An abusive boyfriend. How had she ignored that possibility—it was so often the case. High school boys were generally immature, possessive, egotistical, had short fuses and felt so bulletproof.

She didn’t know what to do even though she knew what she had to do. She was obligated to report her suspicions. But she’d never been down this road before. She locked her office door and walked quickly to the other side of the building, rapping impatiently on Troy’s first-period classroom door. When he opened the door he was obviously stricken by the look on her face because he quickly asked, “What, Iris?” in a panicked whisper.

“It’s him,” she whispered back. “It’s her boyfriend! Brett Davis! The big man on campus.”

“You’re sure?” Troy asked.

“I saw him grab her and shake her. He was furious about something and she was completely passive. How could I miss that? How could we all miss it?”

Troy pulled the door to his class closed behind him. “Damn it,” he said. “This is going to be ugly. I’ll back you up. Do what you have to do.”

She shook her head. “Whatever I do, I better be right. This can be a deadly game. That poor girl, she must be so confused. She must be terrified of him.”

“Aw, Jesus,” he said. “You should talk to Seth, too. Make sure he knows what’s going on. The girl has already had a concussion.”

“Oh, Troy,” she said, almost in tears. “How did no one know?”

He frowned. “I bet a lot of people know. I bet the kids know. Cammie knows. You know how these kids can close ranks. He has a lot of popular power.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Go do it, report it. You can explain I brought the suspicion to you and you looked into it. You’re not completely alone in this.”

“Thanks, but I can’t be worried about that. I’m a big girl. It’s Rachel who’s in trouble.”

* * *

Before making the call she had to make, she went to Phil Sanderson’s office. In the chain of command, he was next. She could have gone straight to the principal, it would have been appropriate, but Phil, as vice principal, handled most of the student behavior problems.

And of course Phil was busy. Too busy. A million things on his desk, every last one of them urgent. “Well, I’m going to have to place a call to DHS to report suspected abuse, so when do you think you can fit me in?” she asked.

“Now,” he said. He ejected a couple of supervisors from his office and got behind his desk. “I hope to God this is a waste of time,” he said.

“I’m afraid not. Believe me, I’d like that as much as you, but I was not looking for a reason to call DHS. In fact, I feel forced into it.”

“Give it to me straight.”

So she did. She didn’t name Troy, even though he had invited her to do so. “A teacher brought the suspicions to my attention and I took the appropriate action—I looked into it and sought the assistance of the girl’s athletic director. She’s in a position to see the girls when they’re dressed out for gym or for practice. She not only sees more skin when they’re wearing their PE uniforms, she also sees them in comparison to each other and whether one of them seems to have an unusually large number of visible injuries.”

Iris described the suspicious injuries, her conversations with Cammie and Rachel and, finally, the hostility between Brett and Rachel. Phil listened, occasionally shaking his head.

When she was finished he said, “Fuck.”

She cleared her throat. “That’s four hours of detention, Phil.”

“Right now I’d like to take it right up to twelve. So, you report. What next?”

“I don’t know what they’ll decide. If they think I’m on to something, they’ll investigate. They’ll interview, require medical evaluations, who knows? But I’m a mandatory reporter. If I fail to report this, not only could I lose my credentials, but the school could be in trouble. But please understand this, Phil. Reporting gives us an opportunity to keep the girl safe and that’s the priority. I want her safe. I think she’s in trouble.”

“Then you have no choice,” Phil told her. “This is what we do. It’s called intervention.”

“Why didn’t I address this problem? It’s not uncommon! We put together special programs for driving safely, for identifying diseases, the dangers of drugs, educating them about safe sex, for identifying and reporting bullying, for taking tests fairly, for the love of God! There are even survival courses—what to do if you’re caught drifting out to sea or lost in the woods! Why didn’t we address unsafe dating? What’s the number-one concern of every young girl and boy in this school, huh, Phil? It’s who they can date and whether they can get that date!”

“We do a good job, Iris. If we can’t think of everything under the sun, I’ll take the blame.”

“Crap, it’s not about blame. It’s about being awake. I’m sorry, Phil—I should have been more aware.”

He smiled at her gently. “I’m proud of what you do, Iris. Now go make your call and let me know what the follow-up will be. Let’s just be grateful we’ve come this far without a need for this before. At least while you and I have had the watch.”

“That we know of,” she said. “I’ll let you know.”

“Oh, Iris, who was the teacher?”

She hesitated. “He said I could use his name, but I’d prefer to shoulder responsibility for this for now. If we need him to back up the complaint...”

“Ah, Troy,” Phil said. “You know, I almost didn’t hire him? His résumé was spotty—a vet who did an Iraq tour, taught a couple of years in a private school where they’re not all that fussy about credentials, and a desire to live up here where the air is clean and the rafting and skiing plentiful. A kid.” He laughed and shook his head. “I didn’t think he was all that serious about teaching. He’s one of the best teachers I’ve got. In spite of all his talk about his off-campus adventures, he’s one of the most dedicated teachers here.”

That made Iris smile. “I know. He’s priceless. I want him to get his counseling credentials and work in my office.”

Phil chuckled. “Good luck with that. I think he’ll be on the slopes, not going back to school in his free time. What’s his game? Snowboarding or skiing?”