Any Way Out - 8. Good News, Bad News

12 years earlier

“Don’t touch me, bitch!”

Sarah Dawes gave chase, deaf to the screams and cheers of twenty-six bloodthirsty eighth graders. Andre Barks skidded while cornering the back row of desks, granting Sarah the needed edge. She horse-collared Andre just before he reached the door, toppling him forward. Sarah fell atop him, straddling the boy, and hammered his shoulder blades. One, two, then three licks thudded home. The fourth grazed his spine as Mr. Sperry, the math teacher, hauled Sarah off her humbled opponent.

Sarah kicked the air behind Andre’s feet. “That’s what you fucking get! That’s what you fucking get, bitch!”

Sarah twisted against the teacher’s iron embrace. “Let go, pervert!” She tried to free an arm to sink a claw into him, but Mr. Sperry was far too wily for that. Her unwilling feet were inexorably steered out the door. She was freed in the little alcove and she stumbled into the corridor, where she and Mr. Sperry both knew there was camera coverage. The hall was swarming with students who had burst out of classrooms to investigate the commotion, and the walls rang with hoots from the kids and the screams of teachers.

The discipline dean, Dr. Black, broke through the crowd and tried to lay hold of her, but he cariocaed around the half hearted swing she aimed at him. She knew where she was going, and wasn’t going to be dragged anywhere else, not in front of the whole eighth grade. Dr. Black’s office was just around the corner. She stamped straight in and collapsed on his sofa to await the inevitable.

Sarah, sitting up in her bed in the full light of a Thursday morning, relished the memories, and closed her eyes to play them back once more. She wasn’t sorry for a damned thing. Andre got what he was asking for. Alone in Dr. Black’s office, she had even overheard Mr. Sperry in the hall: “That boy needed an ass-whooping.” Andre would be at home, too, for three days instead of her five, but his mother was sure to be tearing him up every one of those days.

Sarah, on the other hand, had the entire new apartment to herself. Mom was at one of her jobs, Keith was at his elementary school, and Sarah was left to work in peace. A math book was laid across her lap, and returning to the present, she resumed tracing out slopes and right triangles on grid paper.

“Δ-y is 6, over Δ-x 8, m = 6/8,” she muttered, penciling “m = 6/8x” next to the graph. “b equals --” Sarah picked up the copy of “Bridge to Terabithia” from the nightstand and used the cover as a straightedge, tracing a line through the axes she had inked onto the grid. She stopped when it intersected the vertical line. Slightly off, but close enough. “b equals negative six.” Too fucking easy. Taking up her purple pen, she wrote “y = 6/8x - 6”. Now to convert to standard form. “Okay, bust the fraction, now I have 8y = 6x - 48.” She traded writing instruments again and scratched the equivalent equation next to her graph, then chewed the eraser. “-6x + 8y = -48; factor out the negative in front --” Sarah triumphantly and clearly wrote “6x - 8y = 48” in violet ink on her worksheet.

Sarah slipped off her glasses and wiped them with her t-shirt, Replacing them, she checked her alarm clock. Nearly eleven. Almost time. Her one regret was on its way. Miss Rachel had been supposed to do her Scholar visit today. A pit formed in her stomach when she found out she wasn’t canceling; she was coming to her house.

Ms. Jenkins, the school counselor, would be there, too. Sarah hated Ms. Jenkins. Always talking about setting goals and being resilient, Ms. Jenkins didn’t realize that Sarah was too smart for anything like that. Nothing in eighth grade was too hard for Sarah. She could take care of herself, and anything she needed to accomplish she could just do right then. She didn’t need to spend time on that goal-setting bullshit, all she needed was some quiet.

The doorbell sang out. Sarah swung herself out of bed, choking down the quivering anxiety. Practically the only teacher she respected was coming to see her, and there would be a lot of explaining to do. Sarah opened the door two the two women on the steps.

