New Girl in Little Cove by Damhnait Monaghan (book club suggestions TXT) 📗

“If?” said Mrs. O’Leary. “If? Sparks are gonna fly when I gets her home.”

The next morning Patrick called a brief staff meeting before school started.

“I wants your views on Cynthia O’Leary,” he said, “before I writes the letter of reference for her scholarship applications.”

“Her latest French exam was terrible,” I said. “She didn’t answer most of the questions.”

“Same with biology,” said Doug. “She’s after taking a real nosedive.”

Around the table, it was the same story. The golden girl was shining much less brightly.

“She will reap what she sows,” said Sister Mary Catherine.

Judy threw her a filthy look, then said, “She’s got such a bright future ahead of her, Pat. We can’t let her throw it away.”

He turned his palms up. “I’m after meeting with her parents twice,” he said. “She’s got them drove mental. She’s gone right wild since she took up with Ron Drodge.”

“Who’s he?” I asked.

“He’s too old for her is what he is,” said Doug.

Patrick cleared his throat. “He’s Brigid’s brother. The teacher you replaced.”

I remembered Lucille telling me how Brigid’s brother had been driving the car when her husband, Paul, died in the accident.

“That fella has been trouble since the day he was born,” Sister said. “Rotten through and through.”

There was silence. Maybe everyone else felt the same as me about Sister’s judgmental nature.

“Anyhow,” said Patrick. “Let’s focus on Cynthia’s school work.”

We talked for a few more minutes around the table, and all agreed that unless Cynthia’s former work ethic returned, and soon, there would be no need for Patrick to write a letter of reference.

“I could try speaking to her,” I offered.

“I wish you would,” said Patrick.

That afternoon, I asked Cynthia to stay behind after class.

She grimaced. “I’m wanted at home.”

“It won’t take long,” I said, moving to close the classroom door.

She slumped in her desk, playing with a gold chain around her neck, zigzagging the heart pendant back and forth.

“I’m worried about you.”

Cynthia folded her arms over her chest.

“You seem to be giving up on school. Your marks have slid right down. University might be—”

She cut me off. “Don’t matter. I can get a job in the fish plant.”

“I thought you wanted to leave Little Cove and go to university.”

She didn’t answer, just kept zigzagging the heart until I wanted to rip it from her throat.

“Cynthia,” I tried again. “It seems like you’re throwing away your future for some guy who’ll probably drop you in a few months.”

Her face hardened. “Ron wouldn’t do that.”

“How do you know?”

She gave me a scornful look. “You wouldn’t understand. Can I go now?”

“Listen to me. You’re so bright. You could do anything. What happened to wanting to be a French teacher?”

“Is that why you asked to see me? Because you wants me to be like you?”

Something about that sneer on her face made me lose my cool. “Don’t throw your life away for some jerk.” I put my hand over my mouth.

She jumped up, her eyes wild.

Before I could say anything else, she was halfway out the door. “It’s none of your business what I does outside of school, miss. Just leave me alone.”

I followed her down the hall, reaching the front door in time to see her climb into a red Camaro that revved its engine, skidded on the icy gravel, then roared up the road away from Little Cove.

The day was capped off with a note tucked under the wipers of my car when I left later that evening. More of the same. I crumpled up the note and got in my car.

28

After our failed talk, Cynthia began missing school more than she showed up. There were only a few days left until the Easter break, and I found myself wondering if she would bother coming back before then. But on the last day of school before the break, she was standing by my car in the parking lot when I came out.

“Miss, can I talk to you?”

Then I noticed mascara had run all over her cheeks and dried, like little railroad tracks cutting through a field.

“What is it?”

She glanced around the empty parking lot. “Could we talk in your car?”

Tears and the need to confide in someone privately. Just like that, I knew.

Stunned, I held open the passenger-side door for her. Then I went around to my side and got in. She stared at the dashboard, biting her lip. Patrick was always going on about what a credit Cynthia was to the community. I thought of Georgie working in the takeout. I didn’t want Cynthia to miss out on any opportunity that might still be available to her.

“How late are you?” I asked when the silence became unbearable.

She gasped. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” I said. “When was your last period?”

Her face twisted as if she was in pain. “I’m not sure.” She looked down, playing with a button on her jean jacket.

“Have you told your mother?”

“No, miss, she’d kill me, she would.” She pressed her hands down on her still-flat stomach. “What’s going to happen? When Georgie got pregnant, she had to leave school.”

“Have you told Ron?”

She slowly moved her head side to side. “He don’t want kids. Oh, miss, what am I going to do?”

“Do you want to keep the baby?”

“I . . . I don’t know. And I won’t be able to graduate,” she wailed.

“Cynthia.” I kept my voice as even as I could. “This might be hard to hear, but I’m not sure that would’ve happened anyway. Your grades have slipped and you’ve missed so much school.”

She exhaled, loud juddering breaths. “I knows. But I was talking to Mr. Donovan, and he said if I really buckled down, I might still be all right. Not for a scholarship, but just to get my certificate. But now . . .” A sob escaped from her mouth.

“Look,” I said. “You have options. You could keep the baby. Or you could have it and give it up for adoption.”

“But either way, I wouldn’t be able to finish school.”