Part 11 (1/2)
”I need to see Mr. Prue,” she told the secretary, whose desk bore a nameplate identifying her as Mrs. Ellis.
”Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked her.
”No,” Sarah said. ”But it's very important that I see him.”
”I'll see if he's free,” Mrs. Ellis said, glancing with obvious curiosity at the package in Sarah's hands. She lifted the receiver and punched in a number. ”There's a student here to see you, Mr. Prue. She seems very upset.” She turned to Sarah. ”Your name, dear?”
”Sarah Zoltanne.”
”Sarah Zoltanne,” Mrs. Ellis repeated, and then nodded at Sarah and said, ”Mr. Prue says he's busy, but he can spare a couple of minutes if it's really important.”
Sarah opened the door to the inner office and went in. The princ.i.p.al was seated behind a wide desk that was covered with piles of papers and a lineup of coffee cups bearing cute slogans such as HAVE YOU HUGGED A TEACHER TODAY? and BE SURE TO UPHOLD FINE PRINc.i.p.aLS!
A photograph of a plump blond woman with a plump blond child on her lap sat to the right of the telephone. To the left of the phone, in a matching frame, there was a hand-embroidered sampler bearing the garbled quotation SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN TO COME UNTO ME, FOR THEIRS IS THE KINDGOM OF HEAVEN.
There was a chair across from the desk, but Sarah didn't sit down.
”So, Sarah, you have a problem?” the princ.i.p.al asked pleasantly.
”I think you could say that,” Sarah said. She plunked the towel-wrapped carca.s.s down in front of him. ”I found this in my locker. It's a dead bird.”
”I'd appreciate it if you didn't place it on my desk,” Mr. Prue said, shoving his chair back slightly and making no move to touch the package.
”It was in my locker,” Sarah repeated, obligingly picking up the bundle. ”Somebody got into my locker and put it there.”
”Do you know who it was?” Mr. Prue asked her.
”Not specifically, no. It could have been any one of a lot of people.”
”Does anybody know your locker combination?”
”Not that I know of, but I have a lower locker, so I guess somebody could have stood behind me without my realizing it and watched me while I dialed the combination.”
”I can see why you're upset,” Mr. Prue said. ”n.o.body would want to be greeted by something like that. If you knew who did it, I'd call them in and talk to them. But since you don't, there's not much I can do.” He paused and then said, ”You're a new student, aren't you? The one who just moved here recently from California? Your mother submitted an application to teach here.”
”Yes,” Sarah said.
”You were in the Halloween carnival. You had a Gypsy act, didn't you? A fortune-telling booth?”
”Yes,” Sarah said again.
”I almost called you in to talk to you about that, Sarah,” Mr. Prue said solemnly. ”We have a very strict policy that our carnival not contain anything that involves the occult. That was one of the specifications agreed upon between the school board and the senior cla.s.s when they first applied for permission to put on this annual fund-raiser. Eric Garrett explained to me that when you asked him if you could have a booth, he didn't realize what you were planning to do in it.”
”What!” Sarah exclaimed, unable to believe what she was hearing. ”I didn't approach Eric about it, it was Eric who approached me! He and Kyra Thompson-”
”As president of the cla.s.s, Eric felt it was his duty to encourage a new student to partic.i.p.ate in school events,” Mr. Prue continued as if he had not heard her. ”He thought you were going to be running an Apple on the String game. By the time he realized what you were actually doing, it was too late for him to stop you. The carnival was already in progress, and he didn't want to embarra.s.s you in front of all your cla.s.smates.
”I considered calling you in to discuss the matter, but it was water under the bridge, so I decided to let it go. But since you've now come in to see me of your own accord, I feel I should take this opportunity to clarify our standards. I realize people are different out in California. They have a whole different mind-set out there-crime and violence, nude beaches, unusual religious sects, same-s.e.x marriages, I don't know what all. But here in Pine Crest we are-I suppose some would call it-conservative in our att.i.tudes and our practices. I call it moral. This is a Christian community with a Christian value system.”
”There's nothing very Christian about this,” Sarah said shakily, gesturing with the wad of towels, through which blood was now beginning to seep.
”A lot of high jinks go on among high-school students,” Mr. Prue told her. ”They're always playing pranks on each other. Just a matter of weeks ago somebody left a fish in another student's locker. He was a good sport about it and accepted it as a joke.”
