Free Too Far to Say Far Enough: A Novel by Nancy Rue

something to make the—Coach Iseley think there might be a problem?”
    “No,” Desmond said. “Ma’am.”
    “He knows what I’m talking about,” the coach said. “He knows.”
    “Then let’s include him in the conversation,” I said.
    She looked as if that thought hadn’t occurred to her.
    “What’s she talking about, Desmond?” I said.
    “You got me, Big Al. Only thing she ever said to me was, ‘Leave those girls alone. Give me five.’”
    “Five …?”
    “Push-ups,” the Mosquito said. “I’d give him more than that, but that’s all he can do. All.”
    “Desmond,” I said, “are you acting inappropriately with the girls in your class?”
    He looked stung. “I don’t act inapproprimately with girls any time. Me and Mr. Chief talked about that, now.”
    “Desmond, get on to class,” Miss Iseley said. “Go.”
    I wondered vaguely if anyone had ever told her she repeated everything with a synonym. I felt like reaching for a flyswatter.
    Desmond was still looking at me.
    “Go on,” I said. “We’ll talk later.”
    I waited until he was inside before I turned to the woman who appeared to be sharpening her stinger.
    “I hope you have a minute,” she said. “Just one.”
    I pulled off my helmet. “Where Desmond is concerned I have all the minutes you need. But just so we’re clear, whatever you have to say about Desmond can be said in front of him. He’s old enough to be involved in discussions about his welfare.” I lowered my chin. “I assume this is about his welfare.”
    “Not entirely his. It’s about the welfare of his classmates, too. Particularly his harem.”
    “His what ?”
    “The girls who follow him around like he’s the sheik.”
    She wasn’t telling me anything I wasn’t aware of, but her tone zinged its way right between my shoulder blades.
    “Has someone claimed harassment?” I said.
    “No,” she said. “If there were harassment, he would already be on in-school suspension.”
    There was no mistaking the disappointment.
    “Then what is the problem?” I said.
    “There isn’t one. Yet. As I said, I’m trying to be proactive.”
    “About what?”
    She planted her hands on hips so narrow they barely existed. “There is one girl who is obviously having issues. Crying. Withdrawing. Like every other girl in the eighth grade, depending on her hormone levels.”
    “You’re saying Desmond is the cause of that?”
    “No. On the contrary. Just the opposite. He sits next to her constantly and talks to her like he’s Dr. Phil.”
    Which is he, Mosquito Lady? I wanted to say. Dr. Phil or the sheik?
    “As I see it,” she went on, “he is making this girl dependent on him for emotional support so that … may I be blunt?”
    “I think that ship has sailed,” I said.
    “I’ve seen it before, though never quite this blatant. He’s setting himself up as her comforter so he can prey on her sexually.”
    My leg swung over the bike almost of its own accord. I had my face in hers before Classic’s weight even balanced on the kickstand.
    “Has my son ever touched that girl in your class?” I said.
    “I didn’t say he had.”
    “No. You just said he was trying to get her in the sack. That is a very serious accusation.”
    I had to hand it to her: she was not visibly cowed by the fact that I was all but breathing fire from my nostrils. “As I’ve said , I’m trying to ward off a problem before it starts.”
    “You have no reason to think that problem is ever going to start.”
    “Really. Because in my experience, children aspire to what’s celebrated in their community. If drug dealers are making the big money, all the kids want to be one. In this case—”
    “In this case what’s celebrated in Desmond’s community is love and acceptance and healing.”
    The woman looked at me as if I were five years old. “I’m talking about his community of origin , Ms. Chamberlain . I admire what you’ve done in adopting this boy, but you have to understand: