Saving Phoebe Murrow: A Novel (12 page)

Isabel again searched Alison's face, but as before she observed only neutrality.

“Is there anything you'd like to add?” she asked Sandy.

“Well, you know, they're fourteen, or most of them are, and I think the boy-girl thing is kicking in, if you know what I mean,” she said, her demeanor slightly more comfortable than before. “They went with the boys maybe hoping they'd ask them to the fall dance.”

“I see,” Alison said with a faint smile. She waited a moment, perhaps to see if either of them had anything more to say, then added, “Well, I imagine this is a bit personal, but I wonder what steps, as you mentioned earlier, Isabel, you've taken to handle this?” She looked at Isabel, then Sandy without saying more.

Isabel felt thrown off guard; clearly the headmistress had lulled them into feeling relaxed and now this zinger. But she rose to the occasion. In fact, she relished the opportunity to illustrate the difference between her method of parenting and Sandy's. When Ron had returned after his meeting with Bill, he'd tried to shame her by describing the Littleton's light-handed approach to discipline. Now she could tell him about this.

In a matter of a few sentences, each woman described the punishment she'd meted out to her daughter: Phoebe's four weeks of being grounded; Jessie's a single weekend. As much as she tried, Isabel could not detect a bias in Alison one way or the other. What was she thinking?

“On our end, I've met with Phoebe, Jessica and Emma, and we're taking steps to provide more drug-related education and counseling to the class. We've also made it clear that we observe a zero-tolerance policy for drug use. I don't know if you're aware that Sam's mother has withdrawn him from our school?”

Both Sandy and Isabel shook their heads, though Isabel thought it for the best and made a mental note to ask Phoebe about meeting with Alison.

Alison glanced at her watch and asked if they'd stay in touch with her.

Afraid her chance would disappear Isabel spoke up, asking for a private moment. She cast an apologetic look at Sandy, then said, “Good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Sandy said in an obviously disingenuous tone. Turning to Alison, she added, “Thanks for inviting me, Ms. Kendall. So nice to see you.” The words sounded as if they'd come straight out of a book on etiquette.

Isabel felt vaguely guilty for witnessing Sandy's discomfort with such pleasure, but after Friday night, she simply couldn't help it. Isabel waited until the door closed before producing a copy of the
Slenderella
e-mail and handing it to Alison. “I'd like your input before acting on this, as a room parent, that is. I don't think it's appropriate to use the parents' e-mail list to solicit business.” Isabel watched Alison scan the page, then added, “I'm unaware of any school policy so I thought I'd check with you.”

A smile crept onto Alison's face. “
Slenderella
. How amusing.” She looked up at Isabel. “But I get your point. Thanks for raising it. I'll have Mrs. Watson send out a notice clarifying usage of the e-mail list. Anything else?”

Isabel had thought this exchange might help her gain some intimacy with Alison; at a minimum she had hoped the e-mail would be an entrée to a deeper discussion about Phoebe, maybe even broach what had transpired the previous year, but she could tell when a conversation was over. So, despite her disappointment, she smiled and thanked Alison. “If Amanda or I hear anything more from any of the parents we'll let you know. We hope to keep an open dialogue.”

At the door, Alison gazed into Isabel's eyes and said in a faintly reproachful tone, “Don't worry about Phoebe. She appears to be a good student, someone who cares about others. She has character, and that counts for a lot in life.”

Unlike her usual measured responses, Isabel was quick to react. “But I do worry about her. I'm her mother. If I don't worry, who will?” The startled look on Alison's face made Isabel regret her tone and she tried to make up for the lapse. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound harsh. Perhaps another time we can have a more in-depth conversation about Phoebe. There are some things you may not be aware of.” Somewhat wearily, she added, “I know you're too busy now and I have to get back to my office. So perhaps another time?”

“I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds,” Alison said. “I didn't mean to. Yes, certainly. I'd love to get to know Phoebe better, and you as well. It's just that in our meeting she was so disappointed about not being able to attend the dance.”

Isabel's eyes widened; she felt pierced. She wanted to say something to explain herself, but could think of nothing. “Like I said, there are things I doubt you are aware of, but thanks for telling me. I appreciate it, I really do.”

On her way back to the office in the back of a cab, an unsettled Isabel wondered exactly what Phoebe had revealed to Alison. As the cabbie angled through traffic inside the canyon of buildings on K Street, the comment that really nagged at Isabel was Alison's subtle suggestion that she allow Phoebe to attend the dance.

That evening when Isabel came home, she called for Phoebe. “Honey, come down here a minute, I want to talk to you.” She thought she heard her daughter's music two floors up. Using the intercom system, she added, “It's important, Feebs.”

