She Was the Quiet One

Heath was asked to pay back the advance, which was a problem since they’d already spent it. That hadn’t been Sarah’s doing. She was frugal by nature, but Heath wanted things. A lot of things. New clothes, a car, a better apartment, restaurants, parties. Who was she to say no, when he’d felt so deprived, growing up? Her parents stepped in and lent them the money to pay back the publisher—and never let them forget it.

Her father had thankfully managed to hush up the scandal, or else Heath would’ve been unemployable in teaching at any reputable school. If it came out, even now, a school like Odell would have no choice but to fire him. Some nights Sarah lay awake, worrying. About the past coming back to haunt them. About Heath’s mental stability, how despondent he’d become when things went wrong, and whether he was susceptible to falling into that deep, dark pit again. She didn’t think so. She prayed not. She was grateful that, with the dorm head job, he’d found something to feel excited about again. She wanted him to be happy. Heath wasn’t a dishonest person. He’d just wanted to succeed so badly—to impress Sarah, to impress her parents—that he’d taken a shortcut to get there. Then he got caught, and felt ashamed, which was why he’d lied. It was a unique situation, far in the past, and unlikely to repeat itself. Besides, they had the children to think about now, and Heath adored his children. He wouldn’t let himself get out of control emotionally again, she was certain.

Maybe not certain. But hopeful.

The waitress headed for their table, carrying the seafood tower. Heads turned to admire the dramatic presentation, just as they’d turned when her handsome husband walked in the door a half hour before. People were naturally drawn to Heath. The Moreland girls were crazy about him already. A colleague had said to her that very afternoon: Whenever I see your husband, he’s trailing a gaggle of pretty girls. Sarah didn’t let it bother her. She trusted Heath, and besides, it wasn’t his fault. If she was a student here, she’d follow him around, too. Just look at that incredible smile, as the waitress presented the seafood tower. It was wonderful to see. Heath’s happiness was the only gift Sarah needed.

8

Bel sat in Mr. Donovan’s classroom in Benchley Hall, watching the hands on the old wall clock creep toward two-twenty, when English class would end. She had a meeting scheduled with Mr. Donovan then, and the thought of it made her queasy. Though she’d been feeling off all day anyway in this awful, sticky heat. Everyone said that the heat wave was unusual, but that didn’t help her sleep at night or eat anything more substantial than a piece of fruit. Heat in L.A. had never bothered her, but the climate here was just evil.

The fan buzzing in the corner lulled her, and her eyelids drooped. But then Mr. Donovan spoke, and she bolted upright, her eyes flying open. Heath Donovan was the one thing in this new life that made Bel feel wide awake. He stood at the whiteboard, writing out a line from Shelley and explaining the concept of synecdoche. English was her favorite class just because she liked watching him and listening to his voice. Every day, Bel noticed new details about him. A small scar above his eyebrow, a beauty mark on his cheek, how his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the whiteness of his teeth. She paid attention not only to what he said, but how he moved, when he laughed, what he wore. Today he was wearing khaki pants and a blue-check dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The outfit looked amazing on his tennis player’s body. He wasn’t overly jacked like so many of the jock boys. He was lean and elegant. She didn’t try to notice these things. He just made an impression on her, whether she liked it or not.

Mr. Donovan turned to recite the line to the class.

“‘Its sculptor well those passions read,’” he quoted, in his deep, rich voice, “‘which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, the hand that mocked him.’”

He asked for a volunteer to identify the synecdoche in that line, and Bel averted her eyes. If she tried to speak, she’d stutter and blush and generally make a fool of herself. Not because she hadn’t done the reading—this was the one class she always prepared for. But because she was shy in front of these hyper-verbal Odell kids, and because Mr. Donovan unnerved her. That part was Darcy Madden’s fault. Normally Bel would never stoop so low as to get a crush on a teacher, but Darcy and her posse of Moreland seniors were obsessed with Mr. Donovan and talked about him nonstop. Naturally their obsession had rubbed off on her. Bel listened to Darcy, and followed her lead in all things. Darcy was older, sophisticated. She understood how things worked around here. Bel felt fortunate to have been taken under her wing.

