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11
Turns out, the worst part of the perp walk isn’t getting the side-eye from the front office staff and the suck-up crew of students who choose to ignore a perfectly decent list of electives so they can work alongside administrators.
The worst part is seeing the exhausted slope of my mom’s shoulders, the drag of her mouth and disappointed blunt of her gaze when she watches me getting hauled into Mr. Morris’s office.
After my dad left, it was like our roles got reversed. My mom found a low-paying job where she showed up on time and acted like any other responsible adult. But the second she got home every night, she morphed into this fragile childlike state, looking to me to fill the void of my dad’s absence.
I started handing over most of the money I earned from babysitting gigs, and later, my after-school job.
I did whatever I could to offer the kind of emotional supportIwas so desperately in need of.
Because of it, she’s grown so dependent on me, she no longer acts like a parent.
And I can tell by the way she sighs when I enter the room that she views this whole mess as an act against her. I’m just another disappointment to add to the pile.
I take the seat next to her and fold in my body until I’m as small and inconspicuous as possible. With my shoulders hunched and legs tightly crossed, I wrap my arms around my middle and stare at the toe of my sneaker, waiting for the lecture to start.
“We received a credible report that you were hiding stolen merchandise in your locker. I’m sorry to see it confirmed. Is there anything you’d like to say for yourself?” Mr. Morris leans back in his chair, pretending there’s a chance for me to explain this away, that he hasn’t already made up his mind about me.
Between my abysmal academic performance and my mom’s frayed blouse and nicotine-stamped fingers desperately shaking in need of another, he’s drawn his own conclusions about the type of family I come from.
The father is gone. The mother is struggling. The daughter’s given up.
And while he’s not wrong about us, he is wrong about me. I may be willing to break a few rules, but I didn’t steal any of that stuff.
Though I did recognize it as the pile of castoffs from yesterday’s shopping trip. It’s everything Elodie and I decided against.
Mr. Morris steeples his fingers and waits for me to defend myself.
What I say is, “Where’s Elodie?”
For the first time, my mom looks directly at me. “Who?” Her eyes narrow until they’ve nearly vanished.
“Elodie Blue. Where is she?” Too late, I realize how ridiculous I must sound.
The steeple collapses. Mr. Morris leans forward, hands flat on his desk. “About the stolen merchandise. Do you have anything to say for yourself, the evidence we uncovered?”
Evidence?
That’s when he turns his computer screen around and plays the surveillance video of me stashing a pile of stolen goods in my locker. With my dress bunched up near my crotch and my eyes heavy with smudged black eyeliner, this is not a good look.
According to Principal Morris, a crime has been committed and I’m their prime suspect. And while I know exactly who’s behind it—I mean, who else could it be, but the very person who insisted on taking me shopping—I also know no one will believe me.
Elodie Blue has emerged as the star of this school.
While I’ve spent the last few years teaching people to expect the very worst.
“I really need to talk to Elodie,” I say, my voice again betraying my urgency, but I’m too desperate to care.
Principal Morris sighs. Splays his fingers across his desk and confirms what I’ve already guessed: I’m in serious trouble.
I’m escorted outside, the principal on my left, a cop on my right. A crowd of students begins to gather.
Someone calls out my name, and I jerk my head around, needing it to be Elodie so she can say something, anything, to get me out of this mess.
Only my gaze lands on Mason’s. He looks shocked, scared, and heartbroken all at once.
What happened?he mouths, but the cop yanks hard on my arm, harder than necessary, and hauls me away.
Before I’m shoved into the back of a squad car, I turn to my mom. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “But I didn’t do it. I need you to believe me.” I cling to her, searching for some unnamable thing she’s too defeated to give.
“I’d hoped for more,” she says, her bony frame pulling away, leaving me to wonder if she’s talking about her life or mine.
