Had they known about her truth, her story all along?
The Trio, out of uniform, leaning against each other and the door frame as though it were perfectly normal for them to be at her apartment on a Friday night.
PENNY ROLL BY VICTORIA WISWELL 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 114
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The girls run wild and roughshod across the playing field, galloping into the woods, caught up in a mission of mischief. Molly watches them from the school patio, squinting into the sun. As their teacher, what she ought to do, her job really, is go after them, collect and return them to their class.
On the other side of the patio door, Bingham High’s history teacher, Mrs Johnson, is zig-zagging through the rows of cafeteria tables toward Molly. Molly sighs and marks the cold April air with a white puff of annoyance. She slips the cigarette rolling between her fingers, the treat she was counting on to lighten her thoughts and carry her through the last period, back into her pocket.
Mrs Johnson’s face, bespectacled and frowning, pops out the patio door, rippling the air.
“Have you seen The Trio, Ms Collins?” she asks, pointing the sharp edge of her nose at Molly.
“The Trio?” Molly says, feigning confusion. “The Trio” is the moniker assigned by staff to the inseparable, high-spirited triumvirate of Janice, Paula, and Rachel. In her two years at Bingham High, Molly has watched the girls, smart and charismatic, wield the formidable power of their youth over the predominately middle-aged staff. Mrs Johnson, hard-baked to the bone and not suffering the desire to reverse her years, is the one adult determined that the girls follow the rules.
Molly has the pleasure of having the three, their endless chatter and non-stop texting included, in her third-period advanced placement art class. Janice was invited to attend. She’s talented, possessing what every artist desires: the ability to infuse paintings with emotion, to paint what is felt, not what is seen. Rachel and Paula, their placement was encouraged by the administration too, as Bingham’s principal, Mrs LeClaire, put it, “fill seats and keep the class running”.
Three years ago, encouragement of the same kind would have irked Molly, eaten at her artistic integrity, and likely provoked her into rebellious action. Now, here at Bingham High, as an art teacher rather than an artist, as part of the school system, she didn’t even raise her eyebrows. She just did what she was told.
“Yes. Rachel, Janice, and Paula—your students. Your friends. They’re not in fifth-period math like they should be. I don’t suppose you know where they are?”
With the sun behind Molly, she can see the bricks of impatience in Mrs Johnson’s eyes, the result, she suspects, of the many short-tempered outbursts she’s witnessed Mrs Johnson deliver, from years spent pretending to like young people. “Oh, The Trio. No, I haven’t,” Molly says, adding a head shake for effect.
“So you haven’t seen them? Because you have been out here?” Mrs Johnson says.
“Right.” Molly is sure Mrs Johnson doesn’t believe her. “I’d try the gymnasium. They’re probably in the fitness room, working out.”
“That’s where I’m heading now.”
“If I see them, I’ll send them your way.”
Mrs Johnson’s right eyebrow lifts into a question. She lets it drop. “Where you need to send them is the principal’s office. Cutting class is against the rules, even for the school’s royal court.”
“Right,” Molly says again. “To the principal’s.”
“You remember where that is, don’t you?” Mrs Johnson adds.
Molly rolls her eyes but the history teacher is gone, her head retracting behind the door’s opening like a turtle.