from any possible blame for Jeanie’s actions.
The inexorable march of a single voice sounded from the office. Jeanie frowned after the girl and then at the closed door. With sudden decision, she knocked on the door and turned the handle without waiting for an answer.
Mrs. Torrez sat enthroned behind a massive desk of black metal. Her excruciatingly perfect black-and-white hair formed a helmet around the commanding face. Steel-gray eyes matched the metallic sheen of the tailored business suit. The curtains on the only window blocked outside light and roaming eyes. Sorrel sat across from her, peculiarly colorless under the fluorescent lights.
Jeanie might have been invisible, a speck on the floor to be mopped up later.
“ ... Unfortunate behavior, Miss Quintana, especially following yesterday’s expedition to the police station to make your statement regarding the courthouse incident. I hoped we had come to an end of this intolerable rebellion. But clearly not.” The verbal dagger pricked with every word.
Sorrel looked fixedly at a knot in the floorboard between her shoes. “I didn’t do nothing.” She clasped her hands in her lap, the knuckles white.
“Ah. And yet the girls were full of your little stories.”
“We was just talking. It was rec time, we’re supposed to talk.”
“And I suppose,” the soft voice went on, “you forgot our rule about war stories? About egging others on to acts of violence?”
“I didn’t. It was just, you know, we was talking about our families, that’s all.”
The scene of debasement tore at Jeanie’s gut. Without knowing the rights or wrongs of the matter, she ranged herself beside Sorrel. Mrs. Torrez’s eyes never flickered in her direction.
“Your ‘family’? Oh yes. Your disgusting story about a family riot. Perhaps you don’t understand civilized behavior, Miss Quintana, but disrupting a wedding is hardly a usual topic in girls’ recreation, at least at this facility, no matter what you may brag of at home. Of course, I suppose I can hardly expect true comprehension from one of your family background. Your grandmother, actually stomping—”
Sorrel boiled out of her seat. “You keep your fuckin’ mouth off my grandmother.”
Jeanie stepped in front of Sorrel with a warning look. Sorrel flinched, closed her eyes, and sank into the chair.
“I beg your pardon?” said the voice, detached, mocking. “Did you speak to me?”
Jeanie turned, her mouth agape. Mrs. Torrez reached towards a set of forms squared neatly on her desk.
“Because if you did—”
“No,” said Sorrel. The words jerked out in spurts. “I mean, I’m sorry. I forgot, like, that we’re not supposed to talk about before we ... I mean, before.”
“Estelle,” said Jeanie, with determined good-humor. She’d be damned if she’d call her Mrs. Torrez. “I’m Jeanie McCoy. I’m Sorrel’s teacher. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Ah yes,” said Estelle Torrez. Her glance flicked the doorway and sliced across Jeanie’s cheek. A slight rearrangement of her swivel chair brought Sorrel back into view.
“I’m afraid,” Jeanie said firmly, “this misunderstanding is my fault. Sorrel and I were discussing essay topics, working on brainstorming techniques so she doesn’t freeze come test time. The story of the prank at the wedding came up then.”
“Prank.”
“Yes, a prank. Some families pull pranks on each other at weddings. It’s traditional. My own father carried a whip and shotgun to my wedding reception.”
“Really. Well, Mrs. McCoy, I can’t answer for what may be traditional in your family, but that’s not overly important. You don’t appear to be quite with the program, and that is important. By glorifying disorderly behavior, Miss Quintana is undermining the structure of this facility. She must adapt, because if this facility doesn’t suit her, she will need to await placement elsewhere. Won’t you, Miss Quintana? I believe you’ve been down this
The inexorable march of a single voice sounded from the office. Jeanie frowned after the girl and then at the closed door. With sudden decision, she knocked on the door and turned the handle without waiting for an answer.
Mrs. Torrez sat enthroned behind a massive desk of black metal. Her excruciatingly perfect black-and-white hair formed a helmet around the commanding face. Steel-gray eyes matched the metallic sheen of the tailored business suit. The curtains on the only window blocked outside light and roaming eyes. Sorrel sat across from her, peculiarly colorless under the fluorescent lights.
Jeanie might have been invisible, a speck on the floor to be mopped up later.
“ ... Unfortunate behavior, Miss Quintana, especially following yesterday’s expedition to the police station to make your statement regarding the courthouse incident. I hoped we had come to an end of this intolerable rebellion. But clearly not.” The verbal dagger pricked with every word.
Sorrel looked fixedly at a knot in the floorboard between her shoes. “I didn’t do nothing.” She clasped her hands in her lap, the knuckles white.
“Ah. And yet the girls were full of your little stories.”
“We was just talking. It was rec time, we’re supposed to talk.”
“And I suppose,” the soft voice went on, “you forgot our rule about war stories? About egging others on to acts of violence?”
“I didn’t. It was just, you know, we was talking about our families, that’s all.”
The scene of debasement tore at Jeanie’s gut. Without knowing the rights or wrongs of the matter, she ranged herself beside Sorrel. Mrs. Torrez’s eyes never flickered in her direction.
“Your ‘family’? Oh yes. Your disgusting story about a family riot. Perhaps you don’t understand civilized behavior, Miss Quintana, but disrupting a wedding is hardly a usual topic in girls’ recreation, at least at this facility, no matter what you may brag of at home. Of course, I suppose I can hardly expect true comprehension from one of your family background. Your grandmother, actually stomping—”
Sorrel boiled out of her seat. “You keep your fuckin’ mouth off my grandmother.”
Jeanie stepped in front of Sorrel with a warning look. Sorrel flinched, closed her eyes, and sank into the chair.
“I beg your pardon?” said the voice, detached, mocking. “Did you speak to me?”
Jeanie turned, her mouth agape. Mrs. Torrez reached towards a set of forms squared neatly on her desk.
“Because if you did—”
“No,” said Sorrel. The words jerked out in spurts. “I mean, I’m sorry. I forgot, like, that we’re not supposed to talk about before we ... I mean, before.”
“Estelle,” said Jeanie, with determined good-humor. She’d be damned if she’d call her Mrs. Torrez. “I’m Jeanie McCoy. I’m Sorrel’s teacher. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Ah yes,” said Estelle Torrez. Her glance flicked the doorway and sliced across Jeanie’s cheek. A slight rearrangement of her swivel chair brought Sorrel back into view.
“I’m afraid,” Jeanie said firmly, “this misunderstanding is my fault. Sorrel and I were discussing essay topics, working on brainstorming techniques so she doesn’t freeze come test time. The story of the prank at the wedding came up then.”
“Prank.”
“Yes, a prank. Some families pull pranks on each other at weddings. It’s traditional. My own father carried a whip and shotgun to my wedding reception.”
“Really. Well, Mrs. McCoy, I can’t answer for what may be traditional in your family, but that’s not overly important. You don’t appear to be quite with the program, and that is important. By glorifying disorderly behavior, Miss Quintana is undermining the structure of this facility. She must adapt, because if this facility doesn’t suit her, she will need to await placement elsewhere. Won’t you, Miss Quintana? I believe you’ve been down this
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