Page 83 of One and Only

I crouched down and rubbed my hand down her back as she hugged me tight. “What happened?” I asked.

Olive didn’t answer. She just tightened her arms around my neck. Her whole body was trembling.

The school secretary came around from her desk. She spoke quietly, an understanding smile on her face. “We had a little exchange on the playground, and she wanted to go home. Let me get the elementary school dean. She can tell you a little bit more about what happened.”

Once Olive had calmed down a little, I asked if she’d go wait back behind the desk while I spoke to the dean. I crossed my arms as a serious-looking woman in wire-rimmed glasses explained to me that it involved an upper elementary school boy.

“One of Olive’s friends found her crying underneath the slide. She told the friend the boy pushed her, but we couldn’t find anyone who actually witnessed the … incident.”

“What did the boy say when you talked to him?” I asked.

The dean offered a small grimace. “He said nothing happened.”

“Yeah fucking right,” I muttered.

She gave me a reproachful look but didn’t correct me.

“Olive won’t tell us much of anything, and we’re not going to force it,” she said. “We know she’s a shy kid, and we also know she’s not prone to lying. Unfortunately, without any witnesses, the best we can do is let him know he can’t…” She paused.

“Push little girls on the playground,” I finished helpfully.

“Yes.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry. These are tricky situations, and we never want our kids to feel unsafe. If Beckett and Josie would like to come back in to meet with me, I’m happy to schedule something.”

I nodded. “Josie was at the dentist today, and I think Beckett just didn’t hear his phone ring. But I’ll tell them what you said.”

She handed me her card. “Thanks for coming so quickly. Normally we’d try to get her to stay at school, but we know Olive is really sensitive to changes in her environment.”

I managed a smile. “I’d be sensitive to someone shoving me over too.”

At my terse reply, she didn’t get defensive, simply smiled in understanding. “I have a daughter. I get it. Tell Olive we hope to see her back tomorrow, okay?”

When I rounded the front desk, I held my hand out. “Ready to go?”

She nodded, eyes still red and her cheeks splotchy from crying.

“Bye, sweetie,” the secretary said as she left.

Olive gave her a tiny smile.

The playground was a buzz of activity when we walked through the parking lot to my car, and I made sure she was buckled into one of the booster seats I’d snagged from the garage on my way out the door. Olive stared out the window at the kids playing, sniffing loudly as I set her backpack onto the seat next to her.

“Want to tell me what happened?” I asked quietly.

She didn’t answer at first. Then she blinked up at my face, and my heart turned slow and smooth in my chest. There was so much trust there, after just a couple of weeks.

“He ripped my picture,” she said. “I was going to show my friend, and he pushed me down and took it and ripped it and told me it was ugly.”

“Oh that little fucker,” I breathed.

Her eyes got huge in her face.

“Sorry.” I winced. I stared at the playground. “Do you see him over there?”

She turned in her seat and stared for a few minutes, then nodded. “He’s the tall boy with red hair and the gray shirt.”

He looked like an asshole. Beady eyes. Sharp nose. And easily four to five years older than Olive. He was far bigger than most kids on the playground, and I narrowed my eyes when I saw him knock over another little girl when he ran past. He laughed too.

I wanted to kick the shit out of him.

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