Page 8 of Jessie's Girl (The Trapper Keeper Diaries)

“Because it’s a sign of respect.” Her cute face screws up into a thoughtful pout. “But when we’re not at school, I can call you India, right?”

God, she’s adorable. She and her lopsided, dark-red bun. Something tells me it’s Asa’s handywork.

“Sure,” I say, although the odds of us seeing each other outside of this building are nil to ain’t-gonna-happen. Not because I don’t like her, because I do. But that would mean her uncle would have to be with us. And that’s a no-go. “Can you go sit down for me? I need to talk to you and your uncle.”

“Sure,” she grumbled, dragging her bedazzled, pink high-tops the few feet back to the chair. I’m sure a death row inmate heading toward a date with a needle doesn’t look as down-in-the-mouth as she did. “Asa?” I step back, and he takes the hint, brushing past me to enter my office.

His scent—sandalwood, an earthy musk, and the underlying spice of clean, hard-won sweat—infiltrates my nostrils, and I belatedly hold my breath. But all that serves to do is trap his unique fragrance in my nose and capture the flavor of it on my tongue.

Jesus, what is wrong with me? I shouldn’t be reacting this way to him. Before that night in his house, I didn’t even look at Asa in any way except as Jessie’s friend. But after he shoved me away as if hissing snakes had sprung up around my head, I told myself that even though his rejection had stung, I was thankful. That kiss, no matter how hot and raw it’d been, was a mistake. Only scorned, bitter women who snatched off wigs on reality shows went after their ex’s best friends. And she refused to be that woman. Vengeful. Trifling. Petty.

Clearing my throat, I close the door behind me and circle my desk. Lowering into my chair, I wait until Asa’s seated before I begin.

“I hate that we’re meeting again under these circumstances,” I lie. Because if it’d been up to me, we would have never come face-to-face again. He’s a reminder of a past I just want to forget. “But Rose had an incident today with another girl in her class.”

“An incident,” Asa repeats, throwing his niece a narrowed glance.

“Yes, Rose smacked her in the face.”

“Dammit, Rose,” Asa growls, aiming a fierce scowl down at the little girl. “I thought we talked about this fighting.”

“Wasn’t much of a fight,” Rose mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and sinking back against the chair. “After I smacked her in the mouth, she started crying and ran to Ms. Hesche.” She huffed out a breath, her own scowl darkening her brow. “Tattletale.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Asa snapped, shaking his head. “Rose—”

“No,” she fairly shouted, her high-pitched voice ringing in the office. Red poured into her round cheeks and her gray eyes, identical to her uncle’s, glistened with tears. “You don’t understand, Uncle Asa. Jennifer was making fun of me. I told her to stop. But she kept laughing and telling everyone that Mom died on purpose so she wouldn’t have to be my mother anymore.” A sob ripped free of her thin, little chest, and those tears rolled down her face. “So I hit her to make her shut up. Because it’s not true. It’s not true!”

Oh God. My arms ache to wrap themselves around Rose and hold her. To somehow take away the pain that saturates her voice and throbs in each cry.

Jennifer Piece had claimed Rose had hauled off and slapped her for no reason. Not that I believed that bit of nonsense. I’d only been with this school for a couple of months, but I already had that girl’s number. She’s pretty, with dimples deep enough you just wanted to dip your finger in… and would give the meanest mean girl an inferiority complex.

I hate to say it, but that kid is a bitch on training wheels.

“Of course it’s not true, sweet pea,” Asa murmurs, cupping the side of his niece’s head and pressing his lips to the auburn curls that have escaped her top bun. “It’s bullshit and cruel, but Rose,” he leans back and waits until she tips her head back to look at him, “you can’t go around slapping people. No matter how much they deserve it,” he adds on a rumble.

“But—”

“No buts.” He shakes his head, and the ends of his auburn-brown hair graze his chin. “You hand over all your power to her when you lose control like that. Now you’re in trouble, and she isn’t. Even though that doesn’t seem fair, either,” he says, lifting his head and pinning me with a flinty stare.

I arch an eyebrow. “Oh believe me, we’re going to address the other student’s actions.” At least I would be. I hadn’t known the exact details of the exchange, since all Rose had said up until now was that Jennifer deserved it. But I don’t condone or put up with bullying. She’ll be dealt with. “Not that I’m excusing what the other girl said, because it’s inexcusable, but the fact is, Rose escalated it by physically hitting her. The school has a no-tolerance policy for violence, so we can’t let it go.”

“Does the school have a no-tolerance policy against bullying?” he growls. “What kind of kid goes around tormenting someone who just lost her mother? I want to meet her parents so I can tell them what I think about their daughter and them, if they’re teaching her to be an overall shitty person.”

“Asa,” I murmur, leaning forward and flattening my hand on top of my desk. It’s the closest I’ll allow myself to come to covering his hand. “I agree this is a case of bullying, and I will talk to the child involved, her parents, Rose’s teacher, and the other children in the classroom. I won’t let it go. I promise.”

After a moment, he jerks his head in a sharp nod.

“Now, about Rose.” I lean back in my chair, dropping both hands to the arms. “Like I said, the policy is clear on the consequences for physical altercations. So Rose will have to attend in-school suspension for a week. Her teacher will prepare her schoolwork so she won’t fall behind in class. But because it is a suspension, she can’t ride the bus to and from school.” I switch my attention from Asa and his unwavering, intense gaze to the little girl huddled in the chair next to him. “Rose?” I wait until she lifts her chin from her chest and meets my eyes. “I’m very sorry for what was said to you. I remember your mom, and she loved you more than anything. And though we weren’t very well acquainted, there’s one thing I know for certain. If she could be here with you, she would. There’s no truth at all in what Jennifer said.”

Her little chin lost some of its stubborn edge, and it wobbled as she sniffed and nodded. “She lies a lot anyway,” she whispered, voice hoarse from her tears. “Michael Taylor said she’s a bitch, and I think he’s right.”

“Rose,” Asa hissed.

“What?” She blinked up at him. “You say that all the time.”

And more, I silently add. Hell, he’s said a few of them since we’ve been sitting in the office.

“Be that as it may,” I intervene, throwing Asa a “she’s not wrong” look, “we don’t say those words in school, and you know that.”

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