Punk 57
Page 100

Another girl takes out a pencil and writes underneath the They all want it message.
No, we don’t, she writes.
The hallways are a flurry of activity, and we tried to keep our posts to the two main corridors, mostly because everyone passes through these hallways when they come into school.
People are captivated, though. Some girls look angry and disgusted. Some guys are surprised.
“All students please report to the auditorium,” the vice principal’s voice carries over the loudspeaker. “All students please report to the auditorium.”
Ten stops us in the hallway, looking nervous but amused. “Looks like we broke the bank on this one.”
“Yeah.” I offer him a tight smile and watch more students writing under the messages on the wall. “Look at them, though.”
Speak your mind, and you give others permission to do the same.
I turn to Misha, sighing. “You should leave. You don’t need to be here, and she’s going to pull you in if she finds you.”
Since he walked out on Burrowes over a week ago, he hasn’t been back to school, but I think he was worried about how all this would go down today and wanted to be here.
He shakes his head. “I don’t care.”
“Well, the police just got here,” Ten informs us.
“The police?” I whisper. “I didn’t think what we did was that bad.”
“No, it’s not for the vandalism. It’s for Trey. A bunch of kids—several girls—are in the office, ratting him out. I guess the posts got to them.”
“You should really go, then,” I tell Misha.
But just then Principal Burrowes approaches us and my heart skips a beat.
“Mr. Laurent? Come with me now.”
He stares at her for a moment.
But I jump in. “Why?”
“I think he knows why.”
He hesitates for a moment, and I think he’s going to fight like last time, but he doesn’t. He takes a step.
“No, no, no…” I burst out. “He didn’t do anything.”
“It’s okay,” he assures under his breath.
But Burrowes interjects, looking at me. “I show you on the log as the last person, other than the janitor, to sign out and leave the school Friday evening,” she tells me. “Now that’s not unusual, since you stay late to teach swim lessons, but then it occurred to me that you have a key. And then I remembered the company you’ve been suddenly keeping.” She glances at Misha. “Did you take her key?”
“No!” I answer for him.
“Yes,” he says.
Oh, Jesus.
“It’s okay,” he says again. “I’ll be fine.”
She leads him away, and I throw up my hands, feeling helpless. Why didn’t he just walk out like last time?
He doesn’t have to protect me, and he knows I won’t let him take the fall.
What is he doing?
“Sit down.”
I prefer to stand, but I’m guessing I may as well settle in. I take the seat in front of her desk.
“After the fights and your behavior the past few weeks, I’ve been calling the phone numbers on file,” she tells me, closing her office door. “None of them work or they’re wrong numbers. You want to tell me what’s going on?”
I stare at her as she takes her seat behind her tidy, little desk. Unbuttoning her suit jacket, she scoots in and opens a file, undoubtedly mine. It’s nearly empty.
But I keep quiet.
“If you had a concern about Trey, you should’ve come to me,” she demands. “Not break into the school and write horrible accusations on the wall.”
Accusations? Were the pictures she found in her bedroom not clear enough?
“Where is he?” I ask.
She straightens. “I’ve sent my stepson home for the day, while we sort through this mess.”
I feel like smiling, but I don’t. I simply stare at her. With the amount of upset students outside her door right now, I’m guessing the mess will take quite a while to sort through.
“Where are your parents?” she asks.
“My father lives in Thunder Bay.”
“And your mother?”
“Gone.”
She exhales a sigh and folds her hands on her desk. She knows she’s not going to get anywhere like this.
Reaching over, she picks up the phone receiver and holds it to her ear. “Give me your father’s phone number.”
My fingers curl, but I don’t give myself away. This is it.
“742-555-3644.”
“What’s his name?” She punches in the number. “His real name.”
I hear the line start ringing, and my heart pounds painfully, but I remain stoic.
“Matthew,” I answer flatly. “Matthew Lare Grayson.”
She suddenly goes still and darts her eyes up to me. Her breathing speeds up, and she looks like she’s seen a ghost.
Well, she remembers his name. That’s something, at least.
My father’s voice comes across on the other line. “Hello?”
And she looks back down, and I see her swallow the lump in her throat, blinking nervously. “Matthew?”
“Gillian?”
She hangs up the phone like it’s burning hot and covers her mouth with her hand. I almost want to smile. Just to add to the taunt.
She raises her eyes, locking on mine and looking like she’s scared of me. “Misha?”