Yet, she had to laugh, because the seniors’ contest to seduce Mr. Donovan had gone nowhere. Girls went to his office hours or cornered him in the dining hall. They flirted shamelessly, made heavy eye contact. The bold ones flashed some cleavage or bared a thigh in a short skirt. And they got no response. Zero. Donovan didn’t seem to notice at all. He was apparently loyal to his wife, though nobody understood why. Darcy said the wife was a total mouse, a real loser. That she must have some unnatural hold over him. Maybe it was money, or some secret she was using to blackmail him. Otherwise, he’d be susceptible to the seniors’ charms, like any man would be. To Darcy’s own charms, anyway. Bel had to agree—Darcy was killer. She had those perfectly regular features: the long, swinging blond hair; a sharp tongue hidden behind a wide smile. Everybody danced to her tune. To Bel, she was the Oracle of Moreland, not to be contradicted. Yet, Bel thought Darcy was wrong about Mr. Donovan. His love for his wife was pure, and Mr. Donovan was chivalrous. Honorable, like a knight of old. He would see Darcy’s sharp edges, and keep his distance. Which made him all the more attractive in Bel’s book.

The bell rang. Class ended, and Bel gathered her things, hesitating. Was she supposed to go up to him, or wait for him to speak to her? Would their meeting happen here in this room, or should she go to his office? Talking to teachers wasn’t Bel’s thing to begin with, and him, well, she couldn’t imagine speaking to him alone. Well, she could imagine it, but the things she imagined were unlikely to happen.

A couple of kids went up to the front of the room to talk to him, and Bel breathed a sigh of relief. Kids at Odell loved to hang around after class and suck up to teacher. Back home, being smart made you uncool, but here it was the opposite. Everybody spoke up in class, and competed to get noticed. Everyone except Bel, who kept her mouth firmly shut unless a teacher called on her, and then struggled to get a word out. Back home, teachers hadn’t cared what she thought, not enough to put her on the spot anyway, and she preferred it that way.

With Mr. Donovan distracted, Bel took the opportunity to slink toward the door, hoping to escape before he noticed. She could claim she forgot, or that something suddenly came up, or—

“Bel,” Mr. Donovan called. “Hold on. I’ll be done in a minute.”

Crap. Bel waited, palms sweaty, heartbeat skittering. Once they were alone, she’d be struck dumb, she knew it.

After a few minutes, the students left to go to their sixth-period classes, and he came over to her.

“Were you going to my office?” he asked, with a puzzled smile. Up this close, his teeth were so white, his eyes so blue, and he smelled so good that she felt dizzy.

“Um. Sorry?”

“I saw you leaving. You remember we have our first advisory meeting now, right?” he asked.

“Oh. Right. Yes. No, I didn’t forget, I just wasn’t sure, uh, where to, or—what to do,” Bel said, her cheeks burning. She sounded like the biggest idiot.

“It’s so warm today. I thought we could grab an iced coffee and sit outside. My office is like an oven, but there should be some breeze if we go over to the Art Café. Come on.”

Coffee? With Mr. Donovan? Alone? The Moreland girls would be pea-green with envy.

They went to the snack bar in the basement of the Art Studio, which was empty at this hour, since most kids were in class. (Bel had scheduled the meeting for her free period.) Mr. Donovan bought two iced coffees, which he carried to the patio out back. They sat down facing each other at a small iron table in the shade of a tall tree. (The trees in this place were insane. All that chlorophyll, she could gag on it.)

“Since this is our first advisory meeting, I thought I’d start by explaining the role of advisor here at Odell, which is not exactly the same as a guidance counselor in a public school,” Mr. Donovan said.

Bel was relieved that he was talking about official-sounding stuff. If she was lucky, she could sit here and enjoy listening to him and never have to say a word.

“At Odell, we’re fortunate to have professionals for every function,” Mr. Donovan continued. “There are counseling services at the health center if you’re having emotional or mental health issues. You’ll be assigned a college counselor starting next year. My job is to advise you about academics, and more generally . . .”

She got distracted by the color of his eyes. They were such an intense shade of aqua-blue that they almost seemed fake. Was it possible that he wore colored lenses? But they went beautifully with the long, sooty lashes, and the rich, dark color of his hair, so maybe they were real after all.

“Bel, are you listening?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I apologize. I just—” She blushed furiously and shook her head.

