Qualified Immunity Page 3

  Fanning her face, Alison blew up at her pouffy blond bangs. “Whew! I’ve done all the talking. Tell me more about what your plans are. Have you thought about colleges? What do you want to do when you grow up?”

  Olivia watched Alison size her up while she came up with an answer. “I haven’t really thought about it,” Olivia answered slowly.

  “Well, I see from your file that your mom’s a judge! Are you interested in the law?”

  Olivia screwed up her face. “Not really.” If she knew one thing, it was that she didn’t want to be like her mom when she grew up.

  Alison closed the folder on her desk. “No need to talk about all this on your first day.” Had she disappointed the woman? She wanted the counselor to like her. “We just need to get you settled.” Handing Olivia a small slip of paper, she said. “Here’s your schedule.” Alison pulled the door open and called in another student from the hall. “This is Kristine. She’s on your team!” Turning to the pale girl languishing outside, she said, “Will you show Olivia around a little today?” To Olivia, “Hopefully Kris can answer any questions you have.”

  Olivia gathered her backpack, ready to follow the quiet girl.

  “Oh, wait a minute!” Alison ran back to her desk and picked up a fluorescent flyer. “Here,” she said, handing the page to Olivia. “I’ve started a Friday after school club for girls in the school. I’d love you to join us.”

  When the bell clanged signaling the end of class, Olivia snapped from her memory. Mr. Donaldson finished up quickly, assigning them reading on Russian crops and the latest civil unrest in Chechnya.

  Olivia lingered near Mr. Donaldson’s desk. She wanted to get lunch. They were serving Boston cream pie today, her absolute favorite cafeteria dessert. Rolling her head, she tried to relieve the permanent tension in her shoulders. She hated being separated out like this.

  “We’ve had a team meeting. You’re coming from a Cleveland school and we know we’re going to have to make some allowances for the learning gap. But we need your participation to make this work. Shaker has certain standards we need to uphold. You understand?” he asked, his face earnest.

  Olivia nodded, “Yes, Mr. Donaldson.”

  He came around from behind the desk and squatted his tall frame before her, coming eye to eye. “I can imagine it’s hard coming from a background that’s not like your classmates’. Hell—excuse my language—I know what it’s like to be the first person in your family to go to college. Now that you’re here in Shaker, I want you to take advantage of the opportunities presented to you.” Rising, he patted her shoulder. Even his pat was condescending. Why did everyone talk to her like she was stupid? “You can make your people proud. Okay?”

  Olivia nodded.

  “Okay, good. I’ll be expecting you to participate fully in class from now on. It’s a quarter of your grade.” Mr. Donaldson walked back behind the desk and started leafing through some papers. She’d been dismissed.

  Briiiing. Briiiing. Briiiing. Two hours later, the end-of-the-day bell trilled. Glad the school week was over, Olivia ran to her locker, twisted the combination lock, pulling open the metal door. Thinking about the pile of homework she had over the weekend, Olivia stacked most of her books, math, geography, The Pearl for English, and her notebook into her Kipling backpack.

  Almost felled by its weight, Olivia had to bounce her knees to redistribute the load on her back. The locker door made a soft clank as she closed it. She jiggled the handle to make certain it was secure then walked the long corridor to the library where Alison was holding the ‘For Girls Only!’ meeting.

  The reading room’s chairs were arranged in a tight circle with a purple felt hat in the center.

  “Olivia!” Alison bustled into the room. “I’m so glad you’re here today!”

  Olivia smiled at the greeting. Even though Alison looked like she could be one of the actresses on Ally McBeal, blond with blue eyes always in her slim fitting suits and white collared shirts, she was nice. Most pretty white girls only talked to their own kind, ignoring Olivia.

  She heaved her backpack to the floor and took a seat. On each chair, someone had placed a few Post-its. Though she had only observed so far, Olivia was ready with a question today. Like every other student in the school, she’d received her quarterly report. It wasn’t good. The only A she had was in art, the rest B’s and C’s. Her mom was going to blow her stack when she saw the grades.

