Time Bomb Read Free Page B

But the locals felt crowded. Sixty of the eighty-six stragglers were transferred immediately to private schools. All the rest left mid semester. You would have thought we were importing the plague.” She shook her head. “I can understand people wanting to be insulated, the whole idea of the neighborhood school. I know they must have felt invaded. But that doesn’t excuse how ugly it got. Alleged
grown-ups
standing outside the gates waving signs and taunting the kids. Calling them greasers, wetbacks.
Vermin.”
    I said, “I saw it on TV. It was ugly.”
    She said, “During summer vacation we got vandalized—racist graffiti, broken windows. I tried to get the Board to send down some mental health people, someone to mediate with the community before the new school year started, but all I got were memos and countermemos. Hale’s a stepchild that they’re obligated to feed but don’t want to acknowledge.”
    “How have the children reacted to all the hostility?”
    “Very well, actually. They’re so darned resilient, bless ’em. And we worked on it. Last year I met regularly with each class, talking to them about tolerance, respecting differences between people, the right to free speech, even if it’s unpleasant. I had the teachers play games and do things to enhance self-esteem. We kept drumming into them how good they were. How brave. I’m no psychologist, but psych was my minor and I think I did at least a passable job.”
    I said, “Sounds like the right approach. Maybe that’s why they’re handling things well right now.”
    She waved off the compliment and her eyes moistened. “That’s not to say everything was perfect—not by a long shot. They felt it—the hatred. Had to. A few families pulled their kids out of the busing program immediately, but most stuck it out, and after a while things seemed to be quieting down. I really thought this semester was going well. Hoped it had finally dawned on the good folks of Ocean Heights that a bunch of little kids weren’t going to rape their daughters and rustle their cattle. Or maybe they just got bored—this place is
the
capital of Apathy. Only other issues that get them going are offshore oil drilling within a fifty-mile radius and anything that relates to landscaping. So I made sure our shrubs were well trimmed.” Brief, bitter smile. “I was starting to think we could finally concentrate on
educating
. Then Massengil goes and dredges it all up—he’s always had a special thing for us. Probably ’cause he’s a local. Lives in Sacramento but keeps a house here for legal purposes. Obviously he views us as a personal burr in the butt.”
    She punched her palm. Her eyes were flashing. I altered my assessment about her ability to handle authority.
    “The creep,” she said. “If I’d known he was planning a dog-and-pony show today, I’d . . .”
    She frowned, tapped her pencil on her wrist.
    I said, “What?”
    She hesitated, then gave another mirthless smile. “I was about to say I’d have met him at the gate with a loaded gun.”

3
    She looked down at her pad, realized she’d written nothing, and said, “Enough talk. What’s your plan?”
    “The first step will be to establish rapport with the kids. And the teachers. Your introducing me and explaining who I am will help that. Second, I’ll focus on getting them to express their feelings about what happened—talking, playing, drawing.”
    “Individually or in groups?”
    “Groups. Class by class. It’s more efficient and more therapeutic—opening up will be easier if there’s peer support. I’ll also be looking for the high-risk kids—those who are especially high-strung, have had previous anxiety problems or experienced loss or an unusual amount of stress within the last year. Some of them may need one-on-one attention. The teachers can help by identifying them.”
    “No problem,” she said. “I know most of them myself.”
    “The other important thing—maybe the toughest—will