She Was the Quiet One

6

Transcript of Witness Interview conducted by Lieutenant Robert Kriscunas, State Police—Major Crime Unit, and Detective Melissa Howard, Odell, NH, PD, with Miss Emma Kim.

Kriscunas: Miss Kim, I’m confirming for the record that your parents have given us permission to speak with you, and that you’re being interviewed solely as a witness. You’re not a suspect, target or person of interest in this case.

Kim: I should hope not.

Kriscunas: That’s just something we say for the record. Okay, let’s get started. Can you tell us, how well did you know the Enright sisters?

Kim: Pretty well. We were in the same grade. Bel was my roommate, although we weren’t exactly friends. Rose, I was quite friendly with.

Kriscunas: When you say you weren’t friends with Bel, do you mean that you didn’t get along with her?

Kim: I get along with everybody, Detective. But with Bel, we moved in different crowds, and to be honest, I didn’t always approve of her behavior. I kept my distance.

Kriscunas: Yes, and we want to go into detail about Bel’s bad behavior. But for now, let’s stick to the state of the sisters’ relationship. What can you tell us about that?

Kim: Once they came to Odell?

Kriscunas: Anything you can tell us about their relationship would be helpful, as far back as you know.

Howard: For instance, if you know, were Rose and Bel close growing up?

Kim: From what Rose said, I think they were friends to each other. But my sense is, they weren’t close, because they’re so different—were so different.

Kriscunas: In what way were they different?

Kim: In every way. I mean, here at Odell, kids couldn’t believe they were actually twins. First of all, they look nothing alike. Bel was this sultry brunette and Rose was fair, but beyond that—I mean, Bel was drop-dead gorgeous. And Rose was, well, normal. Pleasant-looking. Some might say plain.

Kriscunas: Did that cause problems between them?

Kim: Problems, how?

Kriscunas: Jealousy?

Kim: Oh, so girls are all catty and jealous if one is pretty and the other isn’t? I’m sorry, but that narrative is so trite.

Howard: I don’t think the lieutenant meant it that way, Emma. We’re interested in specific instances of bad feelings between the Enright sisters, that you were aware of.

Kim: If they were jealous, then they were each jealous of the other. I think they both wanted to be more like the other. Rose was really into school, and she was very successful at Odell from the start. Teachers liked her. She was especially close to her advisor, Mrs. Donovan.

Howard: Yes, we’re going to be speaking with Mrs. Donovan.

Kim: Rose studied really hard, did lots of extracurriculars. Her grades were good. Where Bel struggled academically, and I think it bothered Bel that Rose was so into school.

Howard: Bothered her, how?

Kim: Like, she found it annoying and prissy, but she was also jealous. Bel, on the other hand, immediately got accepted into this fast, popular clique. Rose didn’t like that. She worried Bel would get in trouble. But deep down, she was jealous of Bel’s social life. On a Saturday night, Bel would be of partying, but you could always find Rose in the library.

Kriscunas: Rose was quiet, Bel was wild?

Kim: Mmm, that’s too simplistic. In some ways, Bel was the quiet one. She hung out with the older kids, but she was a follower, not a leader. Like with the attack—you know, the slipper incident?

Kriscunas: Yes, we’re going to go over that in some detail in a moment.

Kim: Okay, that was all Darcy Madden’s doing. Bel was just along for the ride. Like I said, a follower. Also, Bel barely ever talked in class, which is somewhat unusual here, and part of the reason she didn’t do well academically. Bel and I didn’t have any classes together, because I’m on the Honors track, and she was definitely not on the Honors track. But I heard from other kids that she’d sit there like a bump on a log, terrified to open her mouth. Except in English.

Kriscunas: You say that like it was important.

Kim: Well. Let’s just say that Mr. Donovan was her English teacher. I can talk about that if you want to. Uh—but Rose was very self-confident. Honestly, even though you could say she wasn’t as popular as Bel, Rose fit in better here.

Kriscunas: When you say Bel was popular, you’re talking about with those seniors she hung out with?

Kim: Yes, exactly.

Kriscunas: You say they were a fast crowd.

Kim: Yes, I mean, come on. Darcy Madden and Tessa Romano—you know what they did, right?

Kriscunas: Absolutely, and that’s on the agenda. We think that incident could be quite important in terms of motive. Tell us more about Bel and the seniors. How did Bel come to hang out with them? And did it cause the tension with Rose?

