I’m suddenly so deeply, vividly angry that my hands shake. I have to stop to take a breath, looking up at the building. “What the hell, Josie?” I say aloud. “How could you do that to us? How could you?” Even from my self-centered, surfer-loser sister, it’s hard to fathom.
It’s appropriate that we’re in Auckland, the land of volcanoes, because my middle feels like it’s turned to magma, burning hot and impossible to calm.
When I find her, I don’t know what I’ll do. Hit her? Spit on her? Hug her?
I have no idea.
Chapter Four
Mari
Simon and I arrange to meet Sarah’s teacher before class. We drive separately so that we can head out on our own afterward, me to Sapphire House to start taking notes, him to his empire of gyms.
I’m in the best possible mood, thanks to dawn sex with my fit and vigorous husband, which made me so cheerful I whipped up blueberry muffins for breakfast, which even Sarah ate with alacrity, after picking at her food the past few days. I peer at her in the rearview, and she’s gazing out the window, her dark hair swept back from her freckled face. She’s so unlike me that it’s a little strange. You’d think your own child would have some resemblance to you, but she’s my father and my sister, all in one.
Perhaps a fitting punishment for my sins, though I try not to dwell on it. Accept the things you cannot change and all that.
What I do know is that Sarah will hate it when the other girls stop growing and she keeps on, just as my sister did. Already she has bigger hands and feet than the other girls and a solidness that is nothing close to fat, but she’ll see it that way if we don’t stay at it, countering the bullshit that she hears day in, day out.
“Swim club today, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” she says, her accent so very New Zealand, yis. “I beat Mara yesterday.”
Her nemesis. “That’s fantastic. You’re stronger than she is, by far.”
She shrugs, then meets my eyes in the mirror. “You don’t have to go to the school, you know.”
“I don’t have to,” I agree mildly. “But you don’t seem very happy lately, and your dad and I want to make sure everything is okay.”
“My teachers don’t know anything.” Her tone is not scornful, only matter-of-fact.
The traffic is thick, and I have to pay attention to the road for a few moments. At the next stoplight, I say, “What don’t they know?”
Her wide mouth flattens into an expression of resignation. She just shakes her head.
“Sarah, it will be a lot easier to help you if you let me in on what’s going on.”
She doesn’t reply. I pull into the school lot. Simon’s Infiniti is not yet here, so I turn off the car, unbuckle my belt, and turn around, sorting through the ten thousand possible responses for the one that will help unlock the secret here. “Are you having trouble with a friend?”
“No.”
“I’m not sure why you won’t just tell me. You know you can trust me.”
“I can trust you, but if I tell you, everything just gets worse, and no one will like me at all.”
“What will get worse?”
She shouts, “I don’t want to tell you! Don’t you understand?”
Reaching through the seats, I wrap my hand around her ankle and just sit there, willing myself to believe her secret is not as dire as mine was when I was just a little older. She’s a well-tended, well-observed child. “All right. There’s your dad. I’ll just pop into the school.”
I meet Simon at the door, and he takes my hand. Our unified front.
The teacher is young and pretty, and she blushes when Simon shakes her hand. “Good morning, Ms. Kanawa.”
“Good morning, Mr. Edwards. Mrs. Edwards. Sit down, won’t you?” She folds her hands on the desk. “How can I help?”
We outline the problem—that Sarah wants to be homeschooled suddenly, and it seems there might be something going on. Ms. Kanawa mulls it over. She says, “You know, I wonder if there might be some bullying. One of the girls is quite the queen bee, you know, and all the other girls listen to her as if she’s a royal.”
“Is it Emma Reed?” I guess. She’s a milk-and-peaches child with ribbons of spun-gold hair and enormous blue eyes—all hiding the instincts of a barracuda.
Ms. Kanawa nods. “She and Sarah have never got on.”
“Why’s that?” Simon asks.
“They’re both”—she pauses, chooses her words carefully—“willful girls. And there is some understanding that they are the children of popular parents.”
“Popular?” I echo.
“Well-known. Emma’s mother is a broadcaster, of course, on TVNZ, and you, Mr. Edwards, are so visible because of the clubs.” He’s the spokesman for his own gyms, the genial host inviting everyone to visit and experience the health of good exercise. He also conducts fund-raisers every year for the Auckland Safeswim Initiative, a drive to make sure every child in the city knows how to swim.
“I see.” I glance at Simon, who is wearing his unreadable genial expression, but I see his displeasure in the hard line of his mouth.
“Have you observed bullying, Ms. Kanawa?” he asks.
“Some name-calling and the like. The girls in question were reprimanded.”
“What names?” I ask.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s—”
“What names?” I repeat.
She sighs. “They call Sarah Shrek. Because she’s so tall.”
Simon is still dead silent beside me.
“And”—she slants a glance toward Simon—“Science Nerd.”
“That’s an insult?”
She lifts a shoulder.
“I’ll talk to Emma’s mother,” I say. “In the meantime, will you let me know if there seems to be more trouble?”
“Of course.”
Simon’s jaw ripples slightly. “How were the girls reprimanded?”
“Oh, I don’t . . . I can’t remember.”
“I believe you’re lying, Ms. Kanawa, and I do not tolerate lying.”
She colors and begins to protest. “No, I . . . I mean—”
Simon stands, rising to his considerable six-four height. “I would suggest you make certain that any bullying, of any child, is swiftly punished. It’s just not sporting, and it should not be tolerated.”
“Yes, yes. Of course you’re right.” Her cheeks burn magenta.
“And do not lie to me again.”
Simon takes my hand as we walk out, and he’s walking fast enough that I have trouble keeping up and skip behind him. He finally notices and halts. “Sorry. I just hate bullies.”
“I know.” I never liked big sporting types before I met him, but this particular thing, his absolute adherence to fairness and honor, set him apart immediately. “I love you for it.”
His shoulders ease, and he bends down to touch our noses together. “That’s not the only thing.”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Oh, it’s not little.”
“No, dear. It surely isn’t.”