A Little Help From My Friends (Miracle Girls Book 3) Page 9

  I bite my lip and take a few steps away from the building. “The marching band is winding down now.” I grab my arms and hug myself to stay warm. It’s going to be a cold bike ride home. “And you guys are busy a lot. I just thought it’d be fun.” Chill bumps raise on my arm.

  “You can drop out at sixteen, but only if your parents consent.” Michael leans in close and studies my face. “Are you parents going to consent?”

  “I’m still going to school.” I shrug at him. “I’ll only be working a few nights and Saturdays.”

  “What about your parents?” The exterior lights from El Bueno Burrito fall across Riley’s burning stare. “Do they know about this?”

  I rub my hands together and blow into them. “Yeah, they’re . . . it’ll be fine.” I’ll tell them now that it’s settled.

  “I’m cold. I want to go home now.” Michael pulls his Windbreaker from his waist and threads his arms through the sleeves.

  I need to change the subject, distract Riley. “Speaking of, where on earth has Tom been?” This really isn’t the time to talk about this, but that’s what comes to mind. Lately Riley’s mentioned Tom less and less. If I didn’t know better, I could swear that . . .“College must be as fun as they say.”

  “Ha ha ha,” she laughs loudly. “Oh yeah. He’s great.” She opens up her bag of food and sniffs. Michael begins to pull her arm, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “He’s really awesome.”

  I can tell there’s more to this story, and I want to ask her all about it, but something about her forced laugh and ear-to-ear smile stops me. If she wanted to talk about it, she would. “That’s good.” I nod and smile at her reassuringly. But maybe I should nudge her to talk about it. Is that what a friend would do? “He should come down. I’d love to see him.”

  “Oh, he will.” Riley allows herself to be led away a few feet. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  Michael walks around behind her back and pushes with both of his hands. “Let’s go.” He’s not angry, just determined.

  “Tell Dreamy and Ed I said hi,” she says over her shoulder.

  “Sure!” I wave at them and smile as they walk away. “Of course I will.”

  I wait for Riley and Michael to disappear around the corner of the shopping center, then unchain my bike. I swing my leg over the middle bar and take a deep breath for the long, cold ride home.

  21

  “Ms. Moore always took time to make sure we understood the symbolism in the stories we read.” Riley is cool, calm, composed. She smiles out at the audience as if she does this sort of thing all the time.

  Of the four of us, we decided Riley was the best choice to speak at Ms. Moore’s hearing. I’d rather go to school in my underwear than get up in front of a group of people like this. We still don’t even know who filed the lawsuit, but we hope to pick up some clues tonight.

  “She taught us that when you just look at the surface, you’re only getting half the story. It’s when you dig in, read carefully, and try to understand the meanings and images behind the words that you can begin to understand what a book is really about.” Riley glances down at her page of notes and then back at the crowd. She makes it look so easy.

  “And, she taught us that people are like that too. When you look beyond their actions and try to understand their motivations, what makes them do the things they do, things often look a whole lot different.” Riley pauses and takes a deep breath. “It’s time to look deeply not only at what Ms. Moore taught us, but why. She truly cares about her students. Now it’s time for us to do the same for her. It’s time to bring Ms. Moore back to Marina Vista.”

  Riley steps away from the microphone and ducks her head as the crowd in the theater begins to clap. She walks down the steps back to our seats, and a few guys whistle as she makes her way up the aisle.

  “Thank you, Riley,” Ms. Lovchuck says, taking her place behind the podium at the center of the stage. “Anyone else?”

  The theater is packed tonight and every seat is filled. Christine’s dad, a local politician, is sitting in the back row with the head of the school board and taking furious notes. There are even people standing at the back and squeezed into the aisles. I’m not sure if our outreach effort helped or hurt our cause. Our e-mails and posters brought out Ms. Moore’s supporters, but they also inspired her detractors and a fair number of people who simply love a good scandal. The whole meeting has the air of a daytime talk show.

  Someone pops up in the front of the room as Riley plops into the seat next to Christine.

  “Kayleen. The microphone is yours.” Ms. Lovchuck gives her a canned smile and steps back offstage.

