"All you think about is yourself. What about me?"
"I like you." He wasn't convincing.
"I'm convenient."
"Jody, we have fun together. This summer was—great."
"But you've got the hots for Karen."
"I wouldn't put it like that."
"You'd better forget all about Karen. First of all, she knows you've slept with me. She's not going to believe a word you say. And furthermore, I can make life really miserable for you if I feel like it. I'll tell everyone you gave me my black eye."
"Jody, I never told anyone I slept with you. Why would you tell?" He ignored the black eye threat. Jody had told him her father gave her the black eye.
"Because I felt like it." Exasperated, she hung up the phone, leaving a dejected Sean shivering in the garage.
34
Larry Johnson removed his spectacles, rubbing the bridge of his nose where they pinched it. He replaced them, glanced over Jody Miller's file, and then left his office, joining her in an examining room.
"How are you?"
"I'm okay, I think." She sat on the examining table when he motioned for her to do so.
"You were just here in August for your school physical."
"I know. I think it's stupid that I have to have a physical before every season. Coach Hallvard insists on it."
"Every coach insists on it." He smiled. "Now what seems to be the problem?"
"Well"—Jody swallowed hard—"I, uh, I've missed my period for two months in a row."
"I see." He touched his stethoscope. "Have you been eating properly?"
"Uh—I guess."
"The reason I ask that is often female athletes, especially the ones in endurance sports, put the body under such stress that they go without their period for a time. It's the body's way of protecting itself because they couldn't bring a baby to term. Nature is wise."
"Oh." She smiled reflexively. "I don't think field hockey is one of those sports."
"Next question." He paused. "Have you had sexual relations?"
"Yes—but I'm not telling."
"I'm not asking." He held up his hand like a traffic cop. "But there are a few things I need to know. You're seventeen. Have you discussed this with your parents?"
"No," she said quickly.
"I see."
"I don't talk to them. I don't want to talk to them."
"I understand."
"No, you don't."
"Let's start over, Jody. Did you use any form of birth control?"
"No."
"Well, then"—he exhaled—"let's get going."
He took blood for a pregnancy test, at the same time pulling a vial of blood to be tested for infectious diseases. He declined to inform Jody of this. If something turned up, he'd tell her then.
"I hate that." She turned away as the needle was pulled from her arm.
"I do, too." He held the small cotton ball on her arm. "Did your mother ever talk to you about birth control?"
"Yes."
"I see."
She shrugged. "Dr. Johnson, it's not as easy as she made it sound."
"Perhaps not. The truth is, Jody, we don't really understand human sexuality, but we do know that when those hormones start flowing through your body, a fair amount of irrationality seems to flow with them. And sometimes we turn to people for comfort during difficult times, and sex becomes part of the comfort." He smiled. "Come back on Friday." He glanced at his calendar. "Umm, make it Monday."
"All right." She paled. "You won't tell anyone, will you?"
"No. Will you?"
She shook her head no.
"Jody, if you can't talk to your mother, you ought to talk to another older woman. Whether you're pregnant or not, you might be surprised to learn that you aren't alone. Other people have felt what you're feeling."
"I'm not feeling much."
He patted her on the back. "Okay, then. Call me Monday."
She mischievously winked as she left the examining room.
35
Not wishing to appear pushy, Sandy Brashiers transferred his office to the one next to Roscoe Fletcher's but made no move to occupy the late headmaster's sacred space.
April Shively stayed just this side of rude. If Naomi asked her to perform a chore, retrieve information, or screen calls, April complied. She and Naomi had a cordial, if not warm, relationship. If Sandy asked, she found a variety of ways to drag her heels.
Although the jolt of Roscoe's death affected her every minute of the day, Naomi Fletcher resumed her duties as head of the lower school. She needed the work to keep her mind from constantly returning to the shock, and the lower school needed her guidance during this difficult time.
During lunch hour, Sandy walked to Naomi's office, then both of them walked across the quad to the upper school administration building—Old Main.
"Becoming the leader is easier than being the teacher, isn't it?" Naomi asked him.
"I guess for these last seven years I've been the loyal opposition." He tightened the school scarf around his neck. "I'm finding out that no matter what decision I make there's someone to 'yes' me, someone to 'no' me, and everyone to second-guess me. It's curious to realize how people want to have their own way without doing the work.
She smiled. "Monday morning quarterbacks. Roscoe used to say that they never had to take the hits." She wiggled her fingers in her fur-lined gloves. "He wasn't your favorite person, Sandy, but he was an effective headmaster."
"Yes. My major disagreement with Roscoe was not over daily operations. You know I respected his administrative skills. My view of St. Elizabeth's curriculum was one hundred eighty degrees from his, though. We must emphasize the basics. Take, for instance, his computer drive. Great. We've got every kid in this school computer literate. So?" He threw up his hands. "They stare into a lighted screen. Knowing how to use the technology is useless if you have nothing to say, and the only way you can have something to say is by studying the great texts of our culture. The computer can't read and comprehend The Federalist Papers for them."
"Teaching people to think is an ancient struggle," she said. "That's why I love working in the lower school . . . they're so young . . . their minds are open. They soak up everything."
He opened the door for her. They stepped into the administration building, which also had some classrooms on the first floor. A blast of warm radiator heat welcomed them.
They climbed the wide stairs to the second floor, entering Roscoe's office from the direction that did not require them to pass April's office.
She was on her hands and knees putting videotapes into a cardboard box. The tapes had lined a bottom shelf of the bookcase.
"April, I can do that," Naomi said.
Not rising, April replied, "These are McKinchie's. I thought I'd return them to him this afternoon.'' She held up a tape of Red River. "He lent us his library for film history week."
"Yes, he did, and I forgot all about it." Naomi noticed the girls of the field hockey team leaving the cafeteria together. Karen Jensen, in the lead, was tossing an apple to Brooks Tucker.
"April, I'll be moving into this office next week. I can't conduct meetings in that small temporary office. Will you call Design Interiors for me? I'd like them to come out here." Sandy's voice was clear.
"What's wrong with keeping things just as they are? It will save money." She dropped more tapes into the box, avoiding eye contact.
"I need this office to be comfortable—"
"This is comfortable," she interrupted.
"—for me," he continued.
"Well, you might not be appointed permanent headmaster. The board will conduct a search. Why spend money?"
"April, that won't happen before this school year is finished." Naomi stepped in, kind but firm. "Sandy needs our support in order to do the best job he can for St. Elizabeth's. Working in Roscoe's shadow"—she indicated the room, the paintings—"isn't the way to do that."
April scrambled to her feet. "Why are you helping him? He dogged Roscoe every step of the way!"