Janice Kay - The Word of a Child

“Are you here to talk about your missing assignments?” she asked.

“No. Um…” Tracy fidgeted in front of the desk. “Can I tell you something? I mean, something…well, that I’m not supposed to?”

“Not supposed to?” Was Tracy mature enough to realize that a friend was in over her head with drugs or boys, that some secrets weren’t meant to be kept?

“Mature” was not the word that leaped to mind with Tracy Mitchell, who tended to spend classes passing notes and giggling.

“Yeah.” Her blond hair swung down, a curtain hiding her face. She spoke so softly, Mariah had to strain to hear. “This guy made me do things. He said no one would believe me if I was stupid enough to talk. I’ve been…I’ve been really scared.”

“Scared,” Mariah echoed, a chill hand closing on her heart. “Somebody threatened you?”

“I didn’t think anybody would believe me.” The girl looked up, her blue eyes full of hope. “But Lacy Carlson says you will. That you listen to kids.”

No. Please not me, Mariah begged silently. Choose someone else to tell.

Even as she had the pitiful thoughts, Mariah knew she was being selfish. Tracy had come to her because she had developed a reputation among students as trustworthy. She should be glad that the teenager felt she could safely tell her story. She should even be flattered that the girl had chosen her. It meant she had done something right as a teacher.

But, oh, she didn’t want to hear it. Not if the hearing meant she had to report the story to authorities and loose them on some man and his family.

Showing none of her inner turmoil on her face, she rose to her feet and closed the door to the hall. Coming back to the girl, Mariah placed a gentle hand on her arm.

“Why don’t we sit down.” She pulled a student desk to face the one Tracy chose. “Okay. Whoever ‘he’ is, it sounds like he doesn’t want you to think anybody will believe you. Which doesn’t mean they won’t.”

Tracy thought about that. “Maybe. Except—” she blushed “—I’m not a very good student. And I dress kind of…”

Like a slut, Mariah filled in. Aloud she said, “Provocatively?”

Tracy knew that word. She nodded.

“It’s against the law for a man to rape a prostitute, you know.”

“You mean, a whore?”

“That’s right. In other words, your clothing or even, in the case of a prostitute, your profession do not constitute an invitation. No one can touch you without your permission.” She paused a beat. “Is that what happened?”

Tracy’s blue eyes filled with tears. After a moment, she gave a jerky nod.

“Will you tell me about it?” Mariah asked gently.

“The first time, he, um, just touched me.”

“Where?” She kept her voice patient.

“My…well, my breasts. And, um, he kissed me.”

“Did you mind? Or did you like it?”

“I guess I kind of… I mean, he’s older and everything,” the thirteen-year-old mumbled to the desk.

“You were flattered.”

Tracy squirmed. “Kind of.”

“Okay. Any of us might be.”

“Only then, um, the next time he unzipped his pants and he made me touch his…you know.” She was crying in earnest now, and her nose began to run.

Mariah stood long enough to grab a box of tissues and hand her several.

Tracy blew her nose.

“He made you fondle him.”

“And…and put my mouth on him. He tasted…it was really gross. Especially when he…”

Mariah hid her shudder.

“Did anything more happen?” she asked quietly.

“Last time he…” She stole a look up. “He made me have sex. It hurt so bad! And I’m afraid I’ll be pregnant!” With her face puffy and wet, she looked like a frightened eight-year-old, not the teen she was.

Mariah took her hands and squeezed them. “How long ago did you have sex?”

Tracy snuffled. “It was…it was the day before yesterday.”

“There are morning-after drugs to keep you from being pregnant. That’s the first thing we’ll have to see to.”

Her voice lightened. “You mean, I don’t have to be pregnant?”

“No, you don’t have to be pregnant.” Mariah hesitated. “Tracy, is this man related to you?”

Her head ducked immediately, but she shook it no.

Actually, to the best of Mariah’s knowledge, Tracy’s biological father wasn’t in the picture. On the two occasions when Mariah had called the mother in for a conference, she had left a different unsavory-looking boyfriend lurking in the hall. Mariah wasn’t as surprised as she wished she could be that one of them, or another just like them, had molested the pretty young girl who dressed in tiny miniskirts and baby Ts that showed rapidly ripening breasts to superb advantage.

“Will you tell me who he is?”

“Will he have to know?” she whispered.

“If he’s an adult, he should be punished. In the eyes of the law, you’re a child. He cannot force you, or even persuade you, to have sexual relations. You did say he’s older?”

Fresh tears flowed. “He’s a teacher.”

Mariah’s heart sank even as her mouth made an O of surprise. Not one of the boyfriends.

A teacher. This was going to be ugly, and she wanted no part in it. Teachers were so vulnerable to these accusations. Look at her now: alone in the room with Tracy, the door closed. A student could say anything happened, and how would it be disproved?

“Oh dear,” she said weakly.

“He…he told me he’d give me a good grade if I…you know. And if I didn’t, he’d flunk me.”

“I wish you’d reported him then and asked to be transferred from the class.” She immediately regretted saying even that; she didn’t want poor Tracy to feel as if what happened—assuming it had happened—was her fault in any way.

Tracy’s head went down again. In a choked mumble, she said, “I thought it was kind of cool that he liked me. Even though he’s old.”

Mariah squeezed her hands again. “Who is it, Tracy?”

The seventh-grader murmured something.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you.”

“Mr. Tanner.”

Mariah couldn’t suppress an, “Oh, no.”

Tracy’s chin shot up. “Do you think I’m lying?”

“Did I say that?”

She yanked her hands away. “You sound like it!”

“No. I’m only…sorry. I thought he was a well-liked teacher.”

“You mean, well-liked by you,” the girl said spitefully.

“Tracy, I know him only as a colleague. We aren’t personal friends. I’m on your side. I won’t abuse your trust, I promise.”

The flash of fear and anger faded. “Oh.”

“Can you repeat your story for Mrs. Patterson?”

“The principal?” she said in dismay.

“She’ll have to hear it, you know. And then I’m afraid you’ll have to tell the police or a social worker. You may even have to testify in court.”

“In court?” Tracy shrank back. “They can’t just fire him?”

“It’s not that simple. How can he be fired on the basis of one student saying he did something? He’ll likely be suspended while an investigation goes on, but unless he admits to having relations with you, he may have to be convicted of a crime before he can be fired.”

The teenager looked genuinely frightened now. “But…what if I won’t talk in court?”

Mariah hated having to tell the poor girl what she’d set in motion by choosing to come to a teacher.

“Now that you’ve told me,” she said sympathetically, “I have to report your story. That’s the law for teachers. It would certainly be hard to convict Mr. Tanner if you won’t testify. That would leave him free to molest other girls. Do you want that?” She gave Tracy a moment to reflect, then levered herself out of the student desk. “I’m going to call Mrs. Patterson to come here right now. Please stay and tell her, just like you did me. The worst is over, Tracy. It’ll be easier this time, I promise.”