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“After this allegation was brought to our attention, your father gave us permission to search your locker for anything that might substantiate it.”
“Search my—”
“We didn’t find anything connecting you to Mr. Collins,” Principal Hardgrove continues in what can only be described as the world’s most annoying monotone voice.
“Because there’s nothing to find!”
“But we did find something else.” He opens his desk drawer and pulls out a small object, placing it on the desk between us.
A prescription bottle.
Every drop of blood in my body turns to ice.
No.
I recognize it immediately. The orange plastic bottle. The white label with VICODIN printed across it. The name of whoever it was prescribed to, scratched away until it’s completely illegible.
And I recognize it for a reason. A few weeks ago, a similar bottle was left on my kitchen table. Only that one contained Xanax. Apparently, they’ve decided to up the ante.
Suddenly all of this becomes crystal clear. So much so that I almost forget how to breathe.
“Drugs, Max?” Dad chokes out.
My head whips toward him. “No, Dad. Please, believe me. I’ve never seen those before in my life.”
“After everything your mother went through?” His voice breaks. “After everything we went through?”
“Dad, those aren’t mine.”
“Then whose are they?”
“I don’t know!”
His face crumples, and I swear I can almost see his heart breaking right in front of me.
“Drugs?” he repeats, as though the word itself is too painful for him to comprehend. “I knew something was wrong when I came home Sunday. The house was trashed. There were barely any plates left in the kitchen. Your bedroom door looked like someone had taken an ax to it.” He swallows hard, his eyes filling with tears again. “Is that what happened, sweetheart? Were you so high you didn’t even know what you were doing?”
The question cuts deeper than anything Peyton has ever done to me.
Because he believes it.
My own father is sitting right here, looking at me like he believes every horrible thing they’re accusing me of.
“Nothing happened between Mr. Collins and me.” Tears sting my eyes as I struggle to make him understand. “And I’m not on drugs. I would never take drugs. I don’t even drink, Dad. You know that.”
“Do I?”
The words are barely more than a whisper, but somehow, that makes them hurt so much worse.
Dad looks away from me, shaking his head.
“I feel like I don’t know you at all anymore.”
Something inside me cracks. The tears I’ve been fighting finally spill down my cheeks, and I wipe at them angrily, unable to believe this is actually happening. My own father, the one person I thought would always be in my corner, is looking at me like I’m a complete stranger.
“I think the two of you need to have a very serious conversation about what happens next,” Principal Hargrove says, apparently oblivious to the fact that my entire world is falling apart right in front of him. “And given what we found in Maxine’s locker, I strongly recommend consulting a medical professional to determine whether there’s a substance abuse problem that needs to be addressed.”
“There is no problem!” I shout, my voice cracking. “Those pills aren’t mine!”