  Since the move to Shaker she’d felt overwhelmed by the new school, the new apartment, trying to make friends, dealing with her mother’s moods. Instead of doing her homework like she should, she’d zoned out—watching MTV, and sneaking romance novels she’d picked up for a few cents from the Salvation Army.

  Olivia unzipped her purple backpack, got out her favorite pink glitter pen, and wrote her question on the paper. Before anyone could see, she folded the sticky-note in half, then quarters, then eighths, then sixteenths before she dropped the square in the wool hat. The other girls, late, frantically scribbled their questions. Alison started the group, her trademark smile and enthusiasm in place.

  “Girls! Welcome! I’m so glad you all could be here today. This is the first group of its kind in Shaker and I think we’re on to something. I know for most of you, this is our fifth session, so I hope you gals are getting something out of it.”

  “Remember we have ground rules because I want everyone to feel at ease, and get all they can out of this group.” Alison waved her hand impatiently when the girls groaned and fidgeted. “Everything said here is confidential. I don’t, and I’m sure you don’t want to hear your secrets whispered up and down the school’s corridors.

  “Two, I’m here to help you. If there’s anything you would like to discuss, but don’t feel you can say it in the group, then you can come see me or call me anytime. My home number’s on the board. Please write it down and keep it with you.

  “Three, please know that while I can keep most stuff confidential, Ohio law requires that I report child abuse and stuff like that to the authorities.”

  The chairs scraped across the floor in the girls’ impatience. “Okay, let’s get to the questions.” Alison picked up the hat, mixed up the slips of paper, and pulled one out.

  “First question: ‘I got my period a few days ago, but I’m afraid to tell my parents. What should I do?’ Anyone have thoughts?”

  Hands rose hesitantly. Alison nodded toward Meredith, a heavy strawberry blond girl with more freckles than friends. “Well, I think she should tell her parents. And she shouldn’t be embarrassed because it, like, happens to all girls and parents know that.”

  Lauren’s hand flew up, and Alison nodded toward her. Lauren Eggleton was perfect. She was the most popular girl in school, and she had everything: the latest jeans, sneakers, haircut. There was a girl who never had to figure out what non-dorky thing to wear in the morning.

  “I know why a girl might, like, be embarrassed,” Lauren said. “It was totally horrible when I got my first period. I told my mom, who told my dad. Then they told my little brother-monsters, and we had a big party at some restaurant like it was my birthday or something. It totally sucked. All I wanted was some alone time with my mom, and some advice on what to do. I want to use tampons, but I’m afraid I won’t be a virgin if I do. So I could see why someone wouldn’t want to tell their parents.”

  Alison nodded sagely while Lauren spoke, manicured hand stroking her chin. “Girls, I think the bottom line is that you have to tell your parents. But, maybe the best strategy would be for you to sit down with the parent you feel most comfortable with, tell them. But most importantly, communicate with them on how you want to handle it. Maybe with a party—which is acceptable in some cultures that see this as an important passage to womanhood.

  “On the other hand, maybe you only want a quiet trip to the drugstore and some tips on handling cramps. It’s important to tell your parents what you want, so they don’t guess wrong. Guessing leads to mistakes. Think about the terrible gifts
you get when they surprise you for birthdays, Christmas, or Hanukkah.”

  The girls laughed. Alison stirred up the contents of the hat again with her hand. She pulled another question from the hat. Olivia tried to hold her face expressionless when she recognized her tiny, folded square. The last thing she needed was to be known as the dumb black kid with the single mom—a cable news statistic. She was having a hard enough time fitting in.

  “Okay girls. The next question is one I expected. The first quarter’s progress reports came out today.”

  All of the girls groaned, more or less in unison.

  “The question is: ‘I got bad grades today. How do I tell my parents?’ Any of you have an answer?”

  Olivia was ready to commit their answers to memory. She could use all the help she could get. Up until now, she’d always gotten good grades. In Cleveland, the teachers loved her because she was always quiet in class and did her homework. Shaker was very different.

