Belle Rousseau's Arc

Chapter 1 of 6

Belle Rousseau had until Friday to make Mr. Phillips learn her name, and she had planned every step. He read books alone at lunch. She had watched him finish one on a Tuesday. A gym teacher who read was a gym teacher worth marrying. So Belle sat two tables closer each day, waiting for the world to notice what she already knew: she was the most qualified woman in the building. Then the new teacher walked into the lunchroom. Her name was Mrs. Zipoil. She carried her tray straight to Mr. Phillips and sat down without asking. She laughed at something. He laughed back. Belle set her fork down and watched, certain this would pass. It did not pass. Mr. Phillips leaned toward Mrs. Zipoil and said something low. Belle could not hear the words. She did not need to. Mrs. Zipoil nodded. Then she said, "Yes," loud enough for the whole room. She smiled and turned her head. She looked straight at Belle. It was a slow, sure smile, the smile of a woman who had won something and knew it. Belle's plan cracked in half. She stood. Her chair scraped the floor. She walked to the cafeteria line, where the food never mattered to her before. Lolly Gossiphard stood there with one hand on her hip. Lolly had worked this line fourteen years and had never won employee of the month. She noticed everything and forgave nothing. "That new one," Belle said. "Mrs. Zipoil." Lolly did not look up. "She takes food from my back kitchen. Every day. I keep a log." Belle leaned closer. "You watch people." "I watch everybody." Lolly wiped the counter. "She's not what she says she is." Belle felt something cold and useful settle in her chest. If Mrs. Zipoil had a secret, Belle would find it. "I want proof," she said. "Follow her. Tell me where she goes." Lolly finally looked at Belle. "You want proof, it costs." "Name it." "Lunch trays. You eat mine. For a month. And you tell that principal my carrots deserve respect." Belle did not blink. "Done." A woman with dark curls stepped up behind Belle then, holding a cone from her ice cream shop across town. It was Moana Waialiki, dropping off flyers for the teachers' lounge. She had heard the whole thing. She did not pretend otherwise. "Honestly?" Moana said. "You're going about this backward." She licked the cone. "You don't tear the new girl down. You make him see you first. That's the move." Belle turned. "He proposed being her boyfriend an hour ago." "Boyfriend," Moana said. "Not husband. There's still a door open." She shrugged. "I just think you're spending your energy on the wrong person." Belle looked back at the table. Mr. Phillips was gathering his tray. Mrs. Zipoil walked beside him now, close, like she belonged there. Belle had a spy and an opinion she did not ask for. Friday was still coming. And her name was still a secret to the only man who mattered.