The Mare

Ginger

Because I got the phone call from Ms. Johnson that first school week, I called her, maybe once every month. I knew she wasn’t supposed to talk to me, and usually she didn’t. But every now and then she would return my call and let me know how Velvet was doing. At first it seemed she was back on track; then I could tell Ms. Johnson was being optimistic for my sake; then she told me Velvet had been given detention for bullying a teacher. I thought I hadn’t heard right. I had. Velvet had joined a group of girls who ganged up on and bullied a substitute teacher.

“They didn’t hurt him,” said Ms. Johnson, “it’s more like they—”

“Him? They attacked a male teacher? Girls?”

“They didn’t attack, its more like they picked on him.”

“Picked on him? A man?”

“He’s new and not so young, and he’s small and real nervous. They were just, you know, calling names, knocking his things off the desk, flicking at him with their fingers, just basically challenging his authority. I know Velvet wasn’t the instigator. But you might want to talk to her about it, let her know you disapprove.”