10. Foreshock
CHAPTER TEN
FORESHOCK
Claire
My cell phone rattles against the polished wood of my desk, making me realize I haven’t looked at it in hours. The caller ID reads, “Juniper Ridge Middle School.”
I answer before the second ring. “Claire Bennett.”
“Mrs. Bennett? This is Principal Harrington.”
My grip tightens around the phone. Every parent knows that tone—the one administrators’ use when they’re about to explain why your child has become the most prominent problem in the building.
“Is Ellie okay?”
“She’s fine.”
I sag back into my chair—until his next statement makes me sit up.
“However, something has happened.” The silence lasts long enough for me to count the seconds. “Your daughter pulled a fire alarm.”
“What?”
“She pulled the fire alarm that’s located outside the cafeteria.”
“Ellie, did this?”
“Yes, that’s correct. Your daughter, Ellie Bennett.”
This makes no sense. My daughter apologizes when other people bump into her; she’s the last person on earth who would pull a fire alarm. The act is so profoundly out of character that my mind can’t quite grasp it.
“Can I speak to her?”
“You can, but I’m going to need you or Mr. Bennett to come to the school. She’s facing another suspension.”
I hear movement, and then Ellie’s voice comes through the phone. “Mom?”
“Ellie, sweetheart, what happened?”
“I didn’t mean to do it.” The words tumble out, “It was an accident.”
“How do you accidentally pull a fire alarm?”
“I tripped—some kid pushed past me and I fell against the wall, and my hand just hit it.”
“Ellie.” I keep my voice low, steady. “You don’t trip and pull a fire alarm. What happened?”
“I just… I don’t know.” I hear an intake of breath. “I didn’t mean for it to be such a big deal.”
I hear a sniffle. “I’m sorry.”
I imagine the chaos of the entire middle school evacuating during lunch.
“Mom, are you coming to get me?”
“I’m going to call your dad. I have a meeting at the mayor’s office.”
“Okay, whatever.”
“Ellie, I can’t miss this meeting.”
Before I can say her name again, the line goes dead.
I dial Ethan. He answers on the second ring. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
I blow out a deep breath. “Ellie pulled a fire alarm.”
The silence that follows is almost impressive.
“She did what?”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Apparently, she tripped.”
After a pause, a disbelieving laugh crackles through the phone.
“This isn’t funny.” I pull at the loose thread on my cuff until it snaps.
“It kind of is.”
“She’s upset.”
That sobers him. “I’ll go get her.”
I glance toward the hallway, where Marisol is waiting for me. “Thank you. I have a meeting with the major’s office.”
“Okay. I’m leaving now.”
“Thank you.”
I toss my phone on the table a little harder than I intend.
The next morning, I’m staring at a spreadsheet when my phone buzzes with a notification from the family group chat Sloane insisted on creating.
Group Therapy Without a Therapist
Ellie: Who dares disobey this queen!
Of all the roles, my daughter lands the one famous for screaming and ordering executions. Nobody finds this concerning except me?
Sloane: To be fair, she also gets the best costume. Tiny tyrants always do.
Not helping.
Peter: Off with their heads!
Ellie: At least Grandpa supports me.
Another dozen notifications roll in—memes from Sloane, a GIF from Reid, and a horse video from Lucy.