Ms. Jenkins, a dumpy black lady with a blond weave stood behind. Miss Rachel, however, was stunning. She was everything Sarah wanted to see in the mirror. Tall, blonde and muscular, Sarah’s awe grew every year.

“Good morning, Sarah. I like your hair.”

Sarah blushed and touched her short hair. She’d begged her mother for a boy cut for months, and finally got it. Reviews at school had been mixed at best. When she asked, Sarah would be sure to include it in her defense. “Thanks, Miss Rachel. Um --” she didn’t quite know what to say. “-- won’t you come in?”

Ms Jenkins melted into the background as Sarah and Miss Rachel faced each other across the kitchen table. Without hesitation, Miss Rachel asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Andre has been calling me a dyke ever since I got this haircut. He walked by in math class and said, ‘Dyke needs a dick?’ and he slapped my ass. So I beat him up. What would you do?”

“So you think you made the right choice?”

Sarha was confused. Where was the fussing, the yelling? MIss Rachel was supposed to be angry with her. “I think so. I mean, yes. He’s always touching girls.”

“And your teachers wouldn’t do anything if you told them?”

“Fu -- er, no, nothing ever happens. The ISS teacher is the only one who can keep kids under control.”

“Do you spend a lot of time in ISS?”

“It’s quiet.”

“Are you afraid your grades are going to go down?

“No, er, Mr. Surles, from sixth grade, he brings me all my work so I can turn it in. Wait one second.”

Sarah darted from the kitchen to her bedroom and raced back with her math homework.

“Look, Miss Rachel! I can do all this stuff better without them!”

Miss Rachel perused the homework with approving grunts. Sarah shoved the grid paper into her hands as well.

“It looks like you have slopes under control. Yes, I see you can interpret the formulas and create graphs. Most eighth graders have trouble with this when they first start off.” Sarah’s chest burst with pride until Miss Rachel continued: “You know about simplifying fractions?”

Doubt crept into Sarah’s belly. “Like how two quarters equals one half?”

Miss Rachel placed the paper on the table, and they both hunched over it. “Take a look at this last one. Think of these numbers like you would in a fraction.”

Six, eight, forty-eight … oh, no! “It’s supposed to be … it’s 3x - 4y = 24.”

“It’s important to read the instructions all the way through,” Miss Rachel gently reminded her. Sarah now did.

"Calculate the equation of the line from the given points. Express in slope-intercept and standard forms. Simplify to lowest terms."

While Sarah remorsefully purpled out the evidence of her overconfidence, Miss Rachel went on, “Sometimes the instructions are a big clue to the answers. Do you know who Mr. Surles is?”

“He’s just a teacher. I see him every day.”

“Mr. Surles was in the first class of Scholars in 1991, with me. When we heard you were moving into this apartment, we called him up and asked if he would kind of help out. Sarah, there are a lot of people looking out for you. You don’t know how much we talk about you, and we’re worried. Now, the summer camp …”

Sarah interrupted with sudden despair. “If I get suspended again, I can’t go to camp?” This year was the backpacking trip! She’d been looking for ward to it ever since she first attended after fourth grade!

“No, we’re not talking about that yet.” The “yet” rang horrid and black in Sarah’s mind. “This is your last summer. We’ll always be there, but you’ve got to fly on your own in high school. For now, here’s what we can do. Ms. Jenkins can move you to Algebra I for math and the honors rotation for everything else when you go back. It's a lot calmer there, and we think you can handle it. You have to understand, we spent an hour with your principal before he agreed to it. Mr. Surles says he can tutor you to catch up. Listen to advice and pay attention, Sarah. Things won’t be as easy and you may actually have to study.”

As if, thought Sarah. Time for Sarah to shine.

***

Present Day

Ashlee and Felicity ambled hand-in-hand through the tourist throngs of Independence Avenue this sunny May Saturday. While Washington itself was tolerant of all love, the visitors represented cosmopolitan, countrified, and every shade between. The admiring stares were bad enough. The scowls were spine-chilling. With her free hand, she clung to Felicity’s elbow, pulling her close and drawing strength from the tall, tan woman, whose flashing smile to all both welcomed warmth and turned away wrath.