  Everyone was striving for good grades. She’d seen students argue, plead, and cajole teachers into better grades. In Bethune, all she had to do was sit down, shut up, and get an ‘A.’ Here, her grades were low compared to the quality of work she did, but didn’t know how to advocate for herself. So she’d stopped trying.

  “Who has advice for this girl?” Alison asked.

  Only Beth raised her hand. Olivia sighed inwardly. Beth probably got the best grades in the school. Every teacher called on her all the time, praising everything she said as brilliant. “Telling parents about bad grades is hard,” Beth started. She hid a quick grin behind her hand when Meredith rolled her eyes heavenward. “Everyone’s parents pressure them about getting into good high schools and colleges,” Beth continued. “I think you should tell your mom and dad, and then strike a deal with them to do better. Maybe give them a study schedule that you promise to follow, or sign a contract with them or something.”

  Alison surveyed the room. There were no other volunteers. “I think that’s super advice. I’d add that if any of you are having problems with the work here at Shaker Middle, there’s peer tutoring. Beth leads that group and I’m sure she or the other tutors could help you in weaker subjects.”

  The counselor pulled another question from the hat, and the girls continued to give each other advice. Every time one girl would look at another, her hair would swing, and her clothes would move with her, fitting perfectly. Jealousy tore through Olivia’s heart.

  Her hair wasn’t right, and her clothes were worse. She had her hair pressed every two weeks at a black beauty parlor in Cleveland, but straight wasn’t straight. And her clothes, ugh.

  Her jeans tapered unfashionably at the ankles, gapping at her waist. Sure, the discount clothes looked good on the models in pictures, and okay on the racks, but cheap clothes didn’t wash well. Olivia looked like a poor relation compared to the other students in their designer clothes.

  Nothing she’d said changed her mother’s mind.

  “Olivia,” her mom always said when she was in one of her moods. “You’re just a child. I’m not spending my hard earned money on stuff you’re only going to get dirty and wear raggedy.”

  Lately, she’d caught her mom in good moods less and less. On those days, she’d be lucky to get her mom to drive her to Beachwood Place—where the cool kids shopped. Although Olivia coveted super tiny hipsters from Abercrombie or a hoodie from American Eagle Outfitters, she was grateful to get one bulky sweater from Dillard’s. With her mother constantly nagging her about her weight, shopping in a cool store was a no-no.

  When Olivia really needed clothes—anything from socks to underwear to jeans and sweaters—they went to Super Kmart way out in Solon. She was sure with the move to Shaker her mom would never shop there again, but she’d been dead wrong.

  “Honey,” her mother had said. “You’re starting a new school, so let’s get some stuff to fill out your closet. What do you need?”

  Olivia had ground her teeth all the way to Kmart as she breathed in the new car smell of the Lexus. Her mom bought this brand new car for herself with its leather seats and power windows, but Olivia was still wearing shit clothes. Her mom had said everything would change, but nothing had really changed.

  Her mom glared at her as she pulled into a tight space at the front of the store. Though Olivia tried, she couldn’t hide her embarrassment, her anger, or her tears. After a red smocked woman greeted them, her mom grabbed her sweatshirt and pulled her to a corner of the dusty store. The hot faintly alcohol scented breath nearly singed her eyelashes.

  “Look, Little Miss Princess, when I was a child and my mother was on her hands and knees scrubbing floors, I would have been happy to have anything that didn’t come from the church’s donation bin. Take your ungrateful butt in here, and don’t embarrass me.” To emphasize her point, her mom plucked Olivia’s upper arm, twisted, and pinched hard.

  The jeans Olivia was wearing, she’d picked out that day. After gym class, she’d changed in a corner so the other girls wouldn’t notice how she had to cinch the pants to get them to fit. Happy that she had a big terry hoodie to hide her discomfort, Olivia wondered if she should cut her mother a little slack. After that disastrous Kmart trip, a few weeks later, her mother had come home in a better mood.

