crazy,” Amanda stated outright. “You came by it honestly.” She took a deep breath. “Your father has it.”
“Has… what?”
“ESP. Extrasensory perception. Tell her,” Amanda commanded me. So I confessed everything, that I could feel emotions, vestiges of thoughts, fragments of intent, unverbalized ideation. That I could track things at a distance, recognize thought patterns and personality signatures. I didn’t talk about flying; it was too much for one day.
Amanda and I spent three hours convincing her that she was sane, that she had inherited her strange ability. We were rewarded by the relief that replaced the confusion and worry in her expression. After a long while she understood that she wasn’t losing her mind, and hadn’t imagined the strange intrusions into her thoughts. But as her acceptance grew, so did her anger that she’d been absolutely right about Pierce and his Posse. She wanted the school to do something, the Board to be informed, the police notified.
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of all that,” I promised grimly.
We spent another hour reassuring each other. I could see that Cindy was greatly encouraged that she hadn’t been hallucinating. And she found it easier now that she’d downloaded her worries about Leanne. Amanda and I promised to do something about that too.
With the secret finally uncovered on both our ends, we rushed to talk. To ask, to explain, trying to define what each of us felt. To my surprise I found that my daughter had greater acuity in interpreting thoughts than I did, deciphering and piecing together entire patterns. On the other hand, she was less adept at decoding emotions, her perceptions were not color-driven like mine, and she gave no indication of out-of-body ability. Carefully I tested her boundaries.
“Can you hear my thoughts?” I asked.
“Strangely, no. Not even when you’re angry.”
“And your mother’s?”
“Oh, I don’t have to. I know how she thinks. We’re so much alike.”
“But she can’t read thoughts,” I pointed out.
“She doesn’t have to. She’s smart.” Amen to that.
Later in bed, I still couldn’t get over Cindy. “Can you believe that?” I asked Amanda.
She gave a curt laugh. “When I first met you I didn’t want to believe in the paranormal either. Now, I know better. But look where it got me. A husband who can read me like a book and a daughter who can likewise. I don’t know if I have any privacy left.”
“She can’t read mine.” I couldn’t resist the gloating tone that crept into my voice.
“Well, whooptie do. Congratulations to the both of you.” She turned away, pulling the cover over herself. “Now let me sleep. I have to be up early tomorrow.”
She slept and I worried. I couldn’t get over the fact that Cindy had ESP. I foresaw for her all the trouble I was plagued with. Look what a mess fell on her in school. Then I tried to come to grips with the problem. How was this possible? In the high school my daughter attended. In a school drawing from an upscale community with decent incomes and affluent properties. One expected an emphasis on family values and proper upbringing. How then did we get sex, drugs, alcohol, abuse and bullying? And at such levels. Where were the parents? Where was the supervision? Did we, Amanda and I, have our eyes closed too, not wanting to see? See what? Miles was too rule-bound to get into much trouble. Cindy had too much character, too much integrity to be infested with such vices. Well then it had to be the school. It was hard to believe that school had become such a hostile place. My school years weren’t a breeze, but I’d never encountered the extortion and exploitation Cindy described. The system had to be fixed, couldn’t be allowed to continue on like this. Building up steam, I could hardly wait for the hearing.
Chapter 3
Over the next few days we gradually got back to normal. Miles regarded us warily. He perceived that something was different but couldn’t put his finger on it. “Are you talking behind my back?” he constantly wanted to know. Of course he knew that Cindy was home, suspended from school, but he was OK with that. “Somebody needed to kick Pierce in the ass,” was his opinion.
Ginger came every day to give Cindy her class notes so that she wouldn’t fall behind. The circle of friends had resumed running interference for Leanne, protecting her. With all the attention on them, the Posse remained quiet, tails between their legs. Secretly the students rejoiced; it was high time that somebody took the Posse down a notch.
We were informed that the hearing would be held next Thursday at the school. I prepared eagerly for it. Of course Amanda wanted to be present, but I wouldn’t hear of it.
“But why?” she demanded, “I’m her mother.”
“So you are. But I don’t want you there to tie my hands with your constructive, diplomatic ways. I’m going in there fighting... I need weapons and ammunition, not first-aid.” We had one of our rare arguments that raised voices and blood pressure. She wanted to go, but I held absolutely firm. After failing to wear me down, she reluctantly yielded to my stubborn insistence.
*****
“No Mrs. Howard?” Mr. Stoddard asked in genuine surprise.
“That’s right. I wanted to spare Dr. Sommerfeld the spilt blood on the floor... emotionally speaking, of course.”
