Upsetting A Small Town

She didn’t like the attention. Nor did she like how the other girls looked at her, staring at her new eyebrow piercing. Amber Hubbard was the first girl at Fairchild High School in the small town of Macon to have it done. So many questions. And so much unwanted attention from all the girls, from first-year students to seniors. 

Did it hurt?

Where did you get it done?

Is that why you were gone for almost a month this summer?

Did it take long to heal?

How come you did that to yourself?

Don’t you know it’s a sin to mutilate your body?

The boy’s questions? They were so much worse.

Did Amber want the attention? No. She wanted to feel beautiful, and the accent did just that. At least it did for her. A few years later, she’d get her nose pierced. But for now, the eyebrow was enough.

She wasn’t a popular girl, keeping to herself most of the time, nose in a book or scribbling a doodle. Sometimes, she wrote and drew comic books, letting her closest friend, Summer, edit them. Summer was a good friend, even if she was rough around the edges. Amber wasn’t used to talking to people, not that she wouldn’t speak. Amber wasn’t that much of an introvert. She enjoyed parties and liked going out with Summer and their other friend, Dusty, who was more troubled than the girls. Amber knew she’d get attention from the metal stuck through her eyebrow but never imagined it would turn into a court case, requiring her to defend her choice of body accouterment. 

The principal of Fairchild High School, Dr. Marcus Allen, didn’t appreciate the attention he received because of Amber’s eyebrow. The school was the smallest in the district, with less than 200 students, from first-year students to seniors. Amber, a soon-to-be graduating senior, wasn’t a bad kid. She rarely got in trouble with her teachers, kept up her grades, and participated in extra-curricular activities, mostly involving art and art projects. He regularly kept tabs on his students, sometimes bordering on questionable ethics. His wife, Tabitha, kept Marcus in check.

“Marcus, you cannot waste another second on that child. People are starting to talk! You have to do something.” Tabitha sipped her morning cup of Earl Grey tea. She knew blowing on it wouldn’t help cool it, but it made her feel like it made a difference. The couple spent a few minutes together at the breakfast table, him reading the newspaper and her sipping her tea, leafing through the latest copy of Homes and Garden.

“That girl is causing so much friction for me. The school board is . . .”

“Oh, the school board isn’t going to do anything,” Tabitha interrupted. “They have just as much to lose as you do. Tell her to take it out, or she’ll be suspended.” Tabitha tightened her robe, shifting in her chair. “Simple as that. It’s against the dress code.”

“Tabitha, we don’t have a dress code.” Marcus held his coffee, letting the aroma of envelope his senses. He loved the smell of black coffee more than its taste, but he drank the bitter drink anyway. The local headline covered a story about a herd of moose overtaking the two-lane blacktop highway, separating the bulk of the town from the grocery store and two gas stations. The paper said it was thirty moose trampling back and forth across the highway, shutting down the road. The sheriff was clueless as to what to do. The Fish and Game warden, Wally Veranti, said they’d eventually wander off, making some off-handed remark about what any native american tribe would do if they faced a situation like this. As usual, the local newspaper reporter misquoted him like they did to every other local person. Working at the newspaper meant Emily Wilson worked fast, often misquoting folks in town because she had a deadline.

“Well. You should. Every school needs a dress code. Have you seen the way the girls today are dressing? It’s embarrassing! Showing off so much skin.” Tabitha shivered, tightening her robe even though she wore a full-length seethrough dressing gown under it. Her feet were clad in a pair of fluffy pink house shoes keeping her feet warm. Tabitha didn’t wear much makeup unless she left the house. Then, her face was pristine, resembling a supermodel, at least for the small town of Macon.

“You can’t just make up a dress code for what suits you.” Marcus’ master of science and doctorate of education in educational leadership and management never prepared him for high school relationships between faculty and students. It didn’t help him to navigate the waters of a teen girl who chose to get her skin visibly pierced, becoming an issue both in and out of the school. Marcus knew the community wasn’t willing to accept the teen’s decision because Tabitha acted on their behalf, whether or not she knew it.

