She cleared her throat and said, “Yes, well, of course the challenge that the school faced first and foremost was ensuring the safety of all our girls.”
“Well, you didn’t do a very good job of that, from what I can see. How many students are said to be suffering from the Mystery Illness as of right now?”
“Well, you know, I couldn’t really say.”
“Our sources tell us it’s more than thirty,” Bebe said, and my mother gasped along with the studio audience.
“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” said Nurse Hocking, who was looking very much like she didn’t want to be there.
“Isn’t it true that the students were first told that this was a rare response to the third shot in the series of vaccinations given to prevent human papillomavirus?”
“That was an early hypothesis, yes. We looked into it. Reactions to that vaccine have been reported in some communities.”
“Some communities,” Bebe repeated. “Just not Danvers, isn’t that correct?”
All the mothers aligned on the couch on Good Day, USA were watching Nurse Hocking with accusing eyes.
“That’s correct,” Nurse Hocking said in a strangled-sounding voice.
“So eventually you called in a so-called expert epidemiologist to help you go hunting through your students’ private medical files because you thought the illness might be caused by . . . what?”
“PANDAS,” Nurse Hocking said.
“That’s a lie and you know it!” cried Kathy Carruthers, but Clara Rutherford’s mom placed a hand on her arm and quieted her down.
“And what is PANDAS?”
“It stands for Pediatric Autoimmune Neuropsychiatric Disorders Associated with Streptococcal infections. We had a very strong suspicion that—”
“That proved to be wrong, didn’t it?”
Bebe Appleton! Going for the jugular.
“This is better than watching the Pats game,” my father remarked.
“Definitely better offense,” Mom agreed.
“Well, I think that’s overstating it somewhat. The thing with PANDAS is—”
“Isn’t it true that this so-called PANDAS isn’t even a real diagnosis?”
“I knew it!” Kathy Carruthers spat. After that, her lips kept moving, but her microphone had been cut.
“No, well, technically, yes. In a way, but—”
“And isn’t it true that you and your ostensible expert leapt to this conclusion without sufficient evidence, even though there are no examples anywhere of PANDAS causing a girl’s hair to fall out, like poor Jennifer’s did?”
“But—”
Nurse Hocking gripped the arms of her chair and looked like she was on the point of sprinting off the stage to go hide. I didn’t blame her. I mean, I thought she was nice. She really had been trying to help. And it’s not like she was the only one who was totally wrong.
“Tell me, Nurse Hocking. At what point during the spread of the Mystery Illness were you approached to write a book about your experiences?”
“What?” my mother and father gasped, and Michael said, “Ooh, snap.”
“A book? Laurel Hocking’s writing a book?” my father exclaimed.
“The hell she is,” said my mother. “Look at Kathy Carruthers. I think her head’s about to explode.”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your—” the nurse sputtered.
“Weren’t you approached right after it became clear that the illness couldn’t possibly have been caused by the HPV vaccine?”
“I can’t really—”
“And isn’t it true that you were given to understand that there’d be a lot more money coming your way if many more girls fell sick before the solution was found?”
“That’s preposterous!”
“We at Good Day, USA think it isn’t,” Bebe Appleton remarked, having been passed a sheaf of papers by someone standing off camera.
“This is crazy,” I breathed.
“In fact”—America’s most trusted newswoman smiled a sharklike smile at Laurel Hocking—“weren’t you told in this e-mail dated February 21, 2012, that if more than twenty girls fell sick before you were able to solve the mystery, your advance for a tell-all book would increase . . . by a factor of ten?”
“This is ridiculous!” Laurel Hocking shouted as she fumbled for the microphone pinned to her lapel. She was about to go stalking off, probably into an eternity of obscurity.
“That’s harsh,” Michael said. “She just let people keep getting sick? To, like, get more publicity?”
“That’s insane,” I said, crossing my arms. “I can’t believe she’d do that. That can’t be right.”
“Fortunately,” Bebe Appleton said, beaming, “our next guest is here to tell us once and for all what’s really happening to the girls at St. Joan’s, when we come back, right after this. Stay with us.”
Chipper, jazzy morning show transitional music while everyone on the couch pretended to talk to each other.
“Well. Guess you won’t be seeing her at your assembly Friday,” my mother said. “Mike?” She waved her coffee mug at my father, who obediently took it into the kitchen.
“But that’s crazy!” I exclaimed again. “I just can’t believe she’d do that. Let people get sick on purpose? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well, Collie,” my mother sighed, “when you’re older, you’ll realize that even nice people can sometimes do bad things.”
I scowled at my mother. What, did she think I didn’t know people could really suck when I least expected it?
“Cream!” Dad cried, handing my mother more coffee and twerking his way back to the couch. “Cash rules my life, too, Mikey.”
“Welcome back,” interrupted the television. “If you’re just joining us, we’re here talking to the brave girls from St. Joan’s Academy in Danvers, Massachusetts, who for the past eight weeks have been suffering from a bizarre Mystery Illness. An investigation by this station has just revealed that the school nurse, Laurel Hocking, has allegedly stood in the way of getting the students the help that they needed in order to put herself at the center of the publicity. So what’s really hurting these girls? And what can be done about it? Joining us now—you know her from her best-selling book Mouthful of Poison: My Story and the hit movie of the same title—is environmental activist Bethany Witherspoon. Bethany, welcome.”
The studio audience went berserk. Well, of course they would, I mean, it’s Bethany Witherspoon. Everybody’s heard of Bethany Witherspoon. Especially after that movie came out, the one where she took on some huge hydrofracking company with a toddler on her hip and a bad dye job and emerged triumphant.
“I don’t believe this,” my mother said, shaking her head.
“Wow. She’s held up,” my father said.
“I can’t believe Clara’s just sitting there talking to Bethany Witherspoon. Bethany Witherspoon and Bebe Appleton, together, at the same time!” I hugged my knees to my chest, half envious and half appalled.
“Yeah, well,” my mother said. “Wait and see what they say before you get all impressed.”
“Thank you, Bebe. It’s great seeing you again. You look so tan!” Bethany and Bebe were obviously old friends.
Bebe laughed, shaking her hair. “Well, thanks! Now, Bethany. You have a theory about what’s really going on in Danvers, isn’t that right?”
“That’s right. And I’ll tell you first and foremost that no school nurse or epidemiologist would have gotten this. No strep infection I ever heard of caused a girl’s hair to just fall out, am I right?”
She patted the Other Jennifer on a knee and everyone nodded.
Laurel Hocking, meanwhile, had either left or been ejected from Good Day, USA.
“Now I’ve got a question for you all. Did you know when you enrolled at that fancy private schoo
l that it was basically right on top of a Superfund site?”
The mothers on the couch all loo