“That would be great. I have two other students helping me—one is a junior and she comes in during second period and the other, a senior, is here sixth period. I think maybe I’m going to be able to solve my intern problem!”

“Are you just being nice to me?”

“Just? Oh, please, can’t you see I’m drowning? I have other girls to ask if you need to keep your study hall sacred—that’s up to you. But, Misty, it’s really all right if someone is nice to you. Regardless of how Tiffany and Stephanie have made you feel, you’re a very smart, nice person. If I were fifteen again, I think I’d want you for a friend.”

“That’s nice of you to say, I guess.”

“I’m going to show you something private.” She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a picture of an extremely homely girl—fuzzy, wild brown hair that had a misshapen look to it, bushy brows, the biggest teeth in the world, thick glasses and a few zits sprinkled on her nose and chin. “Me. Eighth grade.”

“Wow,” Misty said. “Your hair isn’t like that anymore.”

“I learned a few things about hair, but that’s mine. And I eventually grew into my teeth. I wasn’t small, I was large. Taller than all the boys in my class. If that wasn’t bad enough, I had two left feet. I’m not what you’d call coordinated. I tried out for cheerleading one year—it was a catastrophe. Right here at Thunder Point High. The mean girls had a good laugh at that.”

“You had mean girls?”

“Misty, mean girls have been around since God was a boy. So have girls like me, who have to grow up, get smarter, make it in a tough world. By the way, there are still mean girls when you’re an adult, but with every year it gets a little easier to say, ‘You’re not a nice enough person for me.’ When I went back to my class reunion a few years ago, the mean girls were still there. They were still pretty, still getting lots of attention, still making snide remarks about people. But I was reacquainted with some classmates I hadn’t paid much attention to in high school, girls who had gone on to have remarkable careers and had either grown very attractive or had finally developed the confidence they needed to appear very attractive. I keep this picture close at hand to remind myself who I was, how far I’ve come and what all the girls in my school go through at one time or another. It keeps me honest.”

“My mom says someday this will be unimportant,” Misty said.

“Maybe so,” Iris said. “But right now, to you, it’s very important. I’m right here anytime you need to talk about it, do a feelings dump, get it off your chest....”

Misty laughed. “I don’t know if I can spare it,” she said, looking down at her chest.

“Yeah, you’ll be all right. So, do you have time to help me? If you don’t think you do, I understand. And if you start and it’s just too much, you can stop.”

“Yeah, I can probably do it. So, Miss McKinley, when your best friend dropped you, what did you do?”

“Oh, I was pretty miserable for a while. Seemed like it took me a long time to get past it and even when I didn’t think about it every day, I still never forgot it. It made me very fussy about friends. I’m cautious—I have no interest in being hurt. It’s worked out all right—I’ve made some wonderful friends.”

“Thanks,” Misty said. “So you want me tomorrow?”

“I can make that work if you can,” she said. “Have you ever been a student assistant before?”

Misty shook her head.

“We have a lot of them in these offices. The school nurse has three. The assistant principal has at least three. There are several in the secretary’s office. We’re a pretty good team. I don’t think we could make it without students.”

“And what if Tiffany decides she wants to work in the offices?” Misty asked.

Clever girl, Iris thought. Already looking for potential conflicts and figuring them out. She smiled. “It kind of sounds like Tiffany is too busy to help out.”

* * *

At four forty-five Iris entered Cliffhanger’s and knew that Troy would be there, anxious as he was to be done with work for the day. She ordered a beer and some potato skins. “This might be dinner,” she told Troy.

“Works for me. How’s Misty?”

“What a delightful young lady. Very mature, isn’t she? Not much gets by her. I looked at her grades—no wonder you wanted her to take the SAT. Accelerated classes for years and never gets less than an A.”

“So, did you convince her to take the SAT?” he asked.

“No, she’s not interested in that right now. Don’t worry, she has plenty of time. Not a good idea to pressure a teenager with too many adult responsibilities, especially if they’re showing some resistance.”

“I saw her last period in the hall. She was talking to a couple of kids and appeared to be in a very good mood, so what did you do?”

“I just talked to her, didn’t hear anything I haven’t heard before, reassured her. And then I gave her a job.”

“What job?”

“I asked her if she was interested in working for me during her study hall and helping me get through my paper jungle. She seemed interested—she said she’d try it for a while. I assured her if she had studying to do, all she had to do was say so and she could use the time on schoolwork. We have a couple of extra cubicles in the office used by students who are helping out—they sort, file, stuff envelopes, you name it.” Her beer arrived. “Misty makes three student helpers for me. I really scored, thanks.”

“And that’s it? You talked to her and gave her a job?”

“Uh-huh. I think she was flattered. It’ll help fill her bucket.”

“Huh?”

“You know—the bucket...”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, the elementary school teachers talk about the bucket a lot. Everyone has one. When people say nice things to you, do nice things, make you feel better about yourself, they’re filling your bucket. When people are mean or insulting or hurtful in any way, they’re emptying your bucket and you don’t want to go around with an empty bucket. It makes you sad and cranky. And you don’t want to be emptying other peoples’ buckets—that also makes you unhappy. The best way is to fill all the buckets you can and keep yours nice and full by looking for positive people and experiences.” She smiled.

Troy leaned his elbow on the bar and rested his head in his hand. “What do I have to do to get a job with you?”

“Master’s degree in counseling.” She took a sip. “Easy peasy. You’d be great.”

* * *

The weather turned wet and cold at the end of the month, rain washing the colorful leaves off the trees. Iris stood in the hallway outside her office every morning and listened to the kids cough and sneeze and hack as they passed. The homecoming game was held in the rain a week before Halloween and Iris sat in the stands with a plastic tarp over her head like most of the town. Snuggled up beside her was Troy, who kept saying God bless the rain! On Saturday night everyone dried off and donned their best clothes for the big dance.

Iris was not surprised to see Seth at the dance. She figured he would be there, if not in an official capacity then in a semiofficial capacity. He’d had his stitches removed and was wearing a suit rather than his uniform. In fact, there weren’t any uniformed police officers at the dance but there were some outside in the parking lot, despite the nasty weather. And now that she knew a little more about the new Seth, she knew about that gun on his ankle.