“Whose blood?” the principal inquired uneasily.
“That remains to be seen, now doesn’t it?” I said with my best wolf grin. I was spoiling for a fight.
Inside the boardroom were Mr. Fletcher from the School Board, Mr. and Mrs. Humbold, Pierce’s parents, a legal assistant, the vice-principal and a stenographer. As we took our places around the table, I stared at a wall of hostile faces ranged against me. Setting my feet firmly on the floor, I smiled sweetly at the glowering animosity. I was going to enjoy this.
Mr. Stoddard jumped right in. “Ms. Green, please note all persons present.” He cleared his throat noisily then fixed his eyes on me. “Mr. Howard, we’re here to consider what disciplinary action to take against your daughter for striking one of her classmates. We have witnesses and their evidence is damaging and conclusive. All those present unanimously agree that your daughter attacked Pierce Humbold without cause or provocation. Please be aware that the school takes a dim view of undisciplined behavior and as a consequence, expulsion from the school is a very real possibility. Furthermore, Mr. and Mrs. Humbold might exercise their legal rights to proceed against your daughter in court with very serious charges. So, on behalf of your daughter...?” He raised his eyebrows at me as if to ask how do you plead: surely guilty?
I kept calm and turned to Mr. Fletcher, addressing the representative of the School Board directly. “It seems I’ve been mistaken in assuming that because I send my children to school every day, the staff know and understand them. After all, the kids spend as much time in the classroom as at home. But I was wrong. I now realize that the teachers, staff and the principal don’t know my children at all, have no inkling what they are about. Had they known, they would have realized that Cindy would never react without a good reason?”
“She hit my son!” Mr. Humbold interrupted grimly.
“I’ll get to your son shortly!” I hissed at him. I turned back to Mr. Fletcher. “Is the Board not aware of what goes on here? Intimidation, coercion, drugs and alcohol, sexual predation and of course, wall-to-wall sex?”
“Nonsense!” Mr. Stoddard jumped to his feet, his face instantly red.
I rose to lean over the table, both my fists resting on the polished top. “Don’t your hall monitors tell you? That bj’s can be had in every washroom?”
“That’s a lie. Blatant fabrication?”
“And in the stairwells, sex can be had any day. Kids as young as 13 are forced to perform against their will. I better not tell you what’s going on under the bleachers in the gym. In the locker room. For Christ’s sake in the biology lab. And the principal claims he doesn’t know. Perhaps he prefers not to know.”
“Lies! ... All lies,” Mr. Stoddard sputtered, but the fight seemed to be going out of him and he sat back down.
“He’s obviously trying to deflect blame from his daughter, hitting my innocent son?” Mr. Humbold protested.
“Innocent, my ass! Pierce Humbold is the ringleader of the Posse, who terrorize and exploit their classmates. This goes on daily under the eyes of the teachers and staff, who don’t want to get involved and clean up the mess. Under the guidance of a principal who pretends he’s in control.”
“Another lie.” Mr. Stoddard was on his feet again, pointing to the commendation on the walls. “We’re an exemplary school with a flawless record. There’s not a shred of evidence?”
“You want proof?” I flung a sheaf of paper on the desk. “Names and incident notes. Take your pick.” I turned to Mr. Fletcher again. “Last year the police came four times to break up fights in the school yard. Five times to search lockers and confiscate alcohol, drugs and yes, guns. Six underage girls became pregnant and had to leave school. Five were later arrested for prostituting themselves downtown to feed a habit. What about the rampant use of steroids by both the football and basketball teams? How many ended up in detox and addiction counseling? For God’s sake, we’re not a deprived, impoverished inner city school, we’re from upscale suburbs. But you want numbers? They’re right there, all the Board needs to do is look.” Again I pointed at the scattered papers on the desk.
By now Mr. Stoddard was fully deflated by the flood of facts, but Mr. Humbold again jumped to his feet. “That’s it! I was inclined to be lenient if given an apology, but in the face of such unmitigated arrogance we’ll be taking the matter to criminal court?”
“And I welcome it. Have the police question the kids. Have them get all their grievances into the record. All the tormenting, bullying, blackmail and let’s not forget rapes... you can bet the police will ferret it out. Or do you think the girls won’t testify that they were being forced? And Pierce is the worst offender. All the cops have to do is to collect a few cell phones, go through the text messages and my God, the pictures. Tons of pictures documenting all this. And the chatter on the Internet, on Facebook or Twitter. It’s all there, just bouncing around the Web. Anything goes on social networking.” I paused a second to let it sink in. “And Pierce? He is the leader and the instigator of the poisonous atmosphere that now infests the school. He’ll be in the forefront of the accused. For what? Interference with minors, extortion, rape; you name it, he’s done it all. He needs to be confronted with his offenses. So by all means, let’s take it to court. It’s high time to air this thing. At the very least it’ll be juvenile detention for him.” For half a minute I let my words hang in the air. I sat down in the shocked silence.