“No. You know what? It’s my fault, droning on like a page out of the handbook. No wonder you zoned out. Let’s start over. I’m Heath, and I’m your advisor, nice to meet you.”

He reached across the table, and she realized he intended to shake her hand. Had he just given her permission to call him by his first name? Their eyes met, and she put her hand in his. The warmth of his grip jolted her.

“And you are—?” he asked.

“Isabel Enright. Bel. Call me Bel. I’m your, um, your student. Nice to meet you, too.”

The exchange was so silly that she laughed, and felt less awkward after that. Maybe he wouldn’t prove impossible to talk to after all. She simply had to concentrate on what he said, not how he looked.

Easier said than done.

“Think of me as your guide to Odell,” Heath said, releasing her hand. “You come to me with a question or a problem, and it’s my job to help you. Maybe you have an academic issue, or a personal problem, or maybe you just don’t know which extracurricular activity to try. If I can help you, I will. If it’s out of my wheelhouse, I’ll find the right person for you to speak to. Odell can be so confusing at first, and the point of the advisor is to help you feel comfortable right away. Odell is your home now, and we’re your family, your school family, that is. I want you to know, Bel, that you have a support system in me. I’m here for you.”

Such kind words would have reached her no matter who said them. But to have Mr. Donovan say them—wow. His sympathy hit her hard; it released something. She’d been holding her feelings in for weeks now. Acting like she didn’t care that her grandmother sent them away. Hanging out with a fast crowd because she’d fallen in with them at the beginning, acting the role of wild child to keep up, but having big doubts about it. Fighting with Rose—God, she hated to fight with her sister, but ever since they’d gotten here, things between them felt so wrong. Suddenly it was all too much. Bel’s lower lip started to quiver. She looked at Heath for one long, terrible second, and burst into tears.

“Oh,” Heath said, flushing. “Jesus, I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry. I know you lost your mother. I should have been more careful. I was only trying to make you feel better, but I put my foot in it.”

“No, it’s okay,” she whispered, but her shoulders were heaving, and she couldn’t stop crying.

Heath handed her a napkin from the table, and she blotted at her eyes, her body wracked with sobs. He looked at her with such concern that Bel saw the tragedy of her plight reflected in his beautiful eyes, and the worst moments flooded back. Her mother’s face when she told them the diagnosis. Seeing her mother get thinner, lose her hair. The day her mother died. Hearing her grandmother tell them they had to go away to school. Being mean to Rose in the dining hall, feeling terrible about it, and having Rose refuse to speak to her afterward. Now she really couldn’t stop crying. Heath dragged his chair around the small table, until he sat beside her, an inch away.

“Bel,” he said softly.

She looked up at him, and she realized she wasn’t afraid of him anymore, or nervous around him. He felt like a friend.

“I’m sorry,” she said, through tears. “I’m embarrassed to flake out on you like this. But my life is just—It’s so fucking dark.”

He glanced around at the empty patio, then reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “You can tell me. Nobody’s here. You can say anything.”

“Why did both my parents have to die?” she said. “Why me? Like, who does that happen to? First my dad when I was little. Then my mom. It’s so unfair.”

“I agree. Very unfair.”

“I’m being punished.”

“That’s not true. How could it be? You’re a child. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I’m ungrateful. That’s what Rose says. I ought to be glad our grandmother took us in, and sent us here, but I’m not. I’m angry.”

“There’s nothing wrong with how you feel,” he said. “It’s completely normal.”

“What I’m really saying is, I don’t like Odell. I actually kind of hate it.”

“I understand. This place can grind you down. Make you feel like you’re not good enough. It did that to me, at first.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It took me a long time to prove myself here. To find my place.”

“Wait. You went to school here?”

“You didn’t know? I was actually very happy at Odell—not right away, but eventually. Right? I mean, I came back to teach, though sometimes I think I’m still trying to show them. Maybe that’s why I came back. I could tell you stories about what it was like, what I went through. I’ve been low, myself. I’ve been so low. You can’t imagine.”

She looked up into his eyes, holding her breath, afraid he would stop confiding in her.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

“I shouldn’t. I can’t—well, maybe I’ll tell you another time. But believe me when I say that bad things have happened in my life. Here at Odell, and elsewhere. Things that almost pulled me under, that I thought I would never recover from. But I did. I got past it. And you can, too. You remind me of myself, you know.”