Whatever their inclinations, though, Felicity was commanding attention from all corners. She woke up half an hour before Ashlee this morning, determined to pull out all the stops for their fence-mending trip into town. While Ashlee put some time in on the Homburg proposals, Felicity was hard at work shaving, blow-drying, and adorning her face. Then she turned on Ashlee, giving her an impromptu makeover inspired by her steady diet of makeup tutorials. Ashlee had settled on shorts -- putting her stubby, deathly pale legs on display -- sandals and a top that was a little shorter in the button department than she was used to, but she might have well have been wearing overalls and carrying a wallet on a chain next to Felicity.

It started with her skirt. It was tan, pleated, voluminous, and just short enough, daring the onlooker to imagine what lay beyond. Her torso was an all-hands effort, tank top and bra together contriving to show off everything she had spent three years building. Atop this was a pink blouse, knotted at the waist, but wide open so as not to conceal her chest. Her luxurious hair bobbed in the breeze, framing her masterfully decorated visage. All of this strode confidently atop her long, smooth legs and white walking shoes. It was as if Felicity had stepped straight out of a telenovela. Ashlee was a nickel to Felicity’s dime.

Felicity was planning first to explore her fantasy of flying with a walk through the Air and Space Museum, then indulge Ashlee’s interest in the National History Museum. They’d had a cool Friday after Ashlee’s Thursday evening outburst, but Felicity had suggested the outing last night to patch things up. So far it was going well. They’d spent the train ride sitting practically on top of each other, and had hardly stopped holding hands since arriving on the Mall.

Now she and Felicity were aimlessly strolling around the museum. Ashlee had to run sometimes to keep up with Felicity when something piqued her interest. Felicity was a surprising wealth of knowledge about NASA from her dozens of visits to Wallop’s Island Flight Center near her Chincoteague home. She had even watched spacecraft launches from her own backyard. They gleefully pushed buttons on video exhibits, and posed for suggestive selfies in front of rockets. Ashlee climbed into a model Mercury capsule for a photo; Felicity declined, not only for her height, but she was also uninterested in accidental upskirts. Then, while walking the Hall of Aviation Milestones. Ashlee was shocked to hear a familiar voice.

“Ashlee! Ashlee! Fifi! Oh my God!” came a squeal from beyond The Spirit of St. Louis. A blinding blonde flash in tight capris and a purple babydoll tee shot straight toward them, dragging a hapless-looking man behind by a wrist. Sarah was panting a bit when she pulled up before them, but her companion seemed unaffected.

Ashlee didn’t go in for that sort of thing, but she could spot a handsome man. This one was probably a C-plus or a B-minus; a six or a low seven. Still, he was somewhat tall and in shape, his sandy hair was neatly cut, he was standing up straight in khakis and a button-up shirt, and his stoic face spoke of unplumbed depths.

“Ashlee! Fifi!” effervesced Sarah. “This is Jeff! Say hello, Jeff.”

Jeff’s eyes penetrated Ashlee for an eternal second, and Felicity for another. Then his face moved just enough to say, “Hello, Jeff.”

Sarah gave him a pouting scowl and slapped his shoulder. Jeff’s face cycled through self-satisfaction, then affected cordiality. “Good morning, ladies. As my charming companion intimated, I’m Jeff Sands. This is Sarah Dawes --” Sarah curtsied “-- but I assume you already knew that.”

“Oh, yes, I think I remember her from somewhere,” affirmed Felicity. Ashlee knew she was doing mental cartwheels after hearing “ladies”. Sarah was likely to behave, too; she'd had it pounded through her skull not to out transgender people under any circumstances. “Well, I, good sir, am Miss Felicity Davis. My friends call me Fifi, except my best friend here, Miss Ashlee Vance, who loves ‘Felicity’.” Felicity laid a tasteful kiss on Ashlee’s dumbstruck lips. Jeff’s face stayed set to cordial, but his eyebrows nearly shot off his head.