  Kayleen, the bubbly blonde cheerleader, adjusts the microphone, clears her throat, and starts to read from a sheet of paper. “When I found out that I got the new English teacher,Ms. Moore, my freshman year, I was excited.” Marcus grabs my hand and holds onto it tightly. I squeeze it back.

  “But I quickly realized there was something odd about her. Something unusual. Her assignments got weirder and weirder—”

  I try to stand up and protest, but Marcus grabs my arm and pulls me back down.

  “Let it go,” he whispers.

  Kayleen looks up from her paper. “Can anyone tell me what having all the guys in our class—and none of the girls—put on wigs and read Shakespeare aloud has to do with learning?” A few people snicker and one person claps. I swing around in my folding chair and try to see who it is, but it’s impossible to know.

  “Great writers like Shakespeare deserve our respect, not fake sword fights and cross-dressing.” I make my fists into balls and dig my fingernails into my palms. Is Kayleen some kind of idiot? Ms. Moore told us why she did that. In Shakespeare’s day, women were not allowed to be actors. For the female parts, men would wear wigs and dresses and talk in high voices. She wanted us to see what it would have been like to see the plays in context. Plus, if I know Ms. Moore, she was probably also saying something about the rights of women.

  “And then there is her syllabus. My friends at other schools are reading classics like Mark Twain, Herman Melville, and Ernest Hemingway.” Kayleen holds her paper a little closer to her face. I shake my hands, trying to calm down and stay relaxed. I want people to see that I have complete confidence in my position. “So why are we reading books by writers neither I, nor my parents,” Kayleen looks up and smiles at a slim, attractive couple, “have ever heard of, people like Chinua Achebe, Sandra Cisneros, and Amy Tan?”

  I lean forward and try to catch Ms. Moore’s eye. I want her to know that I recognize Kayleen is distorting the truth, but she doesn’t see me. She’s sitting by a portly, older gentleman in a very expensive-looking suit. Marcus said he’s her lawyer, and she’s probably been advised not to speak at all tonight.

  Kayleen clears her throat and takes a deep breath. “Thank you for listening to my speech. I tried to report the facts and avoid emotions.”

  I snort, unable to control myself. If Kayleen had been paying attention at all in Ms. Moore’s class, she would have learned that calling something a fact doesn’t make it true. I grip my hands together.

  “You may hear a lot tonight about the kindness of Ms. Moore, and she probably is a good person. But what Half Moon Bay and the teachers, parents, and student body of Marina Vista need to decide is if she’s a good teacher.” My leg starts to bounce up and down.

  Kayleen lowers her paper and locks eyes with me.

  “And I’m afraid the answer to this question is no.”

  I want to spring from my seat, fly across the room, and scratch Kayleen’s eyes out. I restrain myself—barely.

  “We can, and should, do better by our students. Thank you.” Kayleen lowers her head in some kind of bow, and a few people begin to clap forcefully. My heart sinks. I can’t believe people are clapping for her. That speech was . . . that was unbelievable. It was wrong. It was . . .

  And before I know what I’m doing, I’m standing up and pushing my way toward the aisle.

 
; “Go, Zoe!” Ana calls. She’s still pretty upset about the big breakup, but there was no question that she’d come tonight. So much is on the line. I feel every eye in the theater on me as I make my way to the front of the room.

  Kayleen sits down next to her parents, but Ms. Lovchuck hasn’t even made it to the podium when I storm onto the stage. My footsteps echo in the huge room, and she retreats, standing by the big curtain at the edge of the stage, waiting.

  “Hi,” I say leaning down a little. I adjust the microphone. Being tall isn’t always so awesome.

  “Louder!” A man in the back says, and my cheeks flush red.

  I fumble with the mic stand, twisting the middle joint, trying to extend the pole a little. There’s a garbled sound as my hair drapes over the mic. Finally I get the stupid thing to work.

  “Is this better?”

  Some people nod and mumble yes. I clear my throat and glance at my hands, which is dumb because I know I didn’t bring anything with me. It’s not like I really thought this out, and I don’t exactly know what I’m going to say here. I only knew I had to speak out.