“My daughter hit Pierce to protect a friend who was being abused and exploited in every way by Pierce and his mob. That’ll all come out in a trial, I’m sure.”
I relished the stunned expressions on their faces. I turned to Mr. Fletcher, and said as solemnly as I could, “I petition the Board to relocate my children to a safer environment. It’s abundantly clear to me that they’re not safe here.”
Mr. Fletcher snapped shut the case file, stood up and with a wooden face left the room, effectively putting an end to the proceeding. The legal assistant also hurried after the departed representative of the Board. Mr. Stoddard looked subdued as a whipped puppy. Mr. and Mrs. Humbold wouldn’t meet my eyes; I had absolutely no sympathy for them: they should have raised their son better. Only the stenographer seemed to be secretly enjoying her superior’s predicament. I pushed my chair back and without a further word strode from the room.
“How was it?” Amanda asked as soon as I was through the door.
“What do you think? I gave them both barrels,” I said as harshly as I felt.
“I was afraid of that.”
“That’s why I didn’t want you there.” Then I gave her all the details, and she clucked her tongue at the harsher parts.
At the end, she said, “I would’ve liked to be there to witness all that.”
“No you wouldn’t have. You’d probably have told me to shut up.”
“Maybe.” She regarded me speculatively. I was still simmering and in no mood for retracting anything. “And so, where does it leave us?”
“Leave us?”
“Yes. Is Cindy allowed back in school or not?”
That brought me up short. “Don’t know. The Board rep left without giving a ruling.”
“Now if I’d been there, we’d have come away with a clear resolution. As it stands, we don’t know what to expect,” she concluded somewhat wryly. Still I felt vindicated by the results.
“Don’t fret so much. When I left, Mr. Stoddard was pissing his pants.”
For the first time, she showed me a flash of real irritation. “For God’s sake, you’re an artist, don’t give me this macho crap.” My ears perked up: she rarely resorted to crude words.
“I’ll swing from trees and beat my chest to protect Cindy,” I said haughtily.
“I know you would,” she said, her voice turning softer.
“How’d it go?” Cindy asked later.
“As you’d expect. Mr. Stoddard sputtered with indignation but couldn’t make his case. We adjourned unexpectedly. But don’t worry, girl, we’ll soon have this right.”
“Do I go back to school or not?”
“We’ll soon find out.”
On Friday afternoon, an hour before the school closed, Mrs. Benis called to let us know that Cindy was welcome back in class on Monday. She didn’t elaborate.
Soon after, Miles came home full of news. Pierce hadn’t been at school; the Posse had been stripped of their colors; and Mr. Stoddard had been yanked.
“Yanked? What do you mean yanked?”
“I don’t know. That’s what people said. He’s been reassigned.” He was visibly upset. “Dad, we didn’t have any principal for a whole day! Who tells people what to do, then?”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Benis knows the ropes. She’ll make the school run smoothly until they find a new principal.” My assurances didn’t seem to make a dent in his distress.
“Why’s everyone talking about Cindy? Saying she’s a hero, that she had the guts to turn the Posse in and that they’ll be clamping down on us soon? Is it true? Will they consequence us?”
“No, of course not. Your sister did a brave thing and stood up to protect a friend. You would too, I’m sure.”
“I don’t have friends who would get me in trouble. I have a sister to do that,” he grumbled, taking his discontent elsewhere.
Later, I told Amanda about the phone call from the school and the shakeup. I couldn’t keep the gloating out of my tone: your husband rode into town at high noon and burned the place to the ground.
“It was Cindy who stood up when needed,” she reminded me. “You were the mopping up operation.” But she was smiling as she said it. “It’s good to get Cindy back in school before she gets comfortable staying home and misses too much class time.”
Three days later the new principal arrived, one with a stern reputation of having cleaned up several tough inner-city schools. Immediately strict rules were instituted, supervision increased. Parents were called in for a general meeting. Lectured a long time about permissive upbringing and admonished to keep a closer eye on things. The abrupt change was greeted with mixed reactions. Some parents were all for it, while others were resentful. To me it was astonishing how many parents had washed their hands of the responsibility of being a parent; they let their kids grow up on their own without much oversight.