“I do? How?”

“Maybe I’m projecting. But the way you’re so quiet in class, and yet, I can tell how deeply you’re feeling things. You’re a dreamer. So am I.”

“Yes. You see. You understand me.” Her eyes filled with tears again.

“That gives me some insight into how to help you, Bel. You need something to dream about. A focus, something special to work toward. If you could find that, I think you could be successful here. I think you could even be happy. Will you try?”

“I want to, Heath. I worry that I’m not up to it,” Bel said.

There, she’d used his name. Was he going to rebuke her? But no, he took her hand, and she held on, like he could save her from the flood.

“Don’t sell yourself short. If you could see the girl I see, I know you’d believe in yourself. You are up to it,” he said, and there was so much sympathy in his voice that she nearly melted.

“But I’m not as smart as the kids here,” she said.

“It’s not true. I’ve seen your file. I admit, your grades aren’t anything to write home about. But your scores are off the charts. You’re very smart, Bel. You just have to do the work, and you’ll succeed.”

“That’s not the only problem,” she said. “People are mean here. Everyone’s a poser. I feel so lost.”

“You have your twin sister to fall back on, don’t you?”

“Not really. Rose and I used to be good friends, but this place is driving us apart. She doesn’t like who I hang out with. She doesn’t approve of my behavior. We fight all the time. I hate it.”

“Odell can put pressure on relationships, it’s true. You have to ignore the noise. Find some time when it’s just the two of you, and hash things out. Will you try?”

“I want to make up with her. I do. I’ve been feeling so alone.”

“You’re not alone, Bel. You have your sister. You also have me.”

Bel wiped her eyes, and gazed at him. “You mean that?”

“I do mean it. I’m your advisor, and it’s my job to help you be happy here. As a matter of fact, I have a suggestion.”

Bel was hoping for something intimate and personal, like the two of them having dinner together. Now that would give her something to live for. Instead Heath suggested that Bel join the cross-country team, which he coached. It would get her out in nature, and the endorphins generated by long-distance running would improve her outlook. Yada yada yada, she thought. But then she realized that he couldn’t ask her to dinner even if he wanted to. It would look weird, and it was probably against the rules. But if she joined the team he coached, she could spend more time with him, and not just time, but time in the woods on the running trails, maybe even alone.

“I’d love to,” she said.

“Good, it’s settled. Come to the field house this afternoon at three forty-five, and we’ll get you squared away with a uniform.”

He glanced at his watch, which made her sad. She didn’t want their meeting to end.

“I have to get going,” he said. “It’s later than I thought. I’m glad we had this talk, Bel. Everything’s going to be all right. You’re going to be happy here, I promise. Okay?”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.” He stood up and glanced around quickly, making sure that nobody would see. “C’mere, you seem like you could use a hug,” he said, holding out his arms.

Bel didn’t hesitate. She stepped into his embrace and gloried there, letting herself bask in the warmth of his body, his breath against her hair. She drank in the scent of his shampoo, which made her think of the ocean, of sandalwood. She would’ve stayed like that forever, but he released her, and stepped away.

“Okay, see you at the field house later,” he said.

Then he was gone.

The air felt cooler now—fresher, sweeter, and it smelled of flowers and grass. Somewhere somebody mowed a lawn, and the buzz of the lawn mower was cheerful to her ears. Bel started walking toward Moreland, and the deep green of the trees and the grass was pleasing to her now. There would always be a before and an after. A before and an after their talk. A before and an after their embrace. Before, she was lost, but now, a light shined on everything she saw. Bel could go tell Darcy and the seniors what happened, and bask in their envy. But she wouldn’t. She didn’t want to share this. Her friendship with Heath Donovan was her secret, hers alone.

9

“He just got glasses yesterday, poor thing, and doesn’t quite know what to make of them,” Mrs. Donovan said. Rose sat at the Donovans’ kitchen table, holding little Scottie in her lap. The air was fragrant with the scent of the chocolate-chip cookies fresh from the oven. The child fidgeted with the bright-green eyeglasses attached to his head with a strap, so Rose held him away from her and made funny faces to distract him. He watched her solemnly, his eyes behind the lenses wide as saucers.

“You’re so good with him,” Mrs. Donovan said. “Do you babysit?”

