Chapter 5: Thief

By midnight, the post had two hundred thousand likes.

By morning, it had a million.

Thief. Gold digger. Psycho assistant.

Someone made a meme of my staff photo with dollar signs for eyes.

Someone else found my old figure skating results from when I was fourteen and posted them with the caption, Even then she couldn't land anything.

Peg read that one over my shoulder and snorted.

"You landed a double axel at thirteen. They can kiss my wrinkled behind."

"Don't read the comments, Grandma."

"I'm writing comments. I've got a burner. My handle is IceQueen1971."

"Please stop."

"I told one fella his mother should've stayed home that night."

I took her phone away and put it in the fridge.

The rink phone rang all Sunday.

Reporters. Cranks. A man who breathed for a minute and hung up.

On Monday, the parents started calling.

They were polite about it, mostly.

"We just don't want our kids in the middle of anything."

"My husband saw the post. I'm sorry, Greer. I really am."

"Is it true you kept the money?"

"There is no money," I said to that one. "There's a grant for used skates and a coffee can for the vending machine."

She hung up anyway.

By Thursday, the enrollment list had gone from ninety-four kids to twenty-three.

I printed the list and stuck it on the fridge next to Peg's phone.

Then I took it back off, because I couldn't stand looking at it.

A news van parked across from the tire shop on Wednesday and stayed for two days.

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