Angela 1: Starting Over

By David A. Bedford

Angela's life has suddenly been turned upside down! Her parents recently divorced, she is forced to move, and she relocates to a coastal town in Texas. Angela struggles with feelings of guilt, blaming herself for the divorce, and enrolls in the Honors Program at her new school. She shines academically, makes new friends, but is shocked by the aggressiveness of a group of popular girls who have it in for her from the beginning. If the "mean girls" weren't enough to contend with, the principal, Mara Petty, dislikes Angela for no apparent reason and is oblivious to the bullying that Angela endures. Angela and her friends discover something far more sinister than bullying in their school -- corruption, and they uncover actual evidence. Will the powerful people prove to be more than Angela and her friends bargained for if they expose the truth? What are the consequences, and who is responsible?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Progressive Rising Phoenix Press, LLC
• Release date: Mar 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781944277826

David A. Bedford

David A. Bedford was born in Fort Worth, Texas, grew up in Argentina, and moved to the United States for his studies. He attended Texas Tech University and received a BA and MA, before attending The University of Texas at Austin, where he earned his PhD in foreign language education. He has prepared new missionaries for language study, served as a consultant for the Southern Baptist Foreign Mission Board, and served as the Language Lab Director and Adjunct Professor of Spanish at Southern Illinois University at Carbondale. After a four and a half year stint directing the Portuguese Language School in Campinas, David accepted a position at Texas Christian University where he is an instructor of Spanish.

Book preview

Chapter 1

As she got ready for school, Angela was less than pleased with what she saw in the mirror: the oval face, the unusual nose, the mass of brown, reddish, and golden curls that surrounded her face and cascaded down her shoulders in ringlets and corkscrews. That isn’t a zit starting, is it? thought Angela, leaning closer to the mirror. Not with the debate today! An unpleasant sensation began to flutter in her stomach. It was her first debate ever. She didn’t really know what she was expected to do and Miles would be on the opposing team. The thought of Miles made her feel weak and helpless.

Then there was that letter she had seen recently during the field trip to the Independent School District office, while they were waiting for the superintendent to show up: what did that mean, Confirming consideration of 10K? Angela frowned at herself in the mirror. She didn’t like the sound of it but what could she do about it, after all, even if it was something shady?

Miles will probably not even be able to see the zit, if it is one, she thought. No one else will, either. I’ll know it’s there, though. She considered for a minute covering the tiny blemish with makeup but decided not to. Nothing she or her mother did to her face had ever improved how it looked and the hair… well, it was (what was that word on the vocabulary list? Oh, yeah) contumacious: stubbornly disobedient.

Angela! Come get some breakfast, called her mom from the kitchen.

I’m not hungry!

Angela, you have a big day today. A good breakfast will calm your nerves. Plus, you are going to burn a lot of fuel.

Mom was right, of course. Angela wandered into the kitchen and hugged her mother, beginning to feel better already. The smell of eggs and bacon and the bright sunshine made her smile.

You know, Angela, when you smile, it’s like turning on the lights on every Christmas tree in Texas.

Oh, Mom, you just say that because you’re my mom.

Mm-hm! You’ll see someday.

Hey, you guys! We’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry up. It was Amy, Angela’s little sister, who ambled in amiably enough and sat on a barstool by the counter. We have vocabulary test today.

I have one, too, said Angela: ‘contumacious’: stubbornly rebellious; ‘crepuscule’. . ."

Amy asked, "Does anybody actually use those words, Mom?"

You’d be surprised. Susan Fournier, the mom, was a librarian at the Sargasso Beach Public Library and she knew about words. Angela looked at her and smiled. Her mom, she thought, was beautiful, smart, and caring. It’s a good thing, too, given all the recent changes in their lives. Angela’s eyes got teary and a familiar weight of sadness, always lurking in the background, passed through her. She took a slow, deep breath.

I’m done, Angela announced. Let me brush my teeth and get my things.

