Marsha walked into the principal’s office at Bridgepoint with a sense of dread, having no idea what she might be facing. The first thing she saw was her daughter sitting on a bench with her backpack beside her. Tracie looked up with fresh tears starting to trickle down her cheeks. Her face was flushed and her eyes were swollen from having shed so many tears. Marsha went straight to her daughter’s side. “What happened? Are you alright? I came as soon as they called me.”

Tracie shook her head, and tearfully managed to get out the words, “I didn’t mean to get in any trouble.”

From behind the counter, the secretary rose. “Mrs. Carlson, I’ll let the principal know you are here.” She knocked and entered an office. The principal came out and shook her hand and introduced himself as George Welsh. She had met him before, but apparently, he had forgotten. “I’m glad you were able to come right away. Let’s go into my office and talk about what’s going on.” Tracie rose to go with them, but he motioned for her to sit back down. “Tracie, let me talk to your mother first for a few minutes. We will call you, if we need you to come in.”

Once inside and seated, Mr. Welsh pulled a coin purse from his desk drawer, which Marsha recognized as one she had given Linsey. He opened it and pulled out a folded envelope. Inside it were a couple of thin cigarettes and a small sheet of what looked like blotter paper. The paper was sectioned off into six squares with little cartoonish pictures printed on them. “Mrs. Carlson, I’m wondering if you recognize any of this?”

“I do recognize the coin purse, but not the cigarettes. We don’t smoke. At least, I don’t, and those aren’t the kind my husband sometimes smokes. I’ve never seen anything like that paper with all those little pictures.”

“What you are looking at is Marijuana cigarettes and LSD. See those six sections with the pictures. They tear apart almost like postage stamps. Each one of them represents a drug high one would get from using them. Your daughter had these in her purse. Now, she claims they aren’t hers, and she was holding them for someone else, but she refuses to tell us who. Tracie is a very quiet and well-mannered child. She is the last person I would have expected to be carrying drugs around.”

“You say they were in her purse? This is unbelievable. I know she is not using drugs. None of my kids have ever done drugs. How did you even find them in her purse?”

“Believe me, Ma’am, we don’t go around searching purses. When we do feel we have a reason to look, we’ve found some much stronger stuff than this. You’d be amazed at some of the substances these kids are using. Most of their parents don’t know a thing about it. Tracie showed these to another little girl. and that child told her teacher that Tracie had drugs. That is the only reason we asked to see her purse. When a child brings drugs or weapons to school, our first punishment is to suspend them. If it happens a second time, our policy calls for expelling them. I hate to do it, but Tracie is going to have to stay at home for a couple of weeks. We’ll make sure she gets her assignments, so she won’t get behind. If she was holding drugs for someone else, you will probably have better luck getting her to tell you who it might be.”  

Marsha took a deep breath and finally spoke. "You can’t imagine what a shock this is for me. I can understand your policy, but I’m sure these aren’t hers. If she said she was holding them for someone else, that has to be the case. I’ll take her home and will get to the bottom of it. She is shy and tends to let people take advantage of her. Someone may have threatened her. She’s probably afraid to tell.” Marsha rose to leave. As she walked out, she said, “As soon as I find out who she was holding them for, I’ll be in touch.”

She left with Tracie starting to cry again. As soon as they reached the car, Marsha addressed her daughter. “Tracie, I don’t’ believe for one minute those drugs are yours, but you are going to tell me how they came to be in your possession. I’m not going to punish you, although you should know better than to have something like that on you. I want to know right now, who gave you those drugs to hold.”

“Linsey asked me to keep them for her. She was supposed to get them after school. Someone gave them to her. She said she might get in trouble if she had them, but nobody would look in my purse. She was wrong. She is going to be so mad with me.”

The knowledge they were Linsey’s came as another blow. Dealing with Linsey would be much harder. In a way it made sense, and she was almost glad Tracie hadn’t told on her sister. Linsey was at that stage you had to walk on eggshells around her. She realized when she had seen the coin purse, she’d subconsciously known the drugs were Linsey’s. Now, she would have to figure out the best way to approach Linsey. She needed to know if she had actually tried drugs, or if she was just thinking about trying them. This would be a task she wasn’t sure she could handle alone.

So many things were bouncing around in her head. She had to find someone she could talk to who wouldn’t be judgmental. She needed the wisdom of Solomon, but right now, what she needed most was an extra-strength Excedrin and a cup of tea. As she walked into the kitchen to make that happen, she noticed the answering machine blinking. She looked and there were five calls from an unknown number. The party had reached the machine, but hung up each time without leaving a message.

If they’re that desperate to talk, I guess they’ll call again, she mused, as she turned on the eye under the kettle and reached for a cup. This was Latisha’s afternoon off, so there had been no one around to answer the phone.

Just then, the phone rang again. She picked it up, hoping maybe it was the treatment center with some news of Trenton’s progress.

“Let me speak to Trenton, please,” a sharp female voice demanded.

“I’m sorry. Trenton isn’t available.” It probably wouldn’t be wise to let anyone know he wasn’t around.

“Look, I called his work, and they told me he was taking some time off. It’s important that I speak to him. You’ll need to go and get him. Tell him that it’s urgent. If he’s not home, give me a number where I can reach him.”

“You haven’t even identified yourself” Marsha snapped. “I can’t give you a number where he can be reached. I’m his wife, and I can’t even get in touch with him. Don’t be calling my house and ordering me around like I’m your servant. If you want to leave your name and number, when he calls in, I’ll ask him if he wants to talk to you. Otherwise, don’t call this number again.” The party on the other end slammed the phone down. Just before it crashed down, Marsha thought she heard a sob.

The tea was forgotten. Marsha rushed into the sunroom and fell across a daybed, sobbing her heart out into a pillow. This was too much to deal with.