“So, you’re girlfriends, then?” Jeff queried. “I’m using the correct term?”

Felicity nodded. “That’s about right. I award you five rainbows.”

Ashlee finally found speech to contribute. “It’s good to meet you, Jeff. Sarah’s told us a lot about you.”

Jeff’s eyes narrowed and he turned to Sarah. Sarah, arm in arm with him, shrugged and smirked. “Well, I guess it can’t be helped,” he conceded. “Come on, let’s go find it.”

They started walking, and Sarah beckoned them to follow. She explained, “We’re mainly here to see the Enterprise. My dad used to watch Star Trek with me, and I never stopped, and Jeff here is into it, too.”

“So I’m a father figure, now?” cut in Jeff without looking at Sarah. “Is that healthy?”

Ashlee and Felicity traded concerned looks. Everything Jeff had said was in the same articulate, straightforward tone. Was he seriously going there in front of strangers ?

“Well, my dad’s dead, so you won’t have any competition, at least,” replied Sarah, mimicking him.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, but I’ll take it, I suppose,” he concluded.

Ashlee, glad to change the subject, pointed. “There it is.”

They had reached the science fiction icon. Jeff stood in rapt reverence, and Sarah, arms around his shoulders, kissed his cheek and gazed with him in big-eyed awe. Ashlee felt nothing out of the big toy spaceship, and Felicity looked as if she were trying to puzzle out the curious couple. Ashlee joined her. She had seen a dozen guys trailing after Sarah, like so much dust beneath her feet, but this was different. Jeff was no posturing stag, but what was he?

After a couple of awkward minutes, Felicity finally broke in. “Sorry to break the three of you up. Me and Ashlee were going to get lunch and move on. Do you want to join us?”

“Where?” asked Sarah, blinking away from the model.

“There’s a cafeteria here,” said Felicity.

Ashlee protested, “It’s going to be too expensive.”

Sarah countered, “Anything on the Mall is going to be expensive. Scarcity power.”

This triggered an undergrad memory in Ashlee, but flummoxed Felicity.

“By creating artificial scarcity, such as somewhere where tourists are unfamiliar with competitive dining options, retailers can count on customers being willing to pay more,” Jeff supplied.

“Thanks, Sugar,” Sarah said.

“Uh … sure,” said Felicity. “Do you want to hit a food truck?”

Sarah shook her head. “I kind of want to sit down inside. Jeff?”

“I might be able to snag us a military discount.”

Decided, the foursome headed for the ground floor and into the cafe. While Felicity had the cashier describe everything on offer, sometimes twice, Ashlee had made up her mind in a few moments. Behind her, Sarah and Jeff debated the unit rates of calories per dollar. Eventually, they were all served -- with a twenty percent discount -- and found a table.

“What do you do in the Army, Jeff?” asked Ashlee, determined not to be a wallflower.

“Legal NCO. I guess you could say I’m an office manager for the legal assistance center at Fort Myer.”

Ashlee was instantly in charge of the conversation. “Are you a paralegal?”

“Yes, but I’m licensed in Ohio. I have a lot less authority in this job. Military law practice is fairly limited in scope. Often it amounts to legal review, and assistance in things like wills and rental disputes. There is some trial defense and prosecution, but considering the ridiculous amount of discretion a commanding officer has in the whole process, it can be kind of a drag for them. Sarah said you were an attorney at her work. What’s your field?”

“Corporate counsel. At the moment I’m doing contracts. In about five years I’m planning to move on to something bigger, hopefully finance. My dad works at an investment firm, and it seems pretty interesting.”

“Really?” wondered Felicity. Ashlee realized she hadn’t told her either of those things.

“Oh, yeah. Once you get that IT certification we can go anywhere together.” said Ashlee

Felicity giggled. “Can I be under your desk fixing your computer? That sounds sexy.”

Jeff blushed, and Sarah high-fived Felicity. “Dream big, girlfriend!” laughed Sarah.