“I’d babysit for this guy anytime. He’s the sweetest,” Rose said, lowering her nose and drinking in the scent of the child’s flaxen hair.

Mrs. Donovan laughed. “I’ll take you up on that. He is a sweetie. He was a preemie, you know. He doesn’t talk much yet. He’s a little delayed. Watch out, though. His sister is a holy terror, and it’s a package deal.”

“She seems so fun. Is she here?”

“Harper is fun. She’s a handful, though. She’s in her room playing Goat Simulator on the laptop, so we can have some peace and quiet.”

“Playing what?”

“Goat Simulator. It’s this video game where the kid pretends to be a goat running wild in a town. It’s actually a pretty good metaphor for Harper’s life, come to think of it. Anyway, she’s obsessed with it.”

Mrs. Donovan placed a plate of cookies on the table in front of Rose. Max lounged at Rose’s feet, his tail thumping back and forth with the rhythm of a metronome. This afternoon tête-à-tête was like a dream come true. To be invited into a teacher’s home, and to have it be so cozy and adorable. The kitchen had an old-fashioned gas stove, a tile backsplash and pretty curtains. Mrs. Donovan had the nicest smile, and was so easy to talk to. In Rose’s old school, the teachers barely knew her name. Rose couldn’t believe her luck in getting Mrs. Donovan as her advisor.

“Tea?” Mrs. Donovan asked.

“I’d love to, but I’m holding the baby,” Rose said.

“Oh, I’ll take him, so you can enjoy your refreshments.”

Mrs. Donovan brought mugs of tea over to the table. Why did people say she wasn’t good-looking? She might not be flashy or blingy, but she had a fresh, wholesome prettiness—like a mother should. Rose’s mother had been glamorous, yet Rose had never felt comfortable with her eccentric, arty style. Done up in thrift-shop finds, with a big tattoo of angel wings on her arm for their dad. She cooked up pots of organic quinoa for dinner, but never baked cookies. Rose had secretly wished for a normal mom, someone more like Mrs. Donovan. She felt guilty thinking that, yet, if Rose was honest, here in this delightful kitchen with Mrs. Donovan, she didn’t miss her mother much at all.

Scottie went to Mrs. Donovan happily. Rose took a bite of a cookie. It was warm and gooey inside. Bliss.

“These are divine. Thank you so much for baking for me. You didn’t have to!” Rose exclaimed.

“Oh, it was no trouble. Harper helped. She loves baking—today, anyway. Five minutes from now, she’ll be on to something else.”

“It must be so special for them, growing up at Odell,” Rose said.

“People think that,” Mrs. Donovan replied, frowning. “But being a faculty kid makes for a strange childhood. We eat most of our meals in the dining hall, with a million people all around. Scottie gets overwhelmed by the excitement, and Harper eats it up. Literally. Yesterday I found three brownies in her pockets. Students sneak her extra dessert.”

Rose laughed. “That’s adorable.”

“Not when she’s bouncing off the walls at bedtime from all the sugar. Besides, it’s a control thing. How can I teach her no when there are so many teenagers around who say yes?”

“Yes, but—it’s so wonderful here, with beautiful grounds to play in. I grew up in an apartment complex in the city. Everything was concrete. We couldn’t have pets. To me, Odell feels like paradise.”

“You’re not alone in thinking that. Some people see the campus, and it’s love at first sight. My husband was like that. He lived and breathed Odell when we were students, and that’s still true. Even if he wasn’t sure about being a teacher, he knew he wanted to be here,” Mrs. Donovan said, and laughed sheepishly.

“He doesn’t like being a teacher?”

“Oh, I, uh, didn’t mean it that way,” Mrs. Donovan said, coloring slightly, as if she’d said too much. “Heath loves his work. Especially now that we’re dorm heads, and truly immersed in the community. He finds it very fulfilling.”

There was a false note in Mrs. Donovan’s voice that made Rose wonder how she herself felt about Odell.

“And you? Do you like your work?” Rose asked.

“Thank you for asking. I love teaching math. But I’m a bit of an introvert, so the dorm head job, living here on campus, doesn’t come as naturally to me as it does my husband. But I think it’s important work, so it’s satisfying in that sense. Historically, Moreland has had challenges. I had run-ins with girls from this dorm when I was a student here. It just seems to attract the mean girls.”