the right way to look after one of our own.”
So that’s what this was all about—another way to defend Josh. “I don’t have anything against Josh,” she protested.
“That’s good to know.” Bobbie’s smile had more steel that sweetness behind it. “Then you won’t mind looking for something good to write about him. As a favor to me.”
“Grandma, I can’t write a story for the paper just to be nice. It has to be news.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” she said. “You’re a very resourceful young woman.”
Right. Resourceful. She’d been resourceful writing the story about Josh in the first place. She’d been proud of that story—she still was. And she resented that everyone—well, at least Josh and her grandmother—was trying to make her feel guilty about it. One more reason she wasn’t cut out for small-town living. People in a city would surely have more respect for journalism, and less of a personal stake in every story.
* * *
JOSH WAS ON the agenda to speak to the school board the following Thursday, not a job he relished, especially in the wake of the unwelcome publicity from Amy’s newspaper article. So far the reaction he’d heard from the article had been divided—Josh’s friends thought he hadn’t gotten a fair shake, while others applauded Amy for shedding light on a clear case of favoritism. Josh preferred to lie low and wait for the whole thing to blow over. Unfortunately, having to appear before the school board made that impossible.
Groaning inwardly, he settled into a chair near the back of the room and steeled himself for a boring wait. Only then did he spot Amy in the second row, rich brown hair falling around her shoulders as she leaned forward to scribble something in the reporter’s notebook in her lap. Was she waiting to twist his words tonight into something even more damning?
After the usual business of roll call and approval of minutes, school board president Al Hirschmer scanned the agenda, then addressed the crowd. “I see the first item of business is a proposal by someone called Love Soldier? Is that a typo? Is Love Soldier here?”
Amid some laughter a tall woman, her black hair in pigtails, stood and made her way to the microphone at the front of the room. “Erica Bridegate, why didn’t you just say it was you?” one of the board members, Ashley Frawley, said.
Erica’s cheeks reddened, but she held her head high. “I prefer Love Soldier.” She adjusted the microphone, the two dozen bracelets on her arm sounding like a whole drawerful of dropped silverware. “I’m here to ask the board to support my proposal to turn the vacant lot next to the elementary school into a garden. The students can help grow vegetables and learn about agriculture and healthy food, and the school cafeteria can save money on fresh vegetables.”
“What is that lot used for now?” Roger Perkins asked.
“The maintenance staff parks the plow truck there when it’s not in use,” Al said. “And I believe there are a couple of Dumpsters there.”
“The school should be able to find somewhere else for those things,” Erica/Love said. “I propose to build raised beds there and help the children grow tomatoes, beans, lettuce and other vegetables they can eat. Or they could sell the excess to finance other school projects.”
“That sounds good,” Roger said. “But you can’t just dig up a vacant lot and have a garden. What are you going to build these raised beds out of?”
“Tony Gillespie has a big pile of bricks from the old stables he tore down that he said he’d donate if the school board will give him a letter so he can take the value of the bricks off his taxes,” she said. “And Nancy Metheny said she’d get her brother to till up the dirt if I thought this would get her son, Nicky, to eat vegetables.”
“So all you need from us is permission?” Ashley asked.
“Permission and an agreement to pay the water bill. And maybe build a fence to keep out wandering dogs and things.”
“I knew there was a catch,” Ashley said to no one in particular.
“The school doesn’t have money for a fence or a bigger water bill,” the third board member, Stephanie Olefski, said. “And I seriously doubt kids can eat enough vegetables to make up the difference.”
This launched a lengthy debate about the merits of fresh vegetables, the aesthetic value of fences and what kind of watering system a garden might need. Josh passed the time studying the way Amy’s hair reflected the light, and the curve of her cheek—the only part of her face he could really see from this angle.
As if feeling his gaze on her, she turned, and when their eyes met, he read a challenge there—as if she expected him to confront her once more and she was prepared for the verbal battle. But he had no intention of arguing with Amy—certainly not in public. Zach had been right—if she considered him her enemy, she was more likely to continue to go after him in the paper. Better to pretend he had no beef with her and hope she’d soon turn her attention to a more exciting story.
“If I find someone to donate the fencing, and volunteers to erect it, can the school pay for the water?” Erica was saying now.
“Do we have any idea how much the water will cost?” Ashley asked. “We can’t commit to an unknown cost. Are we talking one hundred dollars or one thousand dollars?”
“I suppose that depends on how much it rains,” Roger said.
Josh raised his hand. Al regarded him with something like relief in his expression. “Mr. Scofield, do you have something to add?”
Feeling a little self-conscious under the scrutiny of every eye in the room, Josh stood. “The elementary school has a metal roof. Perhaps we could install a cistern and some kind of collection system and use the rain we collect to water the garden.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.” Eyes shining, Erica looked at him as if he’d just offered her a diamond ring. “And so green. It will teach the children about recycling.”
“Don’t you have to have a permit from the state to do something like that?” Stephanie asked.
“I could look into that,” Josh said.
“Then I propose we table a decision until we have a report on the feasibility of a water collection system and the costs involved.” Al banged down his gavel. “All in favor?”
The vote was unanimous in favor of the motion. Erica mimed that she would talk to Josh more later, and he sat down again. But he was scarcely settled in his chair when Al called his name. “Mr. Scofield, I believe you’re next on the agenda.”
“Don’t tell me you’re looking for money, too,” Ashley quipped.
“Actually, I am.” Josh cleared his throat and tried to focus his thoughts. “I’d like for my students to attend a science bee in Durango next month. We’d need a bus and driver to take us there and back for the day, plus the participation fee of ten dollars per student.”
“And how many students are we talking about?” Al asked.
“I have twenty who’d be eligible to attend, but I think about twelve would actually go, plus adult sponsors.”
“So,
