Only We Know

by Stef Donati

About the Author: Stef Donati is a music freak who has sold fiction to Best New England Crime Stories, among other markets.

Excerpt

What should I call you? Mrs. Stone, Wendy, or Dear Mom of the Classmate Who Needed Saving?

First weeks of school, I saw your daughter as simply the new kid, who in both English and Geometry sat to my immediate right. Chunky, dark-curled, always wearing drab long-sleeved blouses even in humid classrooms. Nobody remarkable, I’m sorry to say.

My specialty was teacher-impressions: that year, Mr. Darrow’s head-scratch and Freakster Fernster’s hand-tremble. Soon as my prey faced the whiteboard, I’d start in. My daily goal was one giggle, minimum, from every classmate. The stifled giggles were the best, so long as my target grew unnerved. Darrow or Fernster or whoever would whirl around, frantic to ID the provoker, but always –always—I stopped my mimicry just in time. And, equally always, nobody told on me.

Your daughter alone was never amused by my antics. Not once. Through September, into a still-warm October … she yielded no smile, no nothing, not even an eye roll.

Well, every class clown likes a challenge. Your daughter, the new kid, became mine.  

I’m no stalker, Mrs. Stone. Wendy. Just an observer, like any good comic, one who’d seen Harriet blush every time she was called on. Seen her accept check-minuses rather than tackle equations on Fernster’s whiteboard, exposed to her peers. Seen her hang back, silent, in gym class during sides-picking for squads.

Gym class. The rope-climb. How much did she tell you?

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