that, and she’d been speaking in a hectoring voice. But before she could say anything more, the fire alarm rang, and they all headed outside into the frozen morning, coatless. Dory saw Leanne usher a group of kids to their assigned part of the athletic field. The kids were lively, playful, taking this opportunity to stretch and preen and get a little exercise, forming packs and then breaking off into little clusters. Anything was possible for them; you could see this even at a casual glance during a fire drill. Leanne looked young and exotic, wrapped in some gold-threaded blouse that only she could “get away with,” as people said. The principal, Dory saw, kept glancing in her direction.
Bev Cutler, over by the side, so overweight, stood with her hands pushed deep into her skirt pockets, as if about to scatter seed for birds. Though she was an experienced guidance counselor and in charge of helping the kids plan their futures, it seemed, increasingly, as if she was lost inside her swollen self.
Then, up ahead, Dory saw Robby surrounded by kids, as he always was, especially boys. He caught sight of his wife and waved, smiled, then returned to what he’d been saying to them. He liked holding court, making little speeches to small groups of kids, who always liked to listen. By a frozen tree, out of the side of her vision, Dory noticed one of the school’s teenaged couples shivering and taking solace in their own embrace. Without really looking, she assumed it was Chloe Vincent and Max Holleran, eleventh-graders who, as the entire school knew, had been involved for years. The boy wrapped the girl into himself to keep her warm, and her head was ducked against him. Dory saw, from a distance, the way their breath sifted into the air, and also the flowering of the girl’s golden red hair against the dark field of the boy’s maroon sweater.
Immediately she felt multiple, clarifying shocks: first, that it was Willa, then, that it was someone with Willa in a somewhat sexual state. And then, of course, that it was Eli Heller, the boy Willa barely ever seemed to acknowledge.
Dory was now hot-faced in the cold. She turned to motion to Robby, as if to say, Look. But he had been spirited away. She stood alone beside the school and the emptying field, until one of her students came over and said, “Ms. L, everyone’s going in.”
Later, still agitated and still not even exactly aware of why, she went downstairs to Leanne’s office, two doors down from the pool. LEANNE BANNERJEE, PH.D., read the metal sign on her door. Chlorine congested the little room; distantly, there were splashes and whistles, as teenagers pushed their seal-selves through water. Leanne had a stack of student folders on her lap with color-coded stickers on them. One folder was peppered with the full spectrum of stickers, foretelling a life of specialists and trouble. Dory Lang sat in the chair where the students usually sat, and Leanne leaned forward in her own chair, beneath a poster of a girl cutting herself.
“What’s the deal?” Leanne asked.
“It’s Willa. I saw her with Eli during the fire drill. They were intertwined, let’s call it.”
“Oh,” said Leanne after a second. “Okay.”
“You don’t seem very surprised.” Then Dory added, “Wait. Leanne, you knew?”
The school psychologist pushed back in her chair, as if wanting to escape from her good friend, but there was nowhere for her to go, and she backed into her desk. “I thought you knew too, Dory,” she said. “I just thought you hadn’t mentioned it to me.”
“Well, no, I didn’t know,” Dory said. “Not at all.”
“I knew pretty much immediately.”
“You did?”
“Sure,” said Leanne. “I spend so much time in here telling kids that I know their attractions are completely thrilling. Then, after we get that out of the way, I remind them that they don’t want to screw up their lives like that teenage couple from Elro did a few years ago—the one
Bev Cutler, over by the side, so overweight, stood with her hands pushed deep into her skirt pockets, as if about to scatter seed for birds. Though she was an experienced guidance counselor and in charge of helping the kids plan their futures, it seemed, increasingly, as if she was lost inside her swollen self.
Then, up ahead, Dory saw Robby surrounded by kids, as he always was, especially boys. He caught sight of his wife and waved, smiled, then returned to what he’d been saying to them. He liked holding court, making little speeches to small groups of kids, who always liked to listen. By a frozen tree, out of the side of her vision, Dory noticed one of the school’s teenaged couples shivering and taking solace in their own embrace. Without really looking, she assumed it was Chloe Vincent and Max Holleran, eleventh-graders who, as the entire school knew, had been involved for years. The boy wrapped the girl into himself to keep her warm, and her head was ducked against him. Dory saw, from a distance, the way their breath sifted into the air, and also the flowering of the girl’s golden red hair against the dark field of the boy’s maroon sweater.
Immediately she felt multiple, clarifying shocks: first, that it was Willa, then, that it was someone with Willa in a somewhat sexual state. And then, of course, that it was Eli Heller, the boy Willa barely ever seemed to acknowledge.
Dory was now hot-faced in the cold. She turned to motion to Robby, as if to say, Look. But he had been spirited away. She stood alone beside the school and the emptying field, until one of her students came over and said, “Ms. L, everyone’s going in.”
Later, still agitated and still not even exactly aware of why, she went downstairs to Leanne’s office, two doors down from the pool. LEANNE BANNERJEE, PH.D., read the metal sign on her door. Chlorine congested the little room; distantly, there were splashes and whistles, as teenagers pushed their seal-selves through water. Leanne had a stack of student folders on her lap with color-coded stickers on them. One folder was peppered with the full spectrum of stickers, foretelling a life of specialists and trouble. Dory Lang sat in the chair where the students usually sat, and Leanne leaned forward in her own chair, beneath a poster of a girl cutting herself.
“What’s the deal?” Leanne asked.
“It’s Willa. I saw her with Eli during the fire drill. They were intertwined, let’s call it.”
“Oh,” said Leanne after a second. “Okay.”
“You don’t seem very surprised.” Then Dory added, “Wait. Leanne, you knew?”
The school psychologist pushed back in her chair, as if wanting to escape from her good friend, but there was nowhere for her to go, and she backed into her desk. “I thought you knew too, Dory,” she said. “I just thought you hadn’t mentioned it to me.”
“Well, no, I didn’t know,” Dory said. “Not at all.”
“I knew pretty much immediately.”
“You did?”
“Sure,” said Leanne. “I spend so much time in here telling kids that I know their attractions are completely thrilling. Then, after we get that out of the way, I remind them that they don’t want to screw up their lives like that teenage couple from Elro did a few years ago—the one
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