Pretty Girls Dancing(13)
“Don’t push me!” Her voice rang out.
“What? What’s going on?” As the last cluster of students headed through the doorway, Latham looked their way, frowning again.
“Nothing, Mr. Latham.” Heather winced, cradling her wrist in her other hand. “I’ll be fine.”
He marched down the aisle toward them, his dark mustache twitching in irritation. “What’s wrong with your hand? Are you hurt?”
Janie’s gaze bounced between Heather and the teacher incredulously. He was actually buying this farce?
“Not really. I banged it on the desk when Janie shoved me, but—”
“I didn’t.”
It was as if Janie hadn’t spoken. “To the office, both of you. Heather, have the nurse look at your wrist. Janie, see Mrs. Rimble.”
“What?” The scene was taking on a cartoonish aspect. “Why?”
“Because I said so. Now go.” He’d already turned away. Students for the next period were straggling in.
Temper nearly choking her, Janie strode toward the door. In light of Heather’s words, it was somehow worse being sent to Rimble, the counselor, and not Templeton, the dean of students. She stopped, waiting impatiently for a couple of girls to stop talking and then followed them through the doorway. But Heather was full of shit if she thought Janie hadn’t earned every grade and test score on her own. And she’d managed it without flashing her boobs at that creeper Latham.
Behind her she heard, “Oh, that’s such a good call, Mr. Latham. Janie is probably a little on edge because of that missing girl from Saxon Falls. I’m sure it reminds her of her sister . . .”
Janie shouldered her way through the jammed hallways, her free hand clenched at her side. She’d figured out the Heather Millers of the world long ago. They were experts at sizing up people’s vulnerabilities and then pressing the right button every chance they got. Heather was more accomplished than most because somehow she always managed to be the wounded party.
Anger scorched Janie’s stomach as she made her way toward the office. Latham wouldn’t cut her the slightest slack when it came to making a speech in front of the class, but he lacked the balls to send her to Templeton. And she knew exactly what was behind his sudden solicitousness. The days of you getting a free pass because of your poor dead sister are almost over.
There was a kernel of truth in the taunt. Between the accommodations required for her social anxiety and her family tragedy, there were few teachers in the school who didn’t treat her just a little bit differently from other students. Barely perceptible, but the kid gloves were there. Which was another reason she was determined to attend college as far away from West Bend, Ohio, as possible. There was nothing that burned quite as much as pity. Kelsey would have despised it even more than Janie did.
She was jostled again by the wall of students, this time harder. Janie tried to right herself but tripped over something and fell to all fours. A knee to her back sent her sprawling face-first.
“Oh, goodness, Janie, are you hurt?”
The voice ringing through the hallway was instantly recognizable. A moment later, Heather crouched gracefully down beside her, her hand extended. “Let me help you.”
It was unplanned. Automatic. Janie reached out a hand to grasp Heather’s before yanking her down, hard. Off balance, the other girl toppled to the floor, rapping her face smartly on the edge of the laptop she clutched. On cue, the perfect nose her parents had bought for her two summers earlier began to gush.
Heather stemmed the flow with her fingers, looking at the bright-red blood with disbelief quickly followed by rage. “You . . . bitch!” Her hand flew out, slapping Janie with enough force to snap her head to the side. She dropped her things and launched herself toward Janie, fingers curled.
She clamped her hands around Heather’s wrists, struggling to keep the other girl’s nails from raking her face.
“Cat fight!”
“Throw a punch!”
“Lose the clothes!” The crowd around them began to swell. Then was abruptly parted.
“That’s enough! Heather! Enough!”
One moment Janie was dangerously close to losing an eye. The next, the other girl was gone, lifted away and held tightly by—Janie’s heart took a nosedive—Susan Booker, the principal. Shit.
“She started it! I was just trying to help her up, and she . . .” Predictably, Heather dissolved into tears. “She hit me! Look at my nose!”
Slowly Janie gathered her things and got up. As she rose, she glanced at the crowd of students being dispersed by a couple of teachers and felt everything inside her go to ice. Her lungs clogged. Anxiety balled in her chest, spreading its tentacles to curl around her heart. Squeeze. She was the center of attention and for a moment couldn’t move. Speak. Breathe.
“Janie!” The principal’s voice cracked like a whip as she moved Heather away with a hand at her back. “To the office! The rest of you, get to class!”
“I don’t know whether to be baffled at this turn of events, or proud.”
Janie’s surprised gaze met Rimble’s for the first time since entering her office moments ago. She’d sat outside the counselor’s door for a couple of hours. She hadn’t seen Heather, but that was unsurprising. The outer offices were a rabbit warren of exits, inside hallways, and smaller rooms. The nurse’s room was next to the principal in the interior space. Rimble had just appeared moments ago. Janie could guess where she’d been.