She considered what she was about to do. The issue she faced was about consistency. All the books said that children needed consistency and clear boundaries. But wasn't there also a role for compromise? Compromise in legal situations often presented themselves unexpectedly. And it was up to a clever lawyer to take advantage of such moments. So maybe this was one such moment. Just then a sullen, sulky-faced Phoebe entered the kitchen.

“Come here, honey,” Isabel said, outstretching her hands. Phoebe stood her ground. Isabel moved toward her and placed her hands on her daughter's arms. Gazing into her beautiful honey-colored eyes, she said softly, “I've come to the conclusion that I was wrong, that I reacted precipitously. You
can
go to the dance, darling.”

Phoebe looked at her with disbelief. “I can? Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Phoebe screamed and hurled herself at her mother, clutching her about the neck and hugging her. “Oh, Mommy, thank you.”

In the hopes of avoiding Jessie without being obvious about it, Phoebe ducked into the girls' bathroom and waited in one of the stalls for the morning buzzer to sound. She felt terrible about it, but once Jessie knew she could go to the dance she'd be badgering her to come spend the night afterward. And that was the one thing she couldn't do. Well, her mother had left it up to her, but she'd decided to reward her mother's kindness by steering clear of Jessie, at least until after the dance.

She sought out Noah right after English class and, smiling sweetly, told him the news. Instead of grinning back at her, happy at this turn of events, he cocked his head to one side and looked at her strangely. Oh, God, now he doesn't want to go with me? A bad feeling swarmed through her insides.

“I'm sorry, Phoebe, but I can't go. With you, I mean.”

Each word felt like a karate kick to her gut. She wanted to wilt to the floor and disappear. She found it difficult to meet his uncomfortable gaze, and though she didn't want to sound wimpy or whiny, her voice sounded weak when she asked, “Did I do something?”

“No, it's just that I got another date,” he said, quick to add, “because you couldn't go. It got set up last night.”

“Really?” Phoebe's eyes fixed on the waxed wooden floor at her feet. “Who? Who are you going with?” She looked up at him, eyes wide.

It seemed as though he didn't want to tell her.

“Oh, man, this is awkward. It seemed like a good idea last night,” he said. “And I figured you knew.” He stood there staring at her.

“Noah, just tell me. Who is it?”

“Jessie.”

“
Jessie
?”

“She said you wouldn't mind since you guys are best friends and you couldn't go. You know?”

“No, I don't.” Phoebe was flabbergasted. But this time, hot, steamy anger, not tears, threatened to contort her face. She wished he'd say he would break the date, but he didn't. Why hadn't Jessie said anything to her? She could at least have texted, asking if it was okay. Why hadn't she? About something so important.

She didn't remember how she got there, but she found herself sitting fully clothed on one of the toilets studying her feet, her small Swiss Army knife in one hand. The sadness and pain that had raged through her were beginning to subside, though she felt a killer headache coming on. Her left sleeve was rolled up and wads of bloody toilet paper were stuck to her arm.

Today Phoebe was grateful that Jessie had a different lunch schedule, something that had happened when Jessie's classes had shifted a few days ago. There was no way she wanted to see her. Bad enough they had biology together. Each time she even thought about what Jessie had done, fury galloped through her. How could she?

Between morning classes, Phoebe searched for Emma, but her friend seemed absent from school. Finally, in the lunchroom she sat beside Skyla and blurted out the entire sordid story, hardly caring who heard, though only Skyla's entourage – Molly, Cara, Daisy and a few others – sat within hearing range and listened with rapt attention.

“So Noah is going with Jessie? I thought she was your friend?” Skyla said, underscoring the word
friend
.

“I guess she thought it would be okay since I couldn't go.” Phoebe could see the crazy logic in Jessie's move, but still.

Skyla arched her brows in her usual dramatic way. “Yeah, right.”

Already Phoebe regretted having told her. “I don't want to think about it.”

“Do you still want to go?” Skyla asked in a silky voice.

“I don't know. Maybe a little,” she conceded.

“Well, who would be your second choice?”

Phoebe thought for a moment. She almost said, Dylan, but she wouldn't do what Jessie had done. She shrugged. “I dunno.”

“I know. Let me ask Kevin or Max if they have a friend for you. How about that? You don't mind that he might be a sophomore?” Her tone was teasing and sly.

The idea appealed to Phoebe more than she could have imagined and her spirits lifted. Still, she couldn't believe she wouldn't be going with Noah. Without realizing it she touched her arm where she'd wounded herself earlier. If she did go there'd be no sleeveless dress for her. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I should get going,” she said. She wanted to avoid running into Jessie at all cost.

