Before Jenny could say a word, a boy—almost certainly the boy in question—flew out of his seat and aimed straight for Felicity, clearly prepared to knock the breath clean out of her. Jenny stepped in his way with seconds to spare. With one arm looped around his waist, she plucked him off his feet.
“Petey, I presume.”
“You can presume anything you danged well want to,” he said with a defiant tilt to his chin and fire flashing in his startlingly blue eyes.
Something about that chin and those eyes looked disturbingly familiar. Jenny had the uncomfortable feeling she ought to recognize Petey, especially since his last name was Adams, the same as her own.
“Petey, you and I will discuss this incident when the rest of the class goes to recess,” she informed him. “In the meantime you have two choices. You can remain in your seat and behave, or you can spend the morning in the principal’s office. It’s up to you, but I should warn you that Mr. Jackson is very eager to get his hands on the person responsible for Mary’s haircut.” She smiled at the boy. “What’s it going to be?”
The defiance slipped just a notch. “Might’s well stay here,” he muttered eventually.
“Good choice,” she said, and released him to return to his seat. “Perhaps you’d like to read your apology to the class.”
“Didn’t write one,” he said, glaring at her. “You can keep me here till I’m an old man and I still won’t write one.”
The belligerence took her aback. “You did hear me give the assignment, didn’t you?”
“I ain’t deaf.”
“Then you are deliberately choosing to defy me?”
He squared his little shoulders and stared straight back at her. “Yep.”
She had to admire his spunk if not his insubordination. She had a whole new respect for the teachers forced to deal with her through the years. How she handled Petey Adams was absolutely critical to gaining the respect of his classmates, with the possible exception of Felicity, who obviously craved the approval of all authority figures more than she wanted the friendship of those her own age. She was definitely her father’s child.
“Okay, Petey, we will discuss this matter during recess.”
He shrugged indifferently.
Jenny turned to the other students and called on them one by one to read their apologies. Fortunately there were no further incidents. Still, by the time recess came an hour later, she was so tense her shoulders ached. She made arrangements for the third-grade teacher to supervise her students on the playground, then returned to meet with Petey.
He regarded her with hostility. Jenny sighed. She took a moment to look over his file, which she’d retrieved from the office on her way back from the playground. He was new to Los Piños. His mother had died less than two years before, his grandfather just months ago. He was all alone with his dad, who’d taken a job as foreman of a ranch near White Pines.
Jenny recalled all too vividly her own sense of being lost and alone after her parents’ divorce, when her mother had brought her from New York to this strange new place. She kept a tight rein on her sympathy, though, as she looked up and faced the boy seated in front of her.
“You’re new this year, aren’t you?”
“So?”
Apparently there was to be no such thing as a simple yes or no with this kid. “I remember when I went to a new school,” she said. “In this very town, in fact. I wanted to make sure everybody knew they couldn’t mess with me.”
There was a brief spark of interest in his eyes. Jenny considered mat a good sign.
“I got myself into as much trouble as I possibly could,” she said, deciding not to tell him the precise nature of that trouble. Explaining that she had stolen Harlan Adams’s car and smashed it into a tree when she was barely fourteen might just give this kid the idea that he’d been wasting his time chopping off pigtails.
“What’d you do?” Petey asked.
“Oh, lots of things,” she said dismissively. “What I really wanted most of all was to get my mom’s attention. She’d been so busy getting us settled and getting set up with her new office that she hadn’t had much time for me.”
Petey’s eyes brightened. She had clearly caught his interest.
“Did it work?” he asked eagerly.
Jenny smiled at the memory. “Oh, it worked, all right She was furious with me. She made me go to work.”
Petey stared at Jenny, disbelief written all over his face. “But you were just a kid.”
“True.”
“How old?”
“Fourteen.”
“I’m only nine. My dad would never make me work.”
“That’s what I thought about my mom. She was a lawyer, after all. I told her she was violating child labor laws, but she didn’t care. She said I had to learn a lesson. She put me to work for the man whose property I damaged.”
Petey considered that, then regarded her with a worried frown. “Do you think I’m going to have to pay for Mary’s haircut?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Jenny said. “It might even be good if you volunteered to do that. It would show that you’re sorry for hurting her and that you know what you did was wrong.”
“But I don’t have any money.”
“Then I suppose you’ll have to do like I did. You’ll have to earn it by doing chores.”
His gaze narrowed. “You mean like doing Mary’s homework and stuff?”
She bit back a grin. “No. 1 think you and Mary should each do your own homework. But maybe you could help out around her house or maybe your dad will give you extra chores at home and you can give the money to Mary’s mom.”
For the first time Petey squirmed uncomfortably. “You’re really going to tell my dad?”
Jenny was fairly sure he’d known that was going to be the outcome from the beginning of this little escapade. Now that it was a certainty, though, he was obviously worried about the consequences.
“Actually I was hoping you would tell him yourself,” she said.
“He’ll be really really mad, though.”
“You should have thought of that before you took those scissors to Mary’s hair.”
He sighed heavily, then his expression brightened. “I know. Maybe I could do chores for you and you could give the money to Mary’s mom. We wouldn’t have to tell my dad at all.”
“Nice try, but I don’t think so. After school you and I are going to go see your dad,” she said firmly. “I understand he’s working for a rancher right outside of town. It’s on my way home. I’ll drive you.”
“I’m supposed to take the bus,” he argued.
“We’ll make an exception today.”
“I shouldn’t ride with a stranger. My dad said so. My granddad, too.”
“I’m not a stranger. I’m your teacher.”
“I don’t think that matters. My dad doesn’t know you.” His expression brightened. “Maybe you should just write a note and I’ll take it home,” he suggested hopefully.
And flush it down the toilet,