A few days later, I had two encounters with teachers, neither of them pleasant.

The first was with Ms. Simms, the cross-country coach. I’d successfully avoided her for over a week, since I’d started going to the restaurant after school instead of to practice, but that morning she came right into my history class. She must have worked out an arrangement with the history teacher beforehand, because as soon as she showed up at the door, he sent me out into the hallway to talk to her.

“What’s going on?” Ms. Simms asked, in her usual direct way.

Beating about the bush with her would have been a waste of time. For such a small town, Galloway sure had a lot of strong-willed women.

“I’m busy after school,” I replied.

“You’re hanging out with losers,” she said. “They’re just high-school popular. It’s all smoke, no substance. It doesn’t translate into anything in real life.”

“They’re my friends,” I protested feebly.

“Friends would insist you show up for practice,” Ms. Simms said. “These kids use people. They want something from you, but you won’t believe me, so let’s not waste time with that. Here is my message. Start showing up for practice or I’ll drop you from the team.”

She didn’t have to elaborate. No team meant no chance at a scholarship. No scholarship meant no university. I didn’t want to be a gym teacher but I did want to get out of town. A scholarship was my easy escape.

“I’ll train in the mornings,” I promised.

Ms. Simms didn’t like my answer but she decided to accept it. “I’m at school by seven-thirty anyway,” she said. “I expect to see you waiting for me in the parking lot when I arrive. Be dressed and ready to work out. If you miss a day, or you’re late, you’ll be cut from the team.” She spun on her heel and headed back to the gym.

I didn’t blame Ms. Simms for being angry with me. She’d put in a lot of time with me over the years, helping me train. She’d gone out of her way many times, especially when Mom was ill, to make sure I got a ride to track meets and that I had the proper clothes and shoes.

The thought of training in the morning didn’t thrill me. Since I’d stopped sleeping through the night, I was sleeping until the last possible minute in the mornings. I’d have to get up at six-thirty to get to school on time. Ms. Simms didn’t fool around. She wouldn’t give me another chance if I blew this one.

The second teacher encounter came just as I was about to have lunch. I had fifteen minutes to eat after my cafeteria shift ended and my next class began. I had just sat down with my tray when the announcement came over the public address system: “Would Jessica Harris please report to Miss Burke in Room 313.”

I groaned, not in the mood for another lecture about my poor academic performance, but a summons was a summons. I quickly shoveled spaghetti into my mouth, washed it down with some milk, and ate my apple on the way to the biology lab, even though eating in the hallway was against the rules. I dropped the apple core into a trashcan just outside the classroom.

Miss Burke looked up as I entered. Her face was pale. “Jessica, thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Are you all right?” One doesn’t usually ask such questions of teachers. If they’re ill, it’s none of our business, but she looked so ghostly and troubled it just popped out of me.

“No, Jessica, I’m not all right, but I’m hoping you can help me. Close the door, please.”

My last biology quiz had come back with an okay grade, so I didn’t understand what she was getting at.

“Come back into the storage room. I have something for you.”

I followed her into the small room off the biology classroom, where extra supplies and things were stored. Casey was the only student trusted with a key to this room. I had helped her clean and organize it one Saturday.

The first things I noticed were the glass cases displaying the large insect collection Casey had caught and pinned for the school. I hadn’t even noticed that the cases had been taken down from the classroom walls.

Miss Burke saw me looking at them. “I thought they’d be safer locked in here, given the current mood of the school,” she said, running her hands gently over the glass. Casey’s father had made the cases in his woodworking shop. There were more of them in Casey’s house.

“I’ve been teaching for forty-three years,” Miss Burke said. “I’ve never met a student with a scientific curiosity to equal Casey’s. She’s the type of student a teacher will spend her whole career hoping to come across. Casey takes such joy from learning things! You’re her friend, so you know this, but I wonder if you truly appreciate how gifted she is. She could be a pioneer, a Jane Goodall of the insect world. But now there’s this dreadful mess.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. To my horror, Miss Burke began to cry.