 “Of course you can, Marcus,” Tabitha stood up, taking her teacup to the sink, rinsing it out, and drying her hands. “You are in charge of the school. Not the kids. And not those teachers you consider colleagues. The responsibility – no, the onus of these children, is yours and yours alone. Remember that. You choose how these kids will spend the rest of their days. Not their teachers. You. They don’t decide the curriculum; you do.” Marcus also knew that was a fabrication Tabitha made to make him feel better. The school board wrote the curriculum, and the faculty and principals agreed or altered it to suit the school. But the board had the final say. She took Marcus’ face in her dry hands and kissed him. “But, my darling husband Marcus, you will make a sound decision for your school. That’s what I know.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Now. It would be best if you got to work. You’ve got a lot to do.” Tabitha patted him on the shoulder. Marcus swallowed the last drop of his coffee, grimacing at the bitterness, and kissed Tabitha on the cheek. “I love you, Marcus,” Tabitha said, smiling at her husband.

Spring, 1995. Amber’s mom, Stephanie Hubbard, a successful real estate agent from Orange County, California, moved to the quietest small town she could find after her husband, Richard, had his third heart attack. His doctors, both his primary care physician and his cartologist, said he needed to alleviate all the stress from his life. Moving wasn’t ideal, so Stephanie purchased a home in Macon, leaving their house in Orange County vacant but fully furnished. Stephanie expected Richard to retire, enjoy Macon, and stay there while she continued to jet set back and forth between L.M. Clayton Airport and Los Angeles International Airport. As long as her husband was recovering from his last heart attack, she didn’t mind the longer flights, especially traveling in first class. Nothing about Amber’s family said they were lacking in money.

Amber wasn’t like other Orange County girls with money. She was not the typical Valley Girl. Amber didn’t have a surfer boyfriend and didn’t consider herself goth but appreciated the occasional black clothing and punk style. She wore her own style, more artistic and flowy with bright, distinct colors, she blended in with many other girls who weren’t popular either. Amber didn’t have a lot of friends, and the ones who hung out with her, did so mainly at school. After school, she was alone most of the time. Dad worked somewhere in the neighborhood of 65-70 hours a week. Mom worked just shy of 60 hours a week, which made family time challenging. Saturdays were spent at home, Richard and Stephanie diligently tending to their small backyard garden, landscaping, and enjoying each other, talking and taking walks on the pier at Newport Beach. 

When Stephanie told Amber they were moving to a small town in the middle of nowhere, which is how Amber remembered her saying it, Amber never blinked. She was ready to move, not caring whether her friends or acquaintances knew. At 18, she wanted to do something different, away from the life she knew – even if that life included farms, cows, and snow.

“You do know it’s going to get cold out there, don’t you, hon?” Stephanie called every one, hon. It didn’t matter if you were her daughter, best friend, or husband. “Like four seasons cold, right?”

“So? Is it any different than Lake Tahoe?”

“Tahoe, hon? You didn’t touch your skis that entire trip. I should know. I paid entirely too much for those skis.” Stephanie was touching up her makeup in the bathroom mirror.

“Cold doesn’t bother me.”

“Nothing seems to get to you, hon. You sure you are okay? Richard and I are planning to go for a walk down to the pier and back. Would you care to join us?”

“No, thank you. I’m reading a great book right now by . . .”

“That’s great, hon. Well. I have to get going. The Edison estate is open today, and I want to make sure everything is perfect for the viewing.” Stephanie winked at herself in the mirror and gave her reflection a small kiss, smiling. After hugging Amber, Stephanie walked out of the bathroom. “Oh, and don’t forget we’ve got that benefit thing for Richard Thursday, so we will be home later than usual, okay? Love you. Bye!”

The move to Montana happened overnight. Tuesday night, the Hubbard family were in Orange County. They slept under the Montana starry night sky in Macon, ten miles from the nearest big city, Wolf Point, population 47,243 on Wednesday night. Their new home was fully furnished, thanks to Stephanie’s quick wheeling and dealing and Richard’s attention to all the numbers, including the interest in the new house. Amber didn’t know they bought the home and the property and still had hundreds of thousands of dollars left to resupply cars, clothes, and all their other needs.