“Betsy was in a fight.”
“You mean a fistfight?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be right there,” he said, hanging up. He followed the line of cars off the boat and across the ramp and up onto the road. Out on the highway, he hit the gas.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of the middle school and parked. Inside, the bright white walls were decorated with dozens of Science Fair and History Day banners. In the principal’s office, he found Betsy in the waiting room, her arms crossed tightly, her mouth pressed in a flat line. At his appearance, she looked up, her eyes widening.
“Dad, I—”
He gave her the Hand and kept walking. At the front desk, he introduced himself and was led into the principal’s office.
Principal Warner, a petite, pretty woman with kind eyes, noticed his black eye and frowned.
“I fell off my bike,” he said tightly.
She smiled, but only a little. “I’m sorry we had to call you. We’re all aware of the struggles your family is currently facing. Please, sit.”
He sat down. “She got in a fight? With whom?”
“Sierra Phillips and Zoe Wimerann. From what I hear, they were teasing her about her mother. It seems Sierra’s dad made some comments about women’s ability to fly helicopters, and Zoe responded by laughing. Betsy swung the first punch.”
He sighed. No wonder Seth called them the bitchwolves. “There’s a lot of water under the bridge with these girls. Beyond that, Betsy’s having some issues dealing with her mother’s return. It hasn’t gone as smoothly as we’d expected.”
“Her teachers tell me she’s been acting out in the past few days. Snapping at friends and not turning in her homework. We have an excellent school counselor, if you’d like her to see someone.”
“Thank you, Principal Warner. I’ll let you know if that becomes necessary. And now, I’d like to speak to my daughter, if you don’t mind.”
She stood. “Certainly. And … how is Jolene?”
Michael didn’t know how to answer that. He was getting sick and tired of pretending that everything was fine. “She’s not good. That’s the problem.”
“Perhaps she needs some time.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I hear that a lot.”
Principal Warner walked him out of her office, led him to where Betsy sat, looking mulish now, both scared and angry.
“Betsy,” the principal said, “I’m going to let your father handle this for now, but if you’re caught fighting again, I’ll suspend you from school. Do you understand?”
Betsy nodded glumly. She followed Michael out to the car without saying a word.
“Is this the whole frenemies thing?” he said, opening his door. “Because I thought Sierra was your BFF.”
“Don’t try to sound cool, Dad. It’s weird.”
“These girls are not worth your friendship, Betsy.”
“I know that,” she said, sighing. “I’m done with them.”
Michael got into the car. “What happened, Betsy?”
She got into the passenger seat and looked at him. Her face was flushed. “I just lost it, Dad. I don’t even know what happened. But it wasn’t my fault. Zoe totally started it. She hit me first.”
“And why did Zoe hit you?”
“I called her a bitch. But she is, Dad. She really is. You always say truth is a defense.”
“Nice try. Look, Bets, I know you’re upset with your mom, but—”
“Not everything is about her, you know.”
“This is. You punched a girl for saying something mean about her. But, you know, Betsy, you’ve been a little mean to her yourself. Maybe you feel bad about that.”
“You were mean to her before she left.”
“Yes, I was. And I feel bad about that. But I don’t go around punching people.”
“She barely looks at me. Mom, I mean. I don’t think she even likes me anymore.”
Michael sighed. And there it was. The real problem. “I know, baby. Your mom is different, and it hurts all our feelings, so you’re acting out. I get it, I do. But you can’t go around hitting people.”
Betsy looked at him. “I’m scared, Dad,” she said quietly.
“Yeah,” he said. “We all are.”
*
Jolene heard the door open, heard footsteps coming toward her bed. She knew it was Michael.
She pretended to be asleep. The three glasses of wine she’d drunk had sedated her, given her solace from the grief and fear and anger. She couldn’t face the family who wanted her back. And Michael would be the last person on earth she could talk to about her lost career anyway; he’d always hated her service. He’d probably say, good, and let it go at that. He couldn’t possibly understand how it felt to know that she’d never fly a Black Hawk again.