Kim: How they started hanging out, I don’t know. It was just like that from Day One. I remember the very first day of classes, Bel was already sitting with the seniors, which was pretty unheard of. My guess is, Darcy took a shine to Bel, and since Darcy was the queen bee, that meant Bel was in. Anyway, I told Rose that Bel was headed for trouble, hanging out with that crew. Those girls were notorious for doing drugs, smuggling boys in, pulling pranks, that sort of thing. Rose tried to talk sense into Bel, but Bel wasn’t having it.

Howard: Were there specific incidents you recall where they argued over it?

Kim: Oh, they fought about it all the time. Rose felt like her sweet sister was taken over by pod people, you know? But nothing she said made any diference. You have to understand, showing up here as a newbie sophomore is not easy. To have Darcy Madden favor you with her attention–Bel’s head was turned. It made her feel special. Those weren’t just any friends. They were the most powerful friends you could have at this school, socially speaking. Until it all went wrong, with the attack.

Kriscunas: We understand that the sisters were on opposite sides of that incident. Do you think it’s what caused the rift between them?

Kim: The rift had been developing for a while. And not just over Bel hanging with Darcy’s crew. There were other reasons, too. Fighting over clothes, over boys—over a particular boy. But yeah, it was the attack that caused the most serious breach between them.

Howard: Serious enough to lead to murder?

Kim: You’re the police. You tell me.

Kriscunas: Miss Kim, you were the student who had the best access to both sisters. We’re interested in hearing what you think.

Kim: Honestly? I think there are several possible explanations. There was more going on here than you realize.

Kriscunas: Like what?

Kim: Well . . . you say you’re going to talk to Mrs. Donovan?

7

“To sweet, beautiful Sarah,” Heath said, raising his champagne glass. “‘One half of me is yours, the other half yours, and so all yours.’ Happy thirty, darling, I love you more than ever.”

“I love you, too. So much,” Sarah said, her eyes sparkling with happy tears.

They clinked glasses, took sips, then leaned across the table and kissed lingeringly. His lips were cool and delicious from the champagne. It was the Saturday night after the first week of classes, and the dining room at Le Jardin glowed with flowers and candlelight. Soft music played in the background, and Sarah felt lucky. She would have settled for putting the kids to bed, making a pot of spaghetti and opening a bottle of red wine. But this was a milestone birthday, and Heath had surprised her with dinner at her favorite restaurant, expense be damned. Life with him had its ups and downs, but it was never less than exciting.

“What you said just now, was that Shakespeare?” Sarah asked.

“Yep. The Bard of Avon never fails to impress. There are some benefits to being married to an English teacher, you know.”

He ducked his head sheepishly, and she read his thoughts. Heath loved his work, but he was ashamed of the size of his paycheck. He’d never intended to spend his life as an English teacher. There had been a more fabulous, lucrative goal once, and he’d come achingly close to achieving it. Heath was supposed to be a famous novelist by now. On the bestseller list, winning literary prizes, opening fat royalty checks at a house on Martha’s Vineyard. But things had gone terribly wrong, and they’d fled back to Odell in disgrace. (A private disgrace, with a confidentiality agreement to ensure it stayed that way.) Back to a safe place, where they’d first met. Now, a fancy dinner out was a rare treat. Sarah wasn’t disappointed with their lot in life. They had each other, the two babies she’d always dreamed of, the dog, jobs that were rewarding if not glamorous. But Heath was disappointed, and he didn’t hide it.

“There are many wonderful benefits to being married to Heath Donovan,” she said, lifting his hand and kissing it.

His smile reached his eyes, and she was grateful for it. In the past few weeks, since they’d gotten the promotion to dorm head, Heath had found his way again after years in the wilderness. An ambitious man of a literary bent and few practical skills could do worse than rising through the ranks at a prestigious boarding school like Odell. Heath had a plan. Dorm head today, but tomorrow, head of the English department. Then dean of faculty, and eventually, headmaster. It would take time, but at least he was dreaming again. Heath wasn’t Heath when he didn’t dream. Sarah was starting to believe that the demons were banished, but she wouldn’t say it out loud, for fear of jinxing it.

They sipped champagne, and chatted about their week. There were a couple of new girls in Moreland, twins, who’d been orphaned. Heath and Sarah had taken them on as advisees, and would keep a close watch. They both remembered their early days as students at Odell. How tough the place could be, how hard it was to get your feet under you. Sarah hadn’t been thrilled about the dorm head job. She took it for Heath’s sake. But if this job gave her the chance to help girls like the girl she’d been once—shy, insecure, daunted by the school and everyone in it—then something good could come of it.

