Page 46 of Wicked Proposal
“I know,” I cut in quickly. “I saw Eli outside. His eye?—”
“—was almost entirely his own doing, I’m afraid.”
Wait, what?
Fury mounts inside me. My mama bear claws are pushing to come out, but I restrain myself. “That can’t be true.”
“He assaulted his classmate Bobby.”
“BobbyPerkins?” I explode. “Mrs. Johnson, you don’t understand. That kid—he’s a bully! The other day, Eli came home with his new shoes filled with holes. I had to buy him a replacement, one I almost couldn’t afford. He’s—he’s the worst!”
Diane lifts a plucked eyebrow. “A four-year-old child is ‘the worst’?”
“Yes! No—I mean?—”
“Look.” She steeples her fingers and leans on the desk. “Bobby has behavioral issues. Now, while I wasn’t aware of this particular incident, I’m aware of the bigger picture.”
“Great!” I blurt. “So why ismykid in trouble?”
“Because it wasn’t Bobby who escalated things this time.”
I blink. Diane’s words feel like water, going right through me. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that Eli threw the first punch.”
“Wha—” My mouth hangs open like a goldfish’s. “No, that can’t be true. Eli—he’s not a violent kid!”
“Maybe not,” Diane concedes. “But he’s hotheaded, impulsive, and won’t listen to anyone once something sets him off. You’re aware of his episodes, I presume?”
“That’s just anxiety,” I protest. “Ever since the fire, he’s been feeling out of control. His therapist said it’s normal.”
“The court-appointed therapist he only saw three times?”
Something in Diane’s tone makes me feel defensive. “Yes,” I grit out. “Is there a problem with that?”
For a long moment, Diane just stares at me. Then she takes off her glasses and sighs. “Mia, can I be frank with you?”
Maybe it’s the exhaustion in her voice that makes me put down my arms. The dark bags under her eyes, so much like mine.
“Of course.”
“We both know Bobby’s a little shit. Ms. Keane agrees that he was, indeed, trying to ruin Eli’s shoes.”
“See?!” I throw my arms up. “Then?—”
“That doesn’t change Eli’s reaction was completely disproportionate,” Diane interrupts. “He pounced on that kid, Mia. You think Eli looks bad? It was a miracle Bobby didn’t need stitches.”
My heart drops. “Stitches?”
“Eli took his scissors from him. He was hacking at his shirt when Ms. Keane managed to drag him off.”
I blink. My mind feels blank, frozen. I keep trying to picture Eli acting so violent and just—can’t.
My kid wouldn’t do that, would he?
Would he?
“What are you saying?” I murmur. “That Eli’s—what? Aggressive?”
