At midmorning, Troy stood in her doorway. “Got a minute?”

She looked up. “Of course.”

“She has a fat lip,” he said.

Iris smiled at Troy. There were few teachers who cared as much about every student as he did. He tried to convince his friends in town that he got a teaching degree because it was easy and that his real interest was in recreation, as much as he could fit in, his choices being particularly expensive. But Iris considered him an überteacher. He was excellent in absolutely every aspect.

“I spoke to Rachel this morning. She explained it as a cheer practice accident. She was trying out a new routine with her friend Cammie. Some kind of lift or throw or something and Cammie’s knee hit her mouth. Sounds reasonable.”

“Uh-huh. She seems to have one of those accidents every other week or so.”

“They’re kids, Troy. They’re careless sometimes. Do you notice other things? Depression? Isolation? A lack of freedom from home—like not being allowed out with friends or not being allowed to attend school events? Anything?”

“Not yet,” he said. “I smell an ill wind.”

“I’m watching. And I appreciate that you’re watching, too. I asked the gym teacher to keep an eye—they’re stripped down pretty much in their little gym uniforms and if there are lots of bruises, she’ll see them. But so far she says all looks normal to her.”

“Don’t stop the watch, please,” he said. Then he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. The name Misty Rosario was written on a spare hall pass. “Do you know Misty?” he asked.

“I know who she is but I don’t believe we’ve had much interaction.”

“She’s a sophomore. I have only one sophomore class and they’re a pain in the ass, mostly. But Misty has been a delight. She’s very smart. I suggested she sign up to take the SAT or ACT early just to get a feel for it while there’s plenty of time to take the prep course and maybe retest next year. She said she won’t be taking the test. She’s also become very quiet and sad just lately. I tried to talk to her but I have to be very careful.”

“Of course,” Iris said.

“She’s a fifteen-year-old girl,” he added, though no explanation was necessary. Troy couldn’t and shouldn’t speak to her privately, it could suggest impropriety. “But I can send her to you so you can ask her why she isn’t interested in the college entrance test. And maybe figure out why she’s sad.”

“Sad, awkward, unhappy, self-conscious, nervous, afraid, lonely...” Iris ran down the list. “Don’t those words describe the majority of teenage girls?”

“On some days all teenagers act out those emotions,” he said. “But with Misty it’s most days. I almost never see her laugh anymore. She walks alone to class.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you suspect and cut right to the chase,” Iris said.

He shook his head and shrugged. “I wonder if she’s being picked on. I haven’t seen anything suspicious, but these days school isn’t always where it happens anymore. It could be on the internet. Of course, it could be other matters—illness in the family, economic issues, her own health. It’s not academic, that’s for sure. She’s very smart. But she’s different.”

“Different how?”

“Withdrawn but not shy. Sad but not morbidly depressed. Her history class is full of troublemakers, which is how I have them all, I think. Many of them are older than Misty. But she’ll answer questions confidently without so much as a blush. She’ll talk to other students but stays alone. Frankly, she acts like someone who’s keeping her brain tumor secret from the world.”

“Send her to me,” Iris said. “Tell her I want to discuss the SAT with her. In the meantime, I’ll pull up her transcript. And we’ll go from there.”

“Will you tell me what you find?” he asked.

She smiled at him. “Maybe. It depends.”

“Wanna grab a beer after work?” he asked.

“Jeez, it’s only Monday!”

“I’m not working at Cooper’s tonight. I don’t have many of those nights.”

“Okay then. Where? The beach?”

“Nah, it’s too cold and wet to sit on the deck. Let’s meet at Cliff’s.”

She’d been putting in a lot of time at Cliffhanger’s lately. “You’re on. Five?”

“Four-thirty, c’mon. I’m going to be so ready to be out of here by four, but I can hang out and clean chalkboards for a little while.”

“All right,” she said with a laugh. “See you there.”

And he was gone.

In a little town like Thunder Point, great teachers were hard to come by. The pay was on the low side because the budget was small and the town didn’t offer much beyond rugged coastline and quiet neighbors. And yet, they had some excellent, dedicated educators. Troy was one of the best. He’d taught junior high math for a couple of years in a private school, but he was a history major and had taken the Thunder Point job a couple of years ago. For a young guy, he was pretty worldly and seemed to know all the tricks and signs with the high school kids. He was devoted to them; he never missed a thing. When they were talking about the students, they were completely in tune.

Why couldn’t she love him? It would be so much less complicated. She was quite sure Seth was right—Troy loved her. He could be an excellent partner given a little encouragement.

But, curse the luck, she was still stuck on the guy who broke her heart years ago.

Eight

Misty Morning Rosario was a very small, thin, flat-chested fifteen-year-old. Unsmiling, as she was at the moment, she wasn’t very pretty. Iris had to concentrate to keep herself from making assumptions about what her issues might be.

“I bet everyone asks you about your name,” Iris said.

“Am I in trouble?” Misty asked.

“Oh, gosh, no. Not at all. Are you worried about something?”

Misty just shook her head. When Iris held silent for a minute, Misty finally answered, “It’s supposed to be Misty M. on my school paperwork. My parents, they were kind of hippies or something and I was born on—guess what? A misty morning. Could you think of anything more lame?”

“Well, my mother was a florist and named me Iris. I think I’ve finally made peace with it but growing up, I hated it. You know what really surprised me? Even girls who had regular names confessed to hating them! I think every twelve-or thirteen-year-old girl has fantasies about changing her name.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Even the girls named Kate and Mary and Sue,” Iris said. “How long have you lived in Thunder Point, Misty?”

“Two years, I guess. Since the start of eighth grade.”

“You’ve had such good grades. Are you the oldest child in your family?”

She nodded. “I have a little brother. His grades aren’t as good because he’s a screw-off.”

Iris laughed and could see Misty beginning to relax. “Did you know that most firstborn children are the most accomplished, especially academically? They show the most leadership skills, which I guess should be obvious.” They talked for a while about the deli Misty’s parents owned and operated in Bandon. It was bigger than Carrie’s deli and had tables for diners. Misty helped out on the weekends. Her dad was Portuguese and a lot of their deli items were his family recipes. They talked about everything Iris could think of—dogs, grandparents, babysitting.