Page 73 of Rock Bottom Girl

“Other than being just a shitty human being?” I was still mad. Really mad.

Eccles washed down a tablet with water. “This is where I’m supposed to tell you that teaching is not an opportunity for you to right the wrongs of your teen years. That you can’t insert yourself into student politics and hierarchies because it’s a more valuable learning experience when they live through it themselves.”

“I’m not so sure that Rachel will survive Lisabeth,” I interjected. “Lisabeth hit her with a hockey stick as hard as she could. On purpose. If her tibias aren’t fractured, I’ll be surprised.”

“This is me insisting that it’s imperative that students figure out their own way through social situations, the good and the bad,” Principal Eccles said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And this is also the part where I encourage you to understand that many students who exhibit negative behavior, including bullying and general assholery, are struggling with serious issues that we may not be privy to.”

“Look. I know I’m new to all of this. But I’ve been Rachel, and I’ve known Lisabeths. And sometimes an asshole is just as asshole.”

Principal Eccles looked toward the closed door and sighed. “Off the record, Lisabeth Hooper is an entitled asshole, and none of the staff and faculty can stand her. Her mother, by all accounts, was the same kind of nightmare. And still is.”

Relief coursed through me.

“I can’t do much about having her in my class. But I don’t want her on my team.”

“Are you prepared for the fallout of punishing her? It’ll be ugly.”

“Principal Eccles, I’m only here for the semester. Who better to deal with this than someone who doesn’t have to worry about any long-term effects?”

33

Marley

Ifelt like a teenager waiting for her prom date to show up, worrying that she was going to be stood up.

“Would you stop pacing?” Vicky demanded from her vantage point on the practice field bleachers. The team was running a warm-up lap around the field, and I was getting ready to start gnawing on my fingernails like an animal caught in a trap. “You’re making me anxious, and I don’t like to be anxious without my medication.”

Vicky’s medication was as many rum and Cokes as a bartender could mix during happy hour.

“What if she doesn’t show? I just kicked the only chance we had at scoring a single goal this season off the team, and if Libby doesn’t show, how am I not going to hold that against her and fail her in gym?”

“Desperation is not a good color on you,” she said, stuffing her hands into the pocket of her hooded sweatshirt. In true Pennsylvania fashion, summer had abandoned us abruptly and without warning.

“Oh my God. There she is!” I grabbed Vicky’s arm and squeezed as a dark head bobbed up the steps in our direction.

“She could be David Beckham’s twin,” Vicky said dryly.

“Just you wait,” I said smugly. “I didn’t screw this up.”

Libby approached slowly, her hands drawn up into the sleeves of her no-brand, off-black sweatshirt.

“Morticia,” I said, giving her a nod.

“Potential kidnapper.”

“This is Vicky, my assistant coach,” I said.

“’Sup?” Vicky said, cracking her gum.

“Hey.”

“So you wanna practice?” I asked, trying to keep the desperation out of my tone.

Libby shrugged. “I guess. But just because I practice doesn’t mean I’m joining the team.”

“Understood.”

“Are you okay playing with all that metal in your face?” Vicky asked, peering at Libby’s piercings.