  “Ms. Moore has been like a second mother to me, a friend—even a sister,” I say quietly. I scan the crowd, but of course he’s not here. He doesn’t even know Ms. Moore, but my stomach still drops a little. “Whenever I had trouble with schoolwork, with friends, or with other stuff, I always knew I could go to Ms. Moore. She’d be there for me with a kind word, some wise advice, or just an ear to listen.”

  I hear two people in the third row talking and some programs rustling. Everywhere I look, eyes are wandering. I say a quick prayer for eloquence. I need God to make my tongue mighty like Aaron’s in the Bible. Ms. Moore’s always been there for us, and I can’t let her down.

  I grab the mic out of the stand and take a few steps. “And you know, honestly, a few of the stories I’ve heard tonight are sickening, really.” I shake my head, thinking about Kayleen’s little performance. “Some people check into their job in the morning and check out in the afternoon. But Ms. Moore lived, breathed, ate, and slept her role as a teacher at Marina Vista.” My voice gets louder with each sentence. “She was tireless, starting the Earth First club, pitching in with counseling when Mrs. Canning—”

  Mrs. Canning smiles warily from the audience.

  “When Mrs. Canning’s schedule got overloaded. But probably the best part about Ms. Moore was that she taught us to dream big.”

  Kayleen nudges Ashley, and they smirk back at me, but it only fuels me to keep going. I know I’m right, and that gives me the courage to keep talking.

  “I was born in Half Moon Bay, and I’ve lived my whole life in this little town. But thanks to Ms. Moore, I have learned about the horrors of oppression in Africa, I have read what it’s like to grow up in this country as a young woman from Mexico, and I have sat with aging Chinese women and heard them tell amazing stories.”

  I feel adrenaline pulsing through me as I speak. The audience stares back at me, but at least they seem to be paying attention. I shut my eyes and pray that my words can make a difference.

  “I may only be Zoe Fairchild, the little redhead girl you grew up with, but by reading the stories of other people from worlds far beyond the borders of Half Moon Bay, I have become a citizen of the world.” My voice warbles on the last few words. Whenever I get upset, I start to cry, but I can’t let myself do that here.

  “Ms. Moore, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from you—aside from the fact that Shakespeare plays were originally acted only by men, some of whom wore wigs to portray the women’s roles,” I can’t resist finding Kayleen’s smug, perfect face and giving her a cold, hard stare, “it’s that you have to know right from wrong and stand up for what’s right.” The words feel as though they are being pumped from my heart, through my bloodstream, and onto my tongue. It’s as effortless as breathing.

  Marcus smiles and shakes his head at me. I avoid his eye. It’s not that I . . . I just don’t want to get distracted. I clear my throat.

  “And you were what was right in my life, in all of our lives. I will not stand by and watch you get pushed aside.”

  Slowly someone starts clapping, and I follow the sound. Marcus rises from his chair.

  “It’s . . .” Marcus keeps clapping for all to see. “It’s about loyalty.” I look away and sweep my hands over the crowd. “About standing up for those who’ve stood by you.”

  Marcus puts his fingers in his mouth and lets out a high-pitched whistle. Christine and Riley stand up next to him and start to clap, and Ana joins them a second later. I take a deep breath and keep my eyes away from Marcus.

  “Ms. Moore, I learned all of that from you. It’s a lesson I’ll never forget.”

  She smiles at me, and I beam back at her. I mean every word of it.

  “ ‘Is Ms. Moore a good person?’ ” I shrug and laugh. “Of course. Not even her detractors can deny that. But is she a good teacher?” I shake my head at the crowd. “No, she’s not.”

  A hear a small gasp in the audience and then some murmuring.

  “She’s the best teacher Marina Vista ever had.” I hold my breath and listen to the sound of Marcus and the girls clapping.

  Other people join in, and slowly everyone sitting in the chairs, except for a few with arms crossed over their chests, rise to their feet and clap and cheer. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Marcus staring at me like I’m a hero, as if I’m the most righteous and noble woman who has ever walked the earth.