***

She was feeling better as they drove down the sun-drenched streets of Sargasso Beach. In the distance ahead she could see a dark line she knew was North Padre Island and, beyond it, shimmering with sunlight cast back from the crest of every wave, the sea. Then her mom turned a corner and pulled up at Sam Houston High School to let Angela out before she left Amy at Stephen F. Austin Elementary on her way to work at the library. Angela stepped out of the car. The sea breeze wafted through her curls and, in spite of everything, she smiled happily as she waved goodbye and turned towards the school, thinking about her friends.

As she pushed through the doors, one of them was coming toward her. It was Fiona Banbury, petite, sporting an expensive haircut but reasonable clothes.

Hi, Angela. Come with me. The KittyKats are on the warpath and they’re looking for you. We better get to Home Room.

Chapter 2

Angela grew up in San Antonio, quite happy and content until the day, just under a year before, her father came into her room to talk. Angela knew something was wrong the instant she saw him.

I have something to tell you, he announced. Angela did not answer. Nothing came to mind to say.

Your mom and I, he went on, are getting a divorce.

Angela was frozen, not feeling anything, not daring to feel anything. She seemed to be detached and swaying in some distant place. Slowly, as her surroundings resolved into focus again, she became aware that her father was talking.

…new job in Flagstaff and your mom refuses to go with me. I don’t know what her problem is, but she was going on and on about my taking my assistant, you know, Darla with me. Well, it’s a great job and Darla’s perfect for administrative assistant. I already arranged it with the firm.

Still, Angela could find nothing to say, now because anger, guilt, and tears were threatening to take her over. Her dad stopped talking, looking embarrassed. He gave her a quick hug, said something about how they would see each other often, and walked out of the room.

Susan resolved to move ahead and not look back. It was obvious to Angela that she cried a lot at first, never trying to hide it. Not long afterwards, Susan told Andrew (the oldest), Angela, and Amy:

Adam has made his choice and it doesn’t include us. Nothing will change that. It will be hard, but we’re going forward, together. She went on to say that she had heard about the new public library in Sargasso Beach, the fast-growing, wealthy suburb just south of Corpus Christi. There was an opening for librarian. She had applied for the job and got it, so they would be moving to the coast in a few weeks. That is how Angela found herself starting tenth grade in a new school in a new town.

On the first day of school, Angela found her Home Room, saw an empty chair on the front row, and sat down.

Hi, I’m Fiona Banbury, said the girl in the chair to Angela’s left. What’s your name?

Angela Fournier.

Cool name.

Thanks. I’m new in town.

You and just about everyone else. Where’d you come from?

San Antonio. Are you new here, too?

Been here about three years. We moved here from Corpus, she answered, using the affectionate Texan short form for the city.

The class filled up and the Home Room teacher came in. Tall and athletic in build, though now slightly overweight, he had the affable manner of a college cheerleader. He was chomping on a wad of chewing gum as he positioned himself behind the desk.

That’s Coach Ferguson, whispered Fiona.

Let’s take roll, said Ferguson. Apperson!

Here!

Aston.

Here!

BAN-berry.

Here, said Fiona. Uh, it’s ‘BAM-bree,’ sir.

Right, BAN-berry, repeated the coach, between chews.

Fiona rolled her eyes. When he got to Angela’s name, he said:

Furry-near.

Here, said Angela. But, sir, it’s Foor-NYAY.

Sorry. Right. Furry-near.

Angela and Fiona turned to each other and smiled. Angela had liked Fiona from the start and the business over the names established a good-natured conspiracy between them and made them friends from then on.

Home Room ended after the pledge and other such routine formalities. As Angela and Fiona went into the hall to go to first period, five girls followed them out of the classroom and made a friendly circle around them. The tallest gave them a humorless smile and said:

Hi. I’m Kitty.

Kat.

Casey.

Ashley.

McKenzie.