”This wasn't a joke,” Sarah said. ”Somebody killed a bird in order to do this. They did it out of hatred, not as a joke.”
”Perhaps you should ask yourself what you might have done to arouse that sort of feeling in people,” Mr. Prue said. ”Did you arrive here in Pine Crest with a superior att.i.tude that offends your new cla.s.smates? Have you hurt people's feelings by making them feel inferior? Have you wronged anyone, either intentionally or unintentionally? If this isn't a joke, then it's obviously the reaction of somebody who feels he or she has a strong and legitimate grievance. Could it be related to the fortune-telling? Something that you said to someone that hurt his or her feelings?”
”I don't know,” Sarah said, averting her eyes. His off-the-cuff guess had jabbed her in a spot where she was vulnerable; she could not deny that she had told fortunes that had upset people.
”Don't look away when I ask you a question,” Mr. Prue said sharply. ”It makes it appear as if you have something to be ashamed of.”
Sarah glanced up into eyes that, magnified by the lenses of his gla.s.ses, seemed suddenly horribly familiar.
”I don't know,” she repeated nervously. ”I guess it's possible.”
”You must also realize, there has been talk-not gossip exactly, but some speculation-about the reason your mother chose to relocate to Pine Crest,” Mr. Prue continued. ”Not for exactly the best of motives, shall we say? Those kinds of things have a way of catching up with people. Not that you were responsible, of course. You're an innocent victim of the fallout, as children often are. In the case of the student who was gifted with a fish in his locker, there was an issue over which his parents had aroused the ire of the community. Not that this excused retaliation against the student, but children are bound to mirror the emotions of their parents. It might not be a bad idea to discuss this unfortunate episode with your mother. Most loving parents-and I am sure your mother is loving, as all mothers are-do not want their beloved children to suffer the consequences of their own ill-advised actions.
”I've known Ted Thompson and his lovely family all my life. Ted is one of our most respected teachers, and Sheila is the pillar of our church. All marriages go through times of shakiness, particularly when the husband goes through what is often termed middle-age crisis and becomes vulnerable to outside influences. But if left alone, most couples manage to work their way through those problem times and become even closer for having done so. I think you understand what I'm getting at.”
”No,” Sarah said. ”Exactly what are you getting at?”
”Only that if you should make your mother aware of the problems she is causing for you, she might weigh her actions more carefully. Now, go on with your normal day and keep a smile on your face. Try to act as if they haven't gotten to you, and when they don't get a reaction, this kind of teasing usually stops in a jiffy. The boy who found the fish in his locker just laughed about it. The fact that he was so good-natured stopped things right there. There hasn't been another such incident.”
As Sarah turned to leave, he added, ”You'd better dispose of that thing promptly. Dead birds carry all kinds of diseases.”
”What should I do with it?” Sarah asked him. ”Drop it in a wastebasket?”
”Certainly not. We don't want it here in the school building. Put it in the garbage bin behind the cafeteria. Oh, and on your way out, ask Mrs. Ellis to write you a tardy excuse for your next cla.s.s.”
Stunned by the finality of his response, Sarah did as directed, stopping at the secretary's desk to collect a tardy excuse. Then, moving like a zombie, she went out to the bin behind the lunchroom and opened the lid. The stench of rotting food rose to fill her nostrils, and bile surged into the back of her throat, threatening to strangle her. Struggling to keep from vomiting, she dropped the soggy bundle on top of a pile of moldy pasta and slammed the lid closed.
”May G.o.d have mercy on your soul,” she whispered to the crow.
The thought of going to cla.s.s, presenting her excuse, and turning to face her fellow students, most of whom probably knew why she was late and were eagerly antic.i.p.ating her reaction, was intolerable. But so was going home to face Rosemary, who would a.s.sume that she was sick and insist on dosing her with orange juice and aspirin.
It was all too much. Leaning against the garbage bin, she buried her face in her hands and let the tears come.
”Sarah?” a voice asked softly. ”Are you okay?”
”What are you doing out here?” Sarah choked out the question without uncovering her face. ”You're supposed to be in history cla.s.s.”
”I got to school late,” Charlie said. ”My dad had a doctor's appointment. We only have one car, so I had to drop Mom off at work and take Dad to the doctor and then take him home after. When I got to school, I saw you down at the end of the hall headed out the back door. What's going on?”
”Somebody left a dead crow in my locker,” Sarah said bluntly.
”A crow? You mean like a bird? They put a dead bird in your locker?”