Felicity turned to Jeff. “Why did you join the Army?”

“Well, I got my paralegal license and I started working for a real estate firm back home in Ohio, but I didn’t have a lot of direction and the pay wasn’t that good. I heard that the Army had a legal MOS -- that’s a job -- and I decided one day to quit and join up.”

“My brother is a plumber-pipefitter at Fort Gregg-Adams,” said Sarah. “Not as glamorous.”

The conversation continued, mainly between the three women with Jeff adding the occasional monologue. Ashlee noticed that Sarah was less sarcastic, quieter. She did try to needle Josh from time to time, but just as with the “dead dad” joke, he simply absorbed it. They way they had intellectual discussions -- it was almost as if he were resurrecting brainy Sarah, the one Ashlee used to know, before she got bored with college in her junior year.

Soon, though, they went their separate ways. Sarah and Jeff were off to the Museum of Natural History, and Ashlee and Felicity were en route to American History, cutting a diagonal across the grass of the Mall.

When they were alone, Felicity whistled low. “What did you think of that?”

“I think Sarah has met her match. It’s like … it’s like …” Ashlee wasn’t very good with metaphors, but she tried, “like Sarah can’t get to him. She is beating on the walls and he’s taking it until she wears herself out, like a puppy, then curls up for a nap.”

“That was poetry,” complimented Felicity.

“Thanks. And thanks for going to American History with me. I want to go to the Hall of Democracy. Do you promise to pretend to listen to me rant about legal history?”

“As long as I get to see the Ruby Slippers,” said Felicity. She bent for a kiss, but Ashlee shied away.

“Felicity, there are people watching!”

“Then let them watch this.”

Felicity took Ashlee’s shoulders and pulled her close, locking their lips together. In an instant, Ashlee became like a putty in Felicity’s arms. Love was in the air for everyone.

***

“Can I look in the glove box?”

Sarah and Jeff were in Jeff’s car, heading back to her place from the Metro Station in the light of the May mid-evening. It would only be a few minutes by car, and Sarah had yet to finalize her plan.

“Knock yourself out,” said Jeff.

Sarah opened the compartment and sifted through its contents. Owner’s manual, registration, a couple of maps and a few pens, but not what she was looking for. She closed the hatch, then guided Jeff's hand onto her thigh, rubbing it up and down once. When she removed her hand he obligingly continued the motion until she made her next request.

“Can I see your wallet?”

Jeff tilted left to extract it from his pocket, and wordlessly handed it to Sarah. Jeff was unbelievably trusting, besides being honest and sweet. Sarah repressed guilt as she fingered through the wallet, too. A couple of small bills, debit and credit cards, a driver’s license and a military ID, but nothing else. Was this guy for real?

Parking at her building, he asked, “Am I coming up?” He always asked, and she always said yes, but he insisted on courtesy.

“Yeah, sure,” she confirmed, and she leapt from the car and strode to the stairwell, forcing Jeff into a trot to catch up. Sarah climbed the stairs two at a time for half the three storeys, then trudged up as fast as her racing heart would allow her to her floor. Her shaking hands could barely fit the key in the lock. Sarah nearly slammed it after Jeff.

Getting Jeff into the bedroom was no challenge. In her studio apartment, it just meant going leading him around back of the couch. They could have been going to the kitchen for all he knew. Nevertheless, she sat on the foot of the bed and patted the space next to her. Jeff looked doubtful for a moment, but complied. Sarah immediately initiated a make-out, and forced him to lay down. His hand rested on her side , tantalizing her.

She stopped long enough to breathe out, “It’s okay, you can touch.”

Hesitating, Jeff gingerly took up her breast and massaged it. She wasn’t going to last much longer. After a minute, she broke off, and reclining close to his side, made her move.

“Jeff, I usually don’t do this with a guy unless he has a condom, but if you can be honest with me, I’ll make an exception.”

