Chapter 20 Eleanor
ELEANOR
By the time I pulled up to the school, my cheeks still felt warm from the rink. My whole body did, honestly.
I kept replaying it, the way Alex looked at me, the way he steadied me, the way his breath brushed my cheek when he whispered my name.
And then— my mother’s call. Reality. Cold water dumped over an open flame.
But even that couldn’t smother the warm, fizzy feeling curling in my chest.
Not today.
I made my way to the front office. Sadly, getting called into the school wasn’t new for me. I just wished they had tried my cell first. Darlene greeted me and nodded over to the other side of the office . . . Then I spotted her. She wasn’t bouncing. She wasn’t talking. She was just sitting there.
My stomach dropped.
Oh no.
Ava’s face was blotchy red, her eyes furious, her hands balled into tight fists at her sides. I was barely there before she ran to me, burying herself in my sweater.
“Ava,” I whispered, stroking her hair. “Honey, what happened?”
She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just shook against me like she was holding in a storm.
The principal cleared his throat delicately. “Mrs. Tremaine . . . we had an incident today.”
Of course, we did.
My mother materialized beside me, because she couldn’t resist a crisis if it meant she could perform handling it better than I could.
How was she even here? I’d come straight from the rink.
“Let’s step into my office,” he said as he held the door open, and we all entered.
“An incident?” she demanded, her voice already sharp enough to cut through glass. “What does that mean?”
The principal shifted uncomfortably. “A physical altercation.”
My heart dropped. I thought we'd been doing so much better. I thought she was finding a home here with friends.
"We are going to have to issue her a one-day suspension. And weekly visits with the school therapist."
I nodded. Sadly, this was not new. "Ava is enrolled with a therapist already, but she will, of course, meet with the school's as well."
“I’m sure we will be able to put this behind us. Darlene will have some paperwork for you.”
I nodded, and we made our way out of the office.
We made our way silently to the car.
My mother followed behind us. “Ava Marie. What has gotten into you? I demand an answer.”
“You’re not helping. Why are you even here?” I say through clenched teeth.
“I’m here because the school called and you were not home.”
“And then you call, and here I am. We will meet you at home,” I say with finality she can’t ignore.
Once we were both in the safety of the van, I turned to her, but she wouldn't meet my gaze.
"What happened, sweetheart?"
Nothing. She wouldn't even look at me.
I just blew out a breath and started the car. Nothing to do but head home and deal with the fallout there.
As we pulled up to my mom's house, I couldn't help but feel like I was about to be grounded. Hector was out, and he gave Ava a smile and a wave, but she didn't even acknowledge him and just headed inside. He cocked his head, looking at me. I gave him a weak smile and a wave as we headed in.
"Well?" my mother demanded as soon as we entered the house.
"I got in a fight," Ava finally said.
“AV-a,” she hissed, voice dripping with disappointment. “How could you? Eleanor, this is exactly what I warned you about with public school—”
I held up a hand, stopping her cold. “Not now.”
Her lips thinned, offended, but silent.
I crouched down in front of Ava. “Honey. Talk to me. Please. Why did you get into a fight?”
Nothing.
Just that stubborn set to her jaw, the one that looked so much like Ethan it made my heart ache.
"Can I go to my room?" was all she said.
I nodded as she disappeared up the stairs.
"What are you going to do about this?" my mother asked with her arms folded over her chest.
"I don't know," I said. And I didn't. I didn't know what I was going to do about anything.
Fighting isn't who Ava was. She was a kind girl, but also one with poor emotional regulation. But there was more to the story. I was sure of it.
"You need to pull her from that school. We need to put her on a strict schedule. And ground her until she can learn to behave."
I just gawked at her. How could she possibly think that was the answer? Forcing Ava to behave was like trying to control the weather. I needed to understand what happened to give her the tools to deal with it. She wasn't a spoiled brat like my mom seemed to think she was.
I couldn't do this. I couldn't live here anymore.
Something I’d been holding back for months shifted. Hardened. Clarified.
Her face was pale and tight, eyes full of judgment instead of concern.
