My Best Friend's Exorcism(63)

“Mrs. Lang,” Major rumbled, “any parent would say the same thing, but I suggest that you might not know your daughter as well as you think. Abigail—”

“I asked her,” Mrs. Lang said. “You saw me, and you heard her answer. She says she doesn’t do drugs. And while my daughter is a lot of things, she is not a liar.”

“Well . . . ,” Major began.

“What was that you said she made on her PSATs?” Abby’s mom said. “Oh, you didn’t. Well, I saw her scores. They were 1520. Now I haven’t seen the scores for your other students, but I’m betting that’s a darn sight higher than some of these Middletons and Tigners whose parents’ names are all over your buildings. And I know it’s Grace Lang who called you, because she called me, too. If anyone’s doing drugs, it’s that little girl of hers, but I understand why you’re being nice to the Langs. You’re going to squeeze a damn sight more money out of them than you’ll ever get from the Rivers. I don’t judge you for it. It’s your job.”

“I do not appreciate the accusation,” Major protested.

Abby had never heard Major sound weak before.

“Not an accusation, Julius,” Abby’s mom said. “Just stating facts. I’ll be damned if you’re going to kick my daughter out of school for being poor and talking back. And I’ll be double damned if you’re going to rope me into doing your dirty work for you. If you want to throw my little girl out, you’ll have to do it yourself. And know this: the minute, the very second, that you write a letter saying she’s not suitable for Albemarle Academy, I’m going to be at the next PTA meeting questioning every single decision you’ve ever made. So you’d better have your ass covered or it’s going to be grass, and I’m going to be the lawn mower.”

Abby didn’t even know it was possible to talk to Major this way. Incandescent rage was radiating from her mother, but her voice wasn’t raised; she wasn’t yelling or carrying on. She was simply taking Major apart and glowing with a white-hot fury.

“Now, Mary,” Major said, “getting angry and blowing off steam in my office is all fine and good, but it’s not helping Abigail.”

“Save it, you puffed-up gym teacher,” Abby’s mom snarled. And, unbelievably, Major’s mouth snapped shut. “How a degree in physical education makes you qualified to run this monkey farm, I’ll never know, but that’s not up to me. Even back at the Citadel I didn’t like you. You always kissed up and kicked down.”

“Martin,” Major said, appealing to Abby’s dad, “out of respect for our friendship, I’m asking—”

“Oh, can it,” Abby’s mom said. “Martin never liked you, either.”

Abby’s dad stopped rubbing his pants for a moment and shrugged his bony shoulders.

“Now that’s not entirely true,” he said. “I just never thought about you long enough to develop an opinion.”

Major started to say something, but again Abby’s mother was on him.

“I know there are parents here who are sick and tired of the little club you run,” Mrs. Rivers continued. “I bet every single one of them would be only too eager to hear about my daughter being made a scapegoat for your incompetence. I bet they all have stories of their own. I bet if we all started talking, we could really make your job a whole lot harder.”

A long silence took hold while her threat settled.

“Mary . . . ,” Major began.

“We’re through here,” Abby’s mom said, standing up and hitching her purse over one shoulder. “I don’t want to hear any more about Abby moving to another school or having any more difficulties with you, and I don’t expect to be dragged into another waste-of-time session like this. My daughter flunks out or my daughter drops out, we’ll deal with her then—and trust me, I will tear up her hide. But this conversation right here? It is over.”

To Abby’s amazement, her dad stood up and her mom opened the door and they walked right out of Major’s office. Abby kept expecting Major to call her back or give them all Saturday School, but he didn’t make a peep. Abby was the last one out the door; she turned around to see him still sitting, bent over his desk, with his fingertips rubbing his forehead. She almost said she was sorry, but then her mother was pulling her through the little hallway, past Miss Toné, and outside.

The wind was blasting out of the marsh, scouring the Lawn, howling through the breezeway. No one said a word until they were standing by Abby’s mom’s car parked in the faculty lot, their hair and coats being tossed around. The only sound was the flag snapping in the sky behind them. For once, Abby was actually excited about going to her shift at TCBY. “Mom,” she said, “thank you. You were totally awesome and—”

Abby’s mom whirled; her face was such a mask of fury, it snatched the words right out of Abby’s mouth.

“Damn you for ever putting me in this position, Abigail,” she hissed. “How dare you have us called in here like a bunch of white trash. I have sacrificed so much for you, and this is how you repay me?”

Abby tried to put a sentence together.

“I—but I didn’t do anything,” she said. “You even said I didn’t.”

“I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt because you’re my daughter,” her mother spat. “But God help you if you make a liar out of me. How far do you think your scholarship goes? When’s the last time you looked at the bills? Your father and I scrape to keep you here, and this is how you act?”