by Ann Aguirre
“I hope so.”
Mid-morning, I’m called down to the principal’s office over the intercom. The room is ominously silent as I gather my things and step out. I walk down the hall slowly, torn between dread and elation. No matter what happens, they’re paying attention.
The main office is quiet, and I don’t see Dylan’s mom anywhere. Another secretary avoids my eyes as she pretends to photocopy something. I pull up short when I spot Dylan waiting just inside the doors, but I don’t let him intimidate me. Instead I take in the fading bruises. Even weeks later, he’s still green in places. I’m about to sit down next to him when Principal Warick clears his throat.
“Miss Czinski, I’ll see you now.”
Dylan makes a sound in his throat as I walk by, but I ignore him and follow Mr. Warick into his office. The room is filled with books and quasi-motivational posters. He has a laptop open on his desk, tilted so that I can see he’s been looking at the videos I posted. I take a seat across from him, waiting for him to speak.
“It appears we have a situation. You allege that Dylan Smith followed you from work, threatened you, revealed certain painful secrets about your past in order to ruin your reputation and humiliate you in front of your peers.”
“It’s true. It happened.”
“What possible reason could Dylan have for singling you out in such a way?”
“I threatened him first,” I admit. “Because he was picking on my friends.”
Now the principal looks slightly alarmed. “You mentioned that in your vlog, but you didn’t say how.”
Even now, I’m not willing to do what he did, at least not in a public forum. But this is a private conversation. So I say, “I saw you kissing his mother.”
Make no mistake, Principal Warick is very married. He has two children in elementary school up the road. So there’s a reason he looks ill.
But he still tries to bluff. “Perhaps you misinterpreted what you saw.”
“Your hand on her ass, hers in your hair, and—”
“That’s enough,” he cuts in. “You realize these allegations could ruin my reputation.”
I nod. “I wasn’t going to say anything. But I needed Dylan to leave Shane and Lila alone. He said basically that he doesn’t like to lose and I could expect him to do something horrible to make me sorry. And he did.”
“Which led to the altercation with Mr. Cavendish.”
“Someone wrote ‘psycho killer’ on my locker. Do you wonder why my boyfriend got mad?”
“In fact, I do not.” Warick sighs heavily. “What is it that you’re trying to achieve with these videos, Miss Czinski?”
“I just want people to know the truth, I guess. It’s not fair that Shane’s taking all the blame when Dylan and I did terrible things, too.”
“So you own your part in the conflict?”
“Yeah. I guess you could even say I started it, although if Dylan would just stop harassing people, it wouldn’t have been an issue.”
“What do you mean by ‘harassing’?”
“Pushing them, knocking their backpacks out of their hands, calling them names, starting rumors that aren’t true.” I could go on, but I don’t. He already knows that Dylan followed me from work with the express purpose of scaring me.
“Do you have any witnesses?”
“Sure