Heath opened his menu and studied it, an adorable wrinkle forming between his brows. Sarah paused to appreciate his face—the elegant bone structure, the intense blue-green eyes. Even his ears were perfect—small and neat and dignified.

He looked up and caught her staring. “What?”

“Just thinking how lucky I am.”

“Me, too, always, love,” he said. “Hey, what do you say we split the seafood tower for the first course?”

She looked at the price and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, come on, we just got raises,” he said. “YOLO, am I right?”

She laughed. “You sound like a Moreland girl.”

“Uh-oh, it’s starting to rub off. Seriously, it’s your birthday, so I’m making an executive decision. We split the seafood tower. You get the Dover sole because I know you want it. I get the filet mignon. Then we order the chocolate lava cake with a candle and two spoons.”

“Mmm, you always know what I like,” she said.

“That’s why you married me. So, what do you say?”

“You’ve got a deal.”

They placed their orders, and Sarah pushed the thought of money from her mind. It wasn’t something she’d worried about much, before the setbacks of the past few years. Sarah came from a tight-lipped, old-money, old-Odellian family. She grew up in a stately house in a wealthy town in Massachusetts, where life was comfortable, but cold and restrained. Nobody showed off, nobody cried or danced or displayed much emotion of any kind. Her mother wore sensible shoes and tweed skirts, and belonged to the Junior League. Her father commuted into Boston, to a law firm that his own father had worked at before him, and that he would work at till he retired, or died in the harness, whichever came first. They went to dinner at the country club and to church on Sundays, and talked about trimming the hydrangeas and how the neighbors’ house needed painting. Money was never discussed—which was possible only because they had plenty of it, of course.

Heath arrived at Odell like a whirlwind in junior year, on a tennis scholarship. Most kids who came late in the game never made it to the golden circle, but Heath was different. Kids were bored with each other by then, and Heath—so good-looking, so athletic, so charming—was a sensation. Sarah got assigned to be his peer tutor in math, or she never would’ve gotten near him. They had no classes together, and Sarah didn’t run with the popular crowd. Not that she wanted to; they were a rotten bunch. The same beautiful mean girls Heath sat with at lunch had tormented Sarah since freshman year. Yet Heath took a shine to Sarah, despite the disdain of his friends. Maybe he took a shine to her because his friends didn’t like her, because she was different from them—low-key and nonjudgmental. Heath found refuge in talking to Sarah. He was confident on the surface, but that was an act. His parents were going through a brutal divorce. His father had left his mother for another woman, and Heath’s mother—who’d doted on him and raised him to believe in his own greatness—tried to kill herself. There were lawyers involved, involuntary commitment to a mental institution, money problems. Nobody at school knew except Sarah. She kept Heath’s secrets, and loved that he trusted her. Once he kissed her, that was it, she was done. Though they didn’t get engaged till the end of college. Her parents were none too happy. They thought Heath was beneath her.

Their first few years as newlyweds were bliss. They lived in the city. She worked in a consulting firm, he freelanced for magazines and wrote his novel on the side. Sarah thought Heath was a literary genius, even if his novel hit a bit too close to home for comfort. It was the story of a relationship between a wealthy young woman and a penniless young man that began at an East Coast boarding school. The boarding school details were lifted straight from their Odell years. The couple was even named Henry and Sophia—H and S, Heath and Sarah. But the resemblance ended there, and the latter half of the book—in which Henry and Sophia move to France and get caught up in a decadent, expat social scene that ends in murder—was searingly brilliant. Sarah wasn’t the only one who thought so. Heath got a book deal, a major one, and had a famous director interested in the film rights. They were on the way to realizing their dreams—well, his dreams. Heath’s big break was well deserved. He was a rare talent, a genius. They’d both known it since high school. The world had now caught on, and was giving him the recognition he deserved.

They were so happy.

Then the accusation of plagiarism surfaced. An early reviewer caught it. Whole passages lifted directly from Fitzgerald’s Tender Is the Night, not the revised edition, but the first, convoluted one, that wasn’t widely read. Heath denied it, and Sarah believed him with all her heart. It was only when the publisher pulled the book, prior to publication, that she went out and bought a copy of Tender Is the Night and compared for herself. Heath must’ve thought that nobody would check, because when you put the pages side by side, the plagiarism was obvious. She was almost as angry about his carelessness as his lies. How could he have been so cavalier about something so important to their future? He was used to being admired and adored; that was why. Heath was confident that his transgressions would be overlooked, or forgiven. And she tried to forgive. But it was hard.

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.”