Jeff squinted at the ceiling. “How do you know I don’t … Ooohhh!” Gears meshed, dots connected, and circuits snapped shut. His eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he sat up as if a branding iron had come up through the mattress. “That stuff in the car makes more sense now."

He stuttered once or twice, but finding his voice, he drawled out, “So you want to…”

“Of course I do! I need you, Jeff. Why won’t you have sex with me!?”

“Aha. Well, as you requested, I am going to be honest with you. I told you I haven’t dated a lot. For your information, touching your breast just then, well, that makes a total of two in my lifetime.”

“You’re kidding! You’re a virgin?”

Jeff inclined his head in the affirmative. “Those are the facts, yes.”

“But … how … you’re twenty-four!” Sarah gabbled.

“Right again.” Josh sighed. “My parents stressed how important it was to wait, and, to tell the truth, the temptation always avoided me, pretty much until just now. I’ve always thought the sex talk in the Army was pretty crude, and when they started talking about you like that, I almost got angry, because I’ve never met anyone, much less a girl, so compatible with me who seemed to care so much. Sarah, even though I think you might be the one, even if you are, I am not ready to give it up. Not yet. I’m sorry. Please don’t ask me to.”

Sarah sat up and swung to the side of the bed. Her back was now to Jeff. She searched her memory for an experience remotely resembling this in her romantic career. If he was a virgin to sex, she was a virgin to hearing the word “no” in bed. For the first time, she couldn’t have what she wanted, and she wanted Jeff more than anything.

His monologue, however heartfelt and unequivocal, had done nothing to tamp her ardor. She had to do something. Still turned away, she clumsily experimented with vulnerability: “Jeff, I’m not used to being out of control here. I know I can’t ask you to do this, but you’ve got to understand: I’m so horny for you, I feel like I’m going to explode. Are you willing to try something for me?”

“You can ask.”

Sarah dared, “Can you play with my tits while I jack off?”

Silence followed, but it was tempered by the double-long inhales that meant Jeff was deep in thought. Then she heard, “Depends. How naked?”

God, he was going to make her work for it! She twisted toward him. “Pants and undies down, at least. For the boobs, I guess you can go on top of the shirt or up it; I don't have to take it off.”

“Let's start with on top.”

Sarah pushed ahead, hope rising. “If you want to reach under and grab my ass, that's okay, too. If a finger goes in somewhere, I won't complain.”

He shook his head in the negative. “Not today, thanks."

Sarah felt a sting from the rejection, but still, a little help upstairs was always welcome, especially at the hands of Jeff. “Call it a deal?"

“One more question,” Jeff prefaced. Sarah held her breath until he proceeded: “Is it acceptable that I masturbate as well?”

“Yes!” she shrieked delightedly. “There’s Vaseline in the bathroom. I'll even make out with you while you do it, if you want. But me first!”

His eyes took up their ponderous faraway stare of an analysis in progress. At last, the results came through.

“I'm in. Well, you know what I mean.”

Sarah dove into her nightstand and scrambled for a vibrator, and doffed her glasses. She performed a twisting somersault into the bed and hauled her capris and panties to her knees.

The vibrator came alive in her hand and she maneuvered it into place. She scrabbled at her bra through the purple shirt and hiked it over her breasts. “You!” she barked, half crazed, “Squeeze my tits, and when I say, twist my nipples! What are you waiting for?”

He scooted up to her sheepishly, blurry but beautiful. “As you wish."

***

Ashlee boarded the Metro Monday morning. She was once again laden with the mail crate, but this time it was topped by three proposals to shield Stetson from undue scrutiny. From a series of affidavits, pledges, and blind trusts, to actually moving the managers, or restructuring their relationship with Homburg, there were a dozen ways of accomplishing it.

To Ashlee’s shock and amazement, at the next stop one of the boarders was none other than Sarah Dawes! In a tan suit! Ashlee triple checked her watch. It was barely past eight. Sarah was on time barely three days a week, and never had she been half an hour early. Spotting Ashlee, Sarah waved, and stumbling as the train lurched under her, she worked her way to the seat by Ashlee.