“You should hear the things they say about her in the staff room. Teachers are supposed to be enlightened people, but they sound like they come from the Dark Ages. And I haven’t done anything to help Casey. I spoke up for her once, but my colleagues said I was only trying to secure my legacy, that if Casey was guilty it meant that all the years I’ve put in have been for nothing—no star pupil, no lasting impact. I am ashamed that I allowed their comments to silence me. Why should I care what they think? I know in my heart what is true.”

I didn’t know what to do. Should I pat her shoulder to comfort her? That didn’t seem appropriate, so I just stood there with my hands in my pockets, feeling inadequate, embarrassed and angry at having been put in this position.

Miss Burke composed herself without my help, drying her tears with a snowy-white linen handkerchief.

“But I don’t have to continue to be ashamed,” she said. “I’m not going to sit back and let them take Casey’s academic year from her. And this is where you come in. I’d like you to find out from Casey’s parents if she can continue with her studies while she’s in jail. If she can, I’ll arrange with her other teachers to get course assignments to her. She’s bound to be found not guilty at her trial, and if she can keep up with her studies, she can still graduate this year and get a science scholarship, like we’d planned. Her trip to Australia—well, there will be other opportunities, other trips. It’s a shame, though. She worked so hard for it.”

She turned away and pulled something out of a drawer. “Also, see if they can get this book to Casey. I know how fond she is of beetles.”

Miss Burke handed me a very large book called, The World of Beetles. It was just the sort of book Casey would drool over, with close-up photos of hundreds of beetles doing all the strange things they do.

The bell rang. I could hear kids coming into the classroom after the lunch break.

“Thank you, Jessica,” Miss Burke said. “You’re a good friend. Maybe now I can start looking at myself in the mirror again.”

Class began. I hid the beetle book inside my binder so that no one would ask me about it. Anyone who saw me with an insect book would know it was for Casey, and I didn’t need that.

The gang at the restaurant found it, though. Nicole grabbed my binder to check on the work assigned for History and, of course, pulled the bug book out for everyone to see.

“What’s this?” she asked, as if she deserved an explanation. “You taking up the Weird One’s hobby?”

Up until that moment, The Cactus gang had completely refrained from mentioning Casey in my presence. When I was with them, I was almost able to forget Casey existed. Now, suddenly, she was at the table with us. I began to panic.

“Old Lady Burke gave it to me to take to Casey’s parents,” I said.

“You’re not going to do it, are you?”

I had to come up with something fast. “Well, my bio grades have been slipping. She kind of hinted that she’d give me a break if I did her this favor.” Then I told the group about our discussion in the storage room, playing up the crying scene to make them laugh.

“She’s senile,” Nicole said. “They would have fired her years ago if she hadn’t had union protection.”

“It’s not surprising that she likes Casey so much,” Amber said, stirring sugar into her Diet Coke. She did that every day, and the clink of the spoon against her glass annoyed me. “They’re two of a kind.”

I took the bait. I shouldn’t have, but I did. “Both crazy about bugs?”

“Well, sure, but more important, they’re both not crazy about boys.”

“You mean Miss Burke is a dyke?” Nathan asked with a grin.

“Duh!” Amber frowned. “Miss Burke! Never married, all those stories in class about traveling the world with other old-maid science teachers. You don’t think they just crawled around looking at bugs, do you?”

“Oh, that is so gross!” Nicole sputtered. “Burke is so old and ugly!”

“She wasn’t always old,” Cliff, another group member, pointed out. “I say, God bless and go to it.”

“You would!” Amber said. “But I think it’s scandalous, allowing her to teach all these years, having contact with female students. We should report her to someone.” Amber turned to me. “Is that what made Casey gay, Jess—or was she gay before?”

“I…I don’t know,” I stammered. “I guess I really don’t know her that well.”

“You’d better not be gay,” Nicole said.

“Yeah—we’d have to kill you.” Nathan said this and laughed, but I wasn’t sure he was joking. “Gay people should all be killed. Hitler was right about that.”

That started the gang off, listing all the other people Hitler should have killed when he had the chance—game-show contestants, slow waitresses, chess-club members—and I breathed a sigh of relief that the attention was off me.

Shortly after, I excused myself and went into the ladies’ room. I kept my head down while I was washing my hands. I washed them over, and over, and over.