Olivia is eight when the teachers finally admit out loud that she's just not normal. The kid on the playground who didn't want to join the others. The kid who stood watching without emotion when little Billy Emerson cracked his skull in gym. The kid who shows incredible violence in silly schoolyard scuffles. The kid who wears long sleeves and pants all year round, even though the school nurse said she couldn't see any signs of abuse. All of her teachers, kindergarten through second grade, are uncomfortable around her but there isn't anything that anyone could really say, just "doesn't socialise well with others", "aggressive attitude and temper", and "is she having a hard time at home?"
The final straw comes the day the second grade classroom guinea pig is found in its cage, squealing in the most horrible way because its little legs have been cut off with Mrs MacAfee's 'adults only' scissors. Everyone knows Olivia did it—no one doubts that for a second. The teacher's aide, principal, and assorted faculty members hunt her down and find her comfortably relaxed in the school library; she was reading in encyclopedia about human anatomy, sitting on the floor between two rows of bookshelves—her hands still have the guinea pig's bitemarks freshly bleeding. She's dragged back to the school councilor's office and her mother is called, though Ms Dunham can't show up for another few hours, so they have to let Olivia sit at one of the children's chairs and continue reading about the human body.
When Ms Dunham finally arrives, she's pissed and fuming, raising her voice at the secretary until she storms into the councilor's office, her purse swinging wildly while her suede jacket is making her sweat. Olivia looks up from her encyclopedia long enough to glare at her mother, who shoots back the same frigid stare.
The councilor gestures for Ms Dunham to sit down on the orangey-brown leather couch as the principal joins them. Olivia decides to keep reading about the larynx and windpipe.
"Ms Dunham, we've called in this meeting to discuss the incident that happened today in school," the councilor says in an overly friendly way, obviously trying to calm the woman down.
"Has she hit someone again?" Ms Dunham said sourly.
"I only hit Jimmy because he wouldn't let me sit in the sandbox by myself," Olivia snaps.
Her mother ignores her. "What did she do this time?"
The principal sighs and says in a very dramatic way, "She cut off Mr Wiggles' legs."
Ms Dunham looked between the two men, the impact lost on her. "What's Mr Wiggles?"
"Mr Wiggles was the classroom guinea pig. They had to put it down."
"Olivia Leeann Dunham, I swear to god—" her mother snarls at her then turns back to the two men. "She's always been like this! I don't understand where she gets it from! Her little snot attitude—"
"Ms Dunham—" the councilor tries to interject.
"Just a stuck up little brat. Ungrateful," she sneers, her eyes boring into the eight year old.
Olivia slams the encyclopedia shut. "Whores shouldn't be allowed to have children! Kids should have a mother and father—"
"Ms Dunham—" the principal warns as her mother jumps off the couch to stomp over to her.
"Please!" the councilor pleads.
The room is silenced as Ms Dunham's hand smacks across Olivia's cheek; while getting hit isn't new to Olivia, she is a little stunned her mother did it in public—normally she's very careful not to attract attention.
The principal quickly grabs Olivia by the hand and leads her out of the office. "Olivia, why don't you go sit out here?"
She's hardly surprised that no one is actually concerned that she's been hit across the face—these adults don't actually care about children, they just make themselves feel better by saying they do. The principal seats her with a very forced smile before hurrying back into the councilor's office. Olivia takes one look at the busy secretary's back to her and quietly climbs out of her seat to press her ear to the door.
"I don't normally do that—you have to understand. But sometimes she just… well, you heard."
The principal clears his throat to break the uncomfortable silence. "Ms Dunham, your daughter has some unusually conservative views compared to you and your other daughter, Rachel. Do you have any idea why that is?"
She can hear her mother give an irritated sigh. "It started when she learned to read. For a while we were living in motels and in a motel room there are only two things to read: the bible and the phonebook. She's never liked TV—you ever hear of kid not liking TV? Anyway, Olivia liked reading and once she became bored with the phonebook, she started reading the bible."
"So is she religious?" the councilor asks, sounding confused.
Her mother snorts. "No! Just a weirdo."
"Ms Dunham, how would you feel about sending Olivia to a special camp that helps children like her?" the principal inquires.
Ms Dunham sounds skeptical. "You mean a place that can fix her?"
"She'll be rehabilitated. She'll be just like her sister when they're done with her," the councilor insists quickly.
Olivia grimaces when she hears her mother digging through her purse for her cheque book. "How much does it cost?"
Olivia sits at the back of the empty Camp New Start bus, her hands clutching her books tightly. She has Emily Post's Pocket Guide to Etiquette, Audubon's Guide to Florida's Birds, and the book of children's rhymes that Rach gave her. While Olivia didn't read children's rhymes, her sister loves the book and was insistent she take it.
It was a day and a half since the councilor and principal talked with her mother. It had been settled immediately because the camp was looking for difficult cases to do pro-bono to show how well their techniques worked and the fact that Olivia was a girl was an instant in.
The rules for what can and can't be brought to Camp New Start are very strict and because the bible is considered one of Olivia's "triggers" she's been restricted from having one. She also doesn't have to bring clothes because she'll be assigned a uniform so her little duffle bag tucked into the storage compartment under the bus on has socks, underwear, and the required family photos that will be used in therapy. She was also permitted to have a deck of cards and of course the three books in her lap.
There's only one other passenger to be picked up here at the airport, a little blond boy who looks nervous and Olivia sizes him up instantly; he'll be no threat to her, something small and soft, a fragile creature that looked terrified to be away from his crying parents, whom she sees standing outside the bus. He's clutching a stack of bright post cards and he has a Thomas the Tank engine backpack on.
He makes his way slowly down the converted old school bus and to her dismay, sits down directly next to her.
"Hi," the boy whispers nervously and she can see his sweaty palm are warping the postcards that feature scenes of New York all across them.
"Hello," she says politely.
"So you have to go to camp, too," he says softly, mournfully.
"It's better than living with my mother." Olivia meets his eyes. "She's a whore. The bible says whores are supposed to be killed. Stoned to death."
He looks at her curiously. "Oh. Does the bible say a lot of things like that?"
"Well, they talk about cutting out eyes and hands, sometimes about killing children. I don't think children should be killed though. They are supposed to be protected. They should have a mother and a father," she insists, the grip around her stack of books tightening.
His eyes widen a bit and his long lashes bat innocently, reminding her of the fawn back home at the zoo. "Did you kill a whore?"
"No." She thinks about how her mom sent her on the plane here alone, then turns her attention to look at the boys sobbing parents, who are talking to one of the camp directors before they leave. "What are you here for?"
"I was in the subway with my nanny and I pushed a woman with a stroller in front of the subway train," he says, taking off his backpack to put at his feet.
She hasn't ever seen a real subway, so it takes her a moment to picture what she's seen on TV. "Oh. Did she die?"
"Yeah."
She bites the inside of her cheek as she thinks. "What did it look like?"
"She got everything all red," he explains and she helps him put his postcards in his backpack.
"Oh."
The little boy smiles at her with a tilt of his head. "Neat, huh?"
Olivia nods and remembers her manners, offering out her hand to him. "My name's Olivia. Olivia Dunham."
He smiles and shakes her hand enthusiastically. "I'm Nick Lane."