Page 15 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

“Afternoon, Brother Zachary.”

I glance up and give Simon a curt nod. Students file neatly into my class, seating themselves like a beautifully choreographed dance. My AP Psychology class is one of the smallest in Saint Amos—I only teach up to a dozen students in each grade.

I return the smattering of ‘hellos’ and ‘good afternoons’ before facing the chalkboard. “Today we’ll be discussing epigenetics. Can anyone tell me?—?”

My classroom door rattles. I glance back at my class.

All my students are present. It’s highly unusual for a staff member to interrupt me once my lesson has begun. Word has long since gotten around how much that annoys me.

“Who is it?”

The door immediately stops rattling. Then a hesitant, high-pitched voice says, “Trinity.”

She cuts off when I open the door and snatches away her hands. Looks like she’d been pulling at the handle instead of pushing.

I tilt my head. “May I help you?”

The girl steps back, and huffs a dark curl away from her face. She’s wearing street clothes and a thoroughly confused expression. “Yeah…uh…is this Psychology?”

T. Malone.

My new student.

I’d barely glanced at the memo slipped under my door this morning. My mind had been on other things. Moreimportantthings. So much so, I’d even forgotten to assign her a seat.

I step back and wave her inside, my mind moving a mile a minute.

I’ll be the first to admit I’m set in my ways. Which is saying something for someone who’s turning twenty-one in a few months. A strange girl showing up at my door shouldn’t have rattled me, but it did.

She stands at the front of the class, notepad clutched to her chest like a shield. A moment later, her amber eyes come back to mine, now even more confused than before.

I snap my fingers at a student in the front row and point to the chair behind my desk.

He hurries over, picks it up, and sets it by the wall.

“You’re late,” I say, when the girl keeps staring at me like she’s had a stroke. “Don’t let it happen again.”

Still, she doesn’t move.

“You’remy teacher?”

I straighten as my hand drops to my side. “Were you expecting someone different,MissMalone?”

As if she realized what she said, she shakes her head and hurries to her seat. There’s a soft hiss as she plops down on my chair and the air leaves its pillow. Her fair skin looks even paler as her cheeks turn rosy with embarrassment.

It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts. As I turn back to the board, the text message on my phones comes back to me.

Could this be the ‘problem’ Cassius mentioned?

She’s not wearing a uniform which indicates her presence took others—such as Sister Ruth, who runs the laundry—by surprise. Else she’d have been decked out in Saint Amos colors.

Her slim body, her poorly fitted clothes, the nervous energy vibrating through her—I put her at sixteen. But her eyes tell a different story. They’re underlined with shadows, as if she hasn’t had much sleep, and don’t hold my eyes longer than a moment before she looks away.

Could be she’s shy, but I suspect it’s more a matter of her not wanting to give away more than she already has.

“Have you submitted your transcript to the administration office?” I ask, turning my back on her as I scratch out a note on the chalkboard.

“I…I don’t have one.”

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