Page 71 of Clean Slade
No.
Of course he came up with a lie. They lived far away, and he hadn’t known they were still alive. I couldn’t have thought of a better excuse myself. Thankfully, Mac hadn’t picked at any holes in the story. The one thing she did keep talking about was Lucky and how she wanted a dog just like him.
“You’re not still upset because you want a dog, are you?” I asked when we were in the car on the way to Mac’s school and she looked like she was going to a funeral.
“No, but I don’t understand why we can’t have one.”
Bless her heart. I knew what it was like wanting a dog or a cat and not even getting a goldfish because your parents already had one mouth too many to feed.
Although I suspected that wasn’t why King wouldn’t let her get one.
“You heard Daddy.”
“But I can stay home and look after it. I don’t mind.”
I smiled but shook my head.
“Then you’d be missing school.”
She huffed and crossed her arms.
“What’s the big deal with school anyway?”
“We all have lots of things to learn and skills to pick up at school. Why? You don’t like school?”
She grimaced. “Who likes school?”
“Well, I did. And your dad told me you used to like school.”
She did a face and mocked me, but I knew she didn’t do it out of disrespect.
“I was stupid.”
I pulled into the assigned area in front of the school and turned around to talk to the young girl.
“Hey. Don’t say that. Liking school isn’t stupid, and neither is disliking it. Is there something going on that you’d like to tell me about?”
Mac pursed her lips and shook her head defiantly.
Like father, like daughter.
Why couldn’t the Moores just speak their minds and tell me what was wrong and how I could help?
I opened the backdoor and ruffled her hair, wishing her a good day at school, then watched her as she crossed the school gates the same way she always did. Her head hung low and her spirit crushed to the ground.
There must be a way to help.
Some teachers approached the gate, chatting with each other, and I got an idea.
I may not know how to deal with King, but Mac, I could help.
“Excuse me.” I approached the three teachers, and they all stopped to look at me from top to bottom.
A young woman with bright-red hair and cat-shaped glasses, a middle-aged woman with long silver hair, and a young ginger-haired man with glasses and striking gray eyes.
“Hi, how can we help?” asked the older woman as the others watched.
I looked at Mac once again before she disappeared into the building and turned to the teachers.