“Hello, early bird!” chirruped Ashlee. “What’s the occasion?”

“Blake called me last night,” said Sarah. “She said that Hahn wanted to talk to me before work.”

“What about?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t say. I’m kind of worried.”

Ashlee scoffed. “You? Worried? Nah, it’s probably nothing. He might have to do a precis on your performance review or something before he heads out. You know, give you a chance for input.”

“I hope you’re right.” Sarah chewed on her nails.

Ashlee tried to lighten the mood. “I loved meeting Jeff on Saturday. You were cute together.”

“Oh, thank you. We had a great time, too!”

Sarah yawned and blinked heavily, giving Ashlee a mischievous notion. “Not much sleep, eh? Finally got Jeff to do the deed?”

Still blinking, Sarah uttered an abortive syllable, then stared out the opposite window. Turning back to Ashlee, she said, “Um, I think I’d rather keep that between me and Jeff for the moment. Jeff’s pretty private, and, well, I …” Sarah trailed off. She faced forward, and resumed worrying her nails. Ashlee regarded her slack-faced for a minute, during which time Sarah slumped forward, snoring slightly.

Ashlee nudged her awake at Metro Center. Sarah yawned, pushed her slipped glasses back up the bridge of her nose, and together they debarked. Ashlee was unaccustomed to being accompanied on her walk to work, but for all Sarah wanted to talk, she might as well have been alone as normal. Sarah finally broke her silence in the corridor of the office building, just outside Stetson’s front door.

“Do you really think it’s nothing?”

“Has to be. What’s the worst that could happen?” Ashlee doubtfully reassured her.

The pair pushed through the front door, and immediately encountered Mr. Hahn and Mr. Wilson, the branch HR rep, chatting in muted tones by the reception desk. Sarah blenched, and Ashlee’s heart sank.

“Good morning, Miss Dawes,” said Mr. Hahn grimly. “Could you please join us in my office? And Miss Vance, Mrs. Blake is caught in traffic, could you please come and witness?”

Witness? What the hell was this about? The unhappy train followed Mr. Hahn through the executive suite to his inner sanctum. The corner room had two windows, but every other square inch of the walls sported diplomas, awards, certificates, signed photos, and trophies. His massive desk was clear but for a laptop, a phone, two pens, and two sheets of letterhead. Ashlee and Mr. Wilson were directed to armchairs in the corners. Mr. Hahn lowered himself with a grunt into his seat behind the desk. Sarah was to stand.

Mr Hahn donned reading glasses and lifted the letterhead to his face. “Miss Dawes, pursuant to Stetson Logistics personnel policy, this is a written reprimand for repeated inattention to your duties and unsatisfactory-slash-inefficient performance. This is your first written warning; a second will be grounds for termination. You will have an opportunity to speak on your own behalf, and you will be referred to mentoring by your immediate supervisor, Mrs. Blake. Before we proceed, do you understand?”

A crushed Sarah swayed and buckled. Ashlee leapt to her feet and propped her up. Mr. Hahn gestured to Mr. Wilson to pull an extra chair in, then fetched a glass bottle of sparkling water from an unseen refrigerator. Mr. Wilson returned, sliding a rolling chair under Sarah, and Ashlee slowly removed her support. Like a standing stone released to slide into its foundation, Sarah settled heavily in. Ashlee took the bottle from Mr. Hahn, cracked it open, and shoved into Sarah’s nearly lifeless hand. Sarah took a dazed sip, wincing and reviving slightly at the bitter refreshment.

The excitement was over in less than two minutes, and Sarah was now leaning forward in her seat, the bottle clutched in her two hands, and these clamped between her knees. Mr Hahn repeated, more gently: “Do you understand, Miss Dawes?”

“Ye -- ye -- I do. I understand, sir.”

“Thank you. This is unpleasant for both of us. Let’s get it over with and get back to work.”

Ashlee couldn’t believe her reddening eyes. What was going to happen to her friend?