Red - Jack Ketchum [34]
There they were, all those girls. And there was Peggy Cleek. Faded hoodie and sweatpants again. Posture all gone to hell just like some of the freshman girls who were trying to hide their new-blooming breasts, who didn’t yet get what their assets were going to be.
Hiding.
It came to her all at once like some kind of Zen slap. She knew enough about how her particular brain worked to suspect that it had been forming for quite a while, an uneasy intuition. But now there it was.
“Can I talk to you for a minute, Peg?”
“I don’t want to be late for next period, Miss Raton.”
“I’ll write you a note. Sit down for a sec, would you?”
She sighed and sat, slumped forward. Like she’s trying to crawl into herself, she thought. Genevieve sat at the desk in front of her, straddling the chair to face her. She studied the girl’s face a moment and realized something.
She reminds me a little of Dorothy Burgess. My first.
It was sad how that had ended.
“You alright?” she said.
“I’m fine. Why?”
She smiled, trying to relax her. The girl was tight as a guitar string.
“How come you’re dressing like this lately?”
She shrugged.
“I’m sorry, Peggy. But the only reason a girl your age would cover up this much is if she had something to cover up. You didn’t until just recently.”
“I don’t get what you mean, Miss Raton.”
“Nausea. Baggy clothes. Mrs. Jennings tells me you’ve been sitting out gym for weeks now. Peg, I’m not stupid.”
Though I have been, for not getting this sooner. That, and for not anticipating her reaction.
Defensive is what she’d expected. What she got was hostility.
“Why don’t you mind your own business, Miss Raton!”
Okay. She rolled with that one.
“You are my business,” she said. “You’re my student. You used to be one of my very best students. Who’s the father?”
“Father? You’re crazy!”
“I’d like to speak with your parents, Peg.”
It was as though she’d smacked her across the face. She stood suddenly rigid at her desk and then took one step backward.
“No. Don’t do that,” she said. “Listen, I’ve got to get to class…”
She picked up her backpack and turned to go.
“Wait. Hold on. Let me write you that note.”
She’s trembling , she thought. Her whole body’s trembling. She’s scared.
Very scared.
Leave it go, Genevieve. Don‘t push her. At least not for now.
Still, she took her time walking back to her desk and even more time scribbling out the note to her teacher. She wanted to let the girl think about it for a moment or two. To let her calm down a bit. She shouldn’t have to go to another class this way. It was possible she shouldn’t have to go to another class at all.
“I’d like you to consider confiding in me, Peggy,” she said. “It helps to have someone to talk to sometimes, you know?”
She didn’t answer. Genevieve hadn’t expected her to. She handed her the note. The girl practically ran for the door.
She said, “Any time you want.”
~ * ~
Belle sat in the late afternoon sunshine streaming through her living room window, feeding blue cotton fabric through her mother’s old Singer, keeping a practiced even pressure on the pedal. Chris had wanted to buy her a Brother computerized-type model last Christmas but she’d said no, her mother’s machine still worked just fine thank you very much. Bad enough there were already three computers in the house — one in Peg’s room, one in Brian’s room and one in Chris’ study — and bad enough they each had cell phones too and a flat-screen Blu-ray TV that looked like something out of Star Trek and an answering machine with caller ID and call waiting. The modern age could stop at sewing.
Normally it was something she enjoyed. The last time she’d done any sewing was for Darleen’s Halloween costume. Darleen wanted to be Peter Pan. They reminded her that Peter Pan was actually a little