She cared about how we looked at this school. Not about Ava’s tears. Not about what Ava needed.
I felt myself go cold, steady in a way I hadn’t expected.
“This isn’t working,” I said softly.
My mother blinked. “Excuse me?”
“This. Living here. You. Me. Ava. It’s hurting her. And it’s hurting me.”
Her mouth fell open in shock. “Eleanor, don’t be ridiculous. You need stability. You need guidance—”
“We need space,” I said. “I need to make decisions without being . . . corrected. And Ava needs acceptance, not discipline for being who she is.”
My mother looked like I’d slapped her.
Good.
Because for the first time in my adult life, I wasn’t shrinking. I wasn’t smoothing things over. I wasn’t trying to be the daughter she wanted. I was being the mother Ava needed. I headed up the stairs already formulating a plan. We needed to get out.
As I entered my childhood room that I'd been sleeping in for the past month, I opened my laptop and wrote a letter to my agent.
Hey Len,
Start shopping the story with the little derby girl I told you about. I'm ready to get back to work.
El
I closed my laptop and flopped back on my bed. It was time.
Later that night, I was curled up in my bed watching old sitcoms when there was a soft knock at my door. It slowly creaked open, and there was my girl, in her black and white striped pj's. She looked like the prisoner I felt like.
And then she was padding across the room, clutching her stuffed raven, and climbing silently into my bed like she had nearly every night since Ethan died.
I lifted the covers for her without a word. She snuggled up against my side, small and warm and trembling just a little.
For a long moment, she didn’t say anything.
Then, very quietly, “Mama?”
“Yes, baby?”
Her voice cracked. “I didn’t tell you why I fought.”
My breath stilled.
I smoothed her hair back gently. “You can tell me now.”
She swallowed hard, her little fingers twisting in the blanket.
“He was . . . he was being mean to Leo.”
My chest tightened. “Leo?”
She nodded against my arm. “He said Leo was weird. And he . . . he said people like him shouldn’t be in our class.” Her voice went sharp with remembered anger. “He said . . . you know the R word.”
My throat burned hot. “Oh, sweetheart.”
Ava kept going, voice trembling.
“I don’t care if kids are mean to me,” she whispered. “That’s fine. I don’t mind. I don’t care.” She took a shaky breath. “But he does, Mama. And Leo’s my friend.”
Oh, my brave girl.
I turned toward her fully, pulling her into my arms, holding her tight as emotion surged through me.
Her little voice broke. “I didn’t want him to feel sad. So I hit the other boy.”
I closed my eyes. God, I wished the world were softer for kids like them.
“Ava,” I murmured, voice thick, “fighting isn’t the best choice. We’ll work on better ways to handle things, okay?”
She nodded, small and ashamed.
“But listen to me,” I whispered fiercely, tilting her chin so she looked at me. “Standing up for someone who needs help? That is good. That is brave. And I am so proud of you.”
Her lip trembled. “Even though I got in trouble?”
“Yes,” I said immediately. “Even then.”
She let out a tiny sob and buried her face in my chest.
I held her tighter.
Then, in the smallest voice, she asked, “Does Grandma hate me?”
My heart cracked right down the center.
“No,” I said, firm and gentle at once. “She doesn’t hate you. She doesn’t always understand you. But that’s her problem, not yours. You are perfect as you are.”
She lifted her head, eyes big and glossy. “Really?”
“Really,” I said, kissing her forehead. “You are brave. And kind. And one day the world will catch up.”
She curled into me again, finally relaxing, her breathing softening into the slow rhythm of sleep.
But I stayed awake.
Holding her.
Protecting her.
And making a quiet, powerful promise to myself. We are leaving this house. We are carving out a life where she never has to ask that question again. We are getting out.
Because Ava deserved a world where she wasn’t too much or too little, just Ava.
And I deserved a world where I could breathe. Where I could create. Where I could feel something new and real, something like the spark I felt every time Alex looked at me.
I held her until the sky outside the window turned pale.
And in that early morning stillness . . .
I made up my mind.