Before her last class, Phoebe stared emptily down the double row of lockers on the second floor, hoping to find Emma there. How would she get through biology? She'd thought of a dozen things to say to Jessie and a dozen ways to act, but on entering the classroom, she struggled to maintain her composure, her emotions as readily apparent as if stamped on her face.

“What's
your
problem?” Jessie asked, her eyebrows dipping into a V.

“My problem? What's yours? You asked Noah to the dance. What were you thinking?”

She seemed confused by the question and hesitated before responding. “What d'you mean? Now you don't have to worry that he'll ask somebody else. I thought you'd be happy.” Jessie stood with one arm on her hip, looking aggrieved and slightly disgusted.

“Happy? I'm totally NOT happy! Why didn't you text me first? Then you would have known my mom said I could go.”

“Yeah, and if you'd texted me last night none of this would have happened either. It's your stupid mother's fault, not mine.”

Phoebe turned away. For several minutes she and Jessie refused to look at each other. Then Jessie said, “Anyway, I'll tell Noah he can go with you.”

“It's ruined, Jess.” She shook her head.

“Yeah? Well, here's a crazy idea; why don't you stop talking about me to Skyla!”

When biology ended she ran into the bathroom again and cried. It took her several minutes not to look like a clown with red-rimmed eyes.

Isabel was in the kitchen fixing dinner.

“What are
you
doing home?” Phoebe snarled.

“That's a nice greeting,” Isabel said, giving her daughter a sidelong glance from her place by the stove, where she was stirring Phoebe's favorite dumpling soup. “I thought it would be nice to have supper waiting for all of you.”

Isabel was about to offer her daughter a snack, but before the words escaped her lips Phoebe shouted, “Oh, so you can feel like you're being the good mom? But who cares about food when you don't have friends? When your whole life is messed up?”

“What on earth is going on?” Isabel couldn't believe what she was hearing, not after last night's embrace, after the best evening they'd spent together in a while. What had happened?

Phoebe's words tumbled out willy nilly, tears streaming down her face, as Isabel tried to make sense of them. As best she could tell Noah was going to the dance with
someone
else, Phoebe refused to say with whom, and the reason for that of course was all her fault, though Phoebe now was also angry with Noah. And for some indiscernible reason Phoebe was now relegated to attending the dance with “some loser” that Kevin or Max would find for her.

Isabel wanted to ask who Kevin and Max were, but knew better than to interrupt her distraught girl. Clearly, an avalanche of pent-up resentment had broken loose. Isabel rounded the counter to put an arm around her, but Phoebe recoiled. “Don't freaking touch me!”

Isabel took a step back. Trying to keep her tone neutral, she said evenly but sternly, “Do not use language like that on me, young lady.”

Phoebe scrunched her face in anger and mocked her mother. “Young lady? Well, thanks to you this
young lady's
life sucks!”

Isabel felt like yelling back, reminding Phoebe that she'd caused her own mess, but restrained herself by counting. Ten, nine, eight…seven…Who am I angry with? she thought. In that moment she truly didn't know. Six, five, four…What do I really want now? She knew it was to get Phoebe to calm down. Once that happened she'd pour herself a little wine. Hopefully a teenage Jackson wouldn't prove as difficult.

At once Phoebe burst into tears. She slumped onto a bar-stool at the kitchen counter and released deep gulping sobs. Isabel watched her a moment before saying, “Oh, Phoebe darling, come here, honey. You've had a bad day, but it'll be okay. You'll see. I promise.” She opened her arms to her daughter, and though at first Phoebe resisted, with a bit more coaxing, she collapsed into them.

That evening, as arranged by Skyla and her date Max, a sophomore named Michael called Phoebe on her cell phone and invited her to the dance. Without even thinking about it, she accepted. Shortly after the call, she looked him up on Facebook, and there he was. Not bad looking. Kind of cute even.

A while later, Jessie texted her.
I'm sorry. It's not too late. You can still go with him
.

Phoebe texted back.
Too late. Going with Michael Singer
.

The next day Michael approached her at her locker, seemed nice enough, and the drama that had heaved and pitched inside of her settled down. Of course, she would still prefer to be going with Noah, but if that wasn't to be, oh, well.

At home that night, Phoebe asked her mom to help her pick out a dress for the dance the following weekend, to which her mother responded, “Of course, honey, I'd love to.”

Phoebe could tell that her mother's huge smile was genuine. They hadn't gone shopping together in quite a while, and she was looking forward to it as well. Only then did she remember all the gashes and wounds on her arm and thighs. Her stomach felt sick. How would she hide them in the dressing room? What would her mother do if she saw? Guilt and shame slid through her in equal measure. Maybe she would go alone, though the thought of it made her want to weep.