  “O-liv-ia,” her mother had sung out. Uncharacteristically enthusiastic, her mother bounded up the stairs to their living room. “Poppet, come here! I’ve got a surprise for you!”

  Olivia closed the magazine she was reading—Cameron Diaz could wait—and ran down to the living room. When her mom had a surprise, it could be really good. She’d never forgotten the time her mother had gotten her a Barbie computer. It was still one of the best days of her life. Her heart almost stopped when she saw it: the biggest shopping bag Nordstrom offered. Denim poked from the bag. Her breath hitched as she gauged the chances of one hundred dollar Lucky jeans being in there.

  “Poppet, first help me with my stuff. Then you can see what’s in the bag.”

  Olivia hefted the yellow leather tote and briefcase, running to put them in her mother’s bedroom closet. Then she hastened back downstairs.

  Shifting from foot to foot, Olivia tried to calm the butterflies somersaulting in her belly. “Can I look in the bag or not?” She tried not to whine. That could trigger a slap in a heartbeat.

  She flinched as her mother held up a hand. But it was to give pause, not to cause pain. “Wait. Let me just tell you, these aren’t new clothes.”

  Confusion furrowed Olivia’s brow.

  “I had lunch with some people from the firm today. You remember Nelson, right?” Olivia nodded even though she had no idea who Nelson was. “His wife’s daughter planned to donate some stuff to Goodwill. I know you like designer stuff, so I offered to take it off his hands. Look through here and whatever you don’t want, we’ll drop at the Salvation Army.”

  Excitement replaced dread when Olivia sorted through the bag. She pulled out flared jeans that fit her curves, straight leg cords, and even a really cool striped cashmere scarf she could wear looped around her neck. Her mom clapped as she modeled different looks.

  They even dug out an old People magazine and made Olivia look like one of the teen stars featured in there, braiding the scarf just right. Her mom’s beaming face joined hers in the mirror over the mantle. Then her mom hugged and kissed her like she was a little kid. She couldn’t stop laughing.

  It was a tug on that scarf by Alison that brought Olivia back to the present.

  “Can I speak with you for a second?” the counselor asked, her face looking serious. “If you ever need to talk one-on-one about your personal life, or any problems, I’m here for you. I always promise to keep stuff confidential.”

  Making the lonely walk down the hall to the back door and the late bus, Olivia felt another tug at her black and white striped scarf.

  “Nice scarf,” Beth said. And the two girls with her laughed.

  Lifting her lips hesitantly, Olivia accepted the compliment at face value. �
��Thanks.”

  “Where’d you get it?” another girl asked.

  Before Olivia could think of a suitable lie, Beth answered. “At the zoo!” There was a pause as the other girls looked at Olivia and each other quizzically. “Get it? It’s the love child of Olivia and Jon Heath.”

  The pause before the laughter was short. Heat streaked through Olivia’s cheeks as she laughed with them, ignoring their casual cruelty.

  Five

  Juvenile Court

  October 9, 2001

  “Has my client, Rosa Coleman, checked in?” Casey asked.

  The bailiff gestured toward the files sloppily stacked on her desk, “What’s the child’s name?”

  Casey held the pig leather briefcase in her arms like a baby while unzipping the top. “Aliyah Coleman.”

  Making little effort to move the folders and papers around the desk, the bailiff concluded, “Nope. She hasn’t checked in. You new to the case?”

  Casey shook her head. “Not exactly. I was appointed to represent Rosa when the county took permanent custody of the oldest. I got a notice, and assumed I was on the new permanent custody matter filed.”

  Pushing up her wire-rimmed glasses, the bailiff looked at her more closely. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. What’s your name again?”

  “Casey. Casey Cort.”

  “Cute name.” Like she’d never heard that one before. “You’ve got a doozy of a case here. This family has been in and out of here for the last five years. Good luck. I wouldn’t let the mom care for my cat, much less my kids.”

  Initially offended, Casey had to wonder if she’d let Rosa care for her cat. “If my client doesn’t show up, what will the judge do?”