  I steal a glance at Ms. Moore, but she has her face buried in a tissue. I have to bite my lip so I don’t start sobbing on the stage—for her, for all the ways life is cruel and unfair, for all the ways I’ve failed everyone.

  ***

  We’re on our way to the car at the end of what feels like a very long night when I hear a hoarse whisper.

  “Hey.”

  I know that voice. “Ashley?” I match my hushed tone to hers. “I’m not in the mood, okay?” I rub my itching eyes and shake my head. It feels like hours have passed, though the hearing ended a few minutes ago, after a couple more people spoke.

  “Look—” Ashley peers over her shoulder and then leans in closer to me. Marcus is only a few feet behind us. “I know who did it.”

  I rock back on my heels. What kind of cruel joke is she playing this time? “Did what?”

  Ashley shakes her head and pulls me closer to her. “I know who got Ms. Moore fired.”

  My eyes go wide. Obviously we figured out it was Kayleen tonight, but I didn’t expect her friend to rat her out.

  “We need to talk.” She fingers her program, folded into the shape of a fan. “Just you and me. Can you do lunch on Monday?”

  I would swear this is a setup, but something about Ashley’s face says she’s not putting me on. I’m usually pretty good at reading people. It’s my thing. “Okay,” I say, taking pains to sound noncommittal just in case she really is messing with me.

  “Don’t tell anyone about any of this.” Ashley takes a few steps and looks around again. “I mean it.”

  22

  My door squeaks open.

  “Hey,” I say, not looking up. “I’ll be right down to help with dinner. I need to finish this problem.”

  Dreamy doesn’t answer me. I raise my head.

  “Oh . . . Nick?” I shake my head. He hasn’t actually set foot in my room since he’s been home. “I thought you were Dreamy.”

  “Listen, kiddo, can I get some help?” Nick crosses his arms over his chest and then uncrosses them. They dangle awkwardly at his sides, and I have to fight the urge to hand him an object to give him something to do with his hands. “I need some help with the horses. Dox in particular—”

  “No.” I put my pencil down on my desk. “Not going to happen.” Dreamy and Ed called Nick the day Alfalfa nearly dragged me to the grave, but I don’t think he’s really ever understood what I went through. Nick’s just like Ed. They think horses are innately good creatures that couldn’t hurt a fly.
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  “Zoe, Dox has an infection. I need your help so I can give him his medicine.” He frowns at me. “And honestly, I don’t think Dreamy has done much of . . .” He kicks at something imaginary on my floor. “I’ve been feeding them, but I don’t know what else has been done.”

  While I inherited Ed’s wild red hair, Nick has Dreamy’s thick, dark mane, and though he’s deeply tanned, there are dark circles under his eyes.

  “We have to do it for Ed.” Nickturns and waits to see if I’ll follow him.

  I sigh and start looking for my shoes. I don’t want to be anywhere near the horses, but what can I do? “I’m only going to help you with Dox. That’s it.” I shove my sockless foot in a sneaker. “I’m willing to do anything around this house except mess with those horses.”

  “Thank you.” Nick’s tone is a little weird. He seems really worried for some reason. I shove my other foot in my shoe and follow him down the stairs.

  Wordlessly, we walk through the dark living room and slip out the sliding glass door. I hesitate for a moment. The ugly purple hot tub Ed got last year seems so ridiculous now. Nick starts down the stairs, and I give in and follow him. It’s a good ten-minute walk, and we don’t say a word the whole way. I watch my breath come out in little puffs in the early December air.

  Nick opens the stable door, and a horrible stench hits me. Ed usually gets out here every day and cleans the horse stalls. Nick has been coming out here as much as possible, but it’s a lot of work. Suddenly I feel like a failure. Ed was probably depending on us to take care of his horses. “I’ll start in the stalls.” I grab the old shovel near the door.

  “Thanks, kiddo.” Nick begins to gather hay and carrots for the horses. I hear old Alfalfa neigh. He was a good friend once. I wish things hadn’t ended like they did, but, well, maybe everything happens for a reason. Without horseback riding to occupy my time, I had to make real friends.