The five girls had said their names rapid-fire, in order around the circle. Angela assumed that it was not the first time they had introduced themselves in that fashion. Kitty was tall and flashy, Kat was quiet and looked unpleasant, Casey obviously copied Kitty, Ashley seemed amiable and kept looking around at the boys passing in the hallway, and McKenzie was cute but certainly not the brains of the outfit.

You’re new in town, declared Kitty. It was not a question, so Angela said nothing.

I said, you’re new in town!

I heard you, Angela answered, unruffled, in a kind and matter-of-fact voice. You apparently know. And, you haven’t asked me a question.

Kitty smiled slowly. Oh, a smart-ass, are we? She looked around at her circle and they laughed. Angela knew she was getting red in the face and when that happened, she refused to talk. Her experience taught her that when she got angry, if she said anything, later she would hate herself for it.

Lay off, Kitty. We have to get to class. We appreciate the welcoming party. Very thoughtful of you. Come on, Angela, said Fiona, taking her by the arm. As they headed down the hall, Angela looked back briefly and saw Kitty eyeing her thoughtfully.

First period was Algebra II. Fiona was in the same class, so Angela sat by her. A boy sitting in front of Fiona turned around.

Hi, he said. I’m Benjie Cooper. He had deep ebony skin, laughing green eyes, and a friendly smile.

I’m Angela, and this is Fiona.

Yeah, I know Fiona from middle school. You’re new, aren’t you?

Yes. Moved here a few weeks ago.

Well, it’s nice to meet you and the curls are great!

Angela thanked him with her most winning smile, though she was hardly aware that it was. Do you know the teacher, Mr. Logan? she asked both of them.

I don’t, said Fiona.

Me either, added Benjie, but my big brother had him. He says, ‘Logan’s basically harmless, but on the other hand, he doesn’t make much sense, either.’

At that moment Mr. Logan entered the room, picked up the class roll, and began to call names. As the students answered, he looked towards each of them in turn, peering through his thick glasses and blinking as though not quite sure what species of creature he had in front of him.

Okay, kids, Logan began, after calling the roll, "welcome to Algebra II. We will be dealing with straightforward mathematical concepts that should be easy to follow and not need much explanation. All our work will be directly applicable to real life.

"By way of example, let’s start at the most logical beginning: rational and irrational numbers. Every real number can be classed as either rational or irrational. A rational number has a ratio of m/n, where m and n are integers and n is not zero. In decimal form, rational numbers have to be a repeating or terminal decimal. Any real number that is not rational is irrational. Got that?

Okay, then now let’s apply: explain how you know that Π is not a rational number…

By then Angela was beginning to drift. Rousing herself, she pulled out a notebook and set to taking notes dutifully, hoping she could make sense of them later. And what could be real about an irrational number? She had to admit, though, that math is powerful. It can make time stand still.

***

Second period was English. Angela took a liking quickly to Mrs. Perez, a middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense style, a wry sense of humor and laughing eyes. She seemed to size up each student as she called the roll. The contrast with the fog of math class could not have been greater.

What, she began after calling roll, is literature?

Several hands went up.

Yes, Yves?

Something people write? ventured a freckle-faced boy who had all the makings of a good-natured troublemaker.

It is that, certainly. But does everything that is written qualify as literature?

Yves declined to follow up on such arcane matters. Another hand went up.

Cooper?

No!

Very well then, what separates literature from what isn’t?

Fiona raised her hand. Literature isn’t practical, like a shopping list or a business letter.

Yeah, said another. Computer manuals and tax form instructions are not literature.

Contracts, text messages, and letters aren’t either. No wait, some letters might be?

Very good, Mrs. Perez encouraged. "What is literature?"

Several hands went up.

Plays and poetry!

Novels and short stories!

Yes, said Mrs. Perez. Those are some of the forms literature can take. What do they have in common?

Angela overcame her natural shyness and reluctance to share ideas in front of a group and slowly raised her hand.

Fournier, indicated Mrs. Perez, consulting the seating chart she had filled out as she called roll.

All literature has an artistic side and…and it says something universal that has meaning for people. Angela could sense