Broken glass, crushed plant samples, and notebooks with her careful handwriting were scattered all around her. She didn’t sob out loud. She just breathed in short, ragged pulls. One thought kept circling in her head.
Maggie. Mike. What do I do now?
Twenty minutes passed. Maybe thirty. She couldn’t tell. At last she made herself stand.
Her legs barely worked. She gathered the torn pieces of her dress and covered herself as best she could. The door was locked. There was no key inside.
Eleanor sat down on the floor with her back against the wall and wrapped her arms around her knees. The room smelled like formaldehyde, dust, and their cologne. She stared at the broken microscope and wondered whether this was the end, or only the beginning of it.
The next morning Eleanor woke at 5:30. Maggie was still asleep, curled under an old quilt. Her mother was already in the kitchen, moving pots around on the stove.
Eleanor stood in front of the hallway mirror. A bruise under one eye had spread dark purple. Her lip was swollen. There was dried blood on her cheek. She dug an old tube of makeup out of her bag—the kind left over from her wedding—and covered what she could.
She put on a high-neck blouse and a long skirt. Then a raincoat, though the weather was warm.
“Where are you headed so early?” her mother asked without turning from the stove.
“Into town. I’ve got something to take care of.”
Her mother looked at her closely. “Cover your face better. Folks will ask questions.”
Eleanor nodded and left.
The sheriff’s office was about twelve miles away in the next town. She took the first morning bus and sat by the window. The whole ride she stared at the glass without seeing a thing. One thought beat through her mind: I have to file a report. Otherwise they’ll come back.
The station was nearly empty. A young deputy with red, tired eyes looked up from a newspaper.
“Can I help you?”
“I need to file a report.”
“About what?”
Eleanor swallowed hard. “I was attacked. Yesterday. At school.”
The deputy set down the paper and asked her name. When he heard “Eleanor Smith,” he picked up the phone.
“Captain Riley? There’s a woman here about an assault.”
Five minutes later a captain came into the hallway. He was about thirty-five, in shirtsleeves, with the tired look of a man who had seen too much and slept too little.
“Come with me.”
The office was small and stuffy. A desk, two chairs, a metal file cabinet, and a calendar on the wall. Riley sat down and pulled out a blank report form.
“Tell me what happened. When, where, and who.”
Eleanor sat across from him. Her voice shook at first, then steadied, as if she were telling someone else’s story.
She told him about the previous afternoon, after four o’clock. The biology classroom at the junior high in Pine Hollow. Three students: Victor Cole, Sean Morris, and Daniel Lewis.
All sixteen. They locked the door. Turned off the lights. Hit her when she resisted.
Riley wrote fast without looking up. “Go on.”
“They threatened me. Said they’d write my husband overseas, spread pictures around town, and hinted that something could happen to my daughter.”
“Do you have injuries? Bruises? Anything visible?”
“Yes. Bruises everywhere. And there was bleeding.”
He nodded. “We’ll send you for a medical exam at the clinic. Dr. Peterson will document everything. Then come back here.”
Eleanor walked down the long hall to the exam room. Dr. Peterson, a woman in her fifties with gray in her hair, looked at her with a professional, unreadable expression.
“Undress from the waist up. Underwear too.”
The exam lasted forty long minutes. The doctor said little, just observed, wrote notes, and collected samples. When she was done, she spoke quietly.
“There are clear signs of assault. Multiple bruises and fresh abrasions. The formal report will be ready in two hours.”
Eleanor dressed and returned to Captain Riley. He had finished the report.
“Sign here. And here.
“We’ll call the boys in for questioning. I have their fathers’ numbers. They’ll show up. Come back tomorrow at ten for follow-up.”
She left the station. Outside, the day was bright. People were walking by with grocery bags and bakery boxes, going about ordinary life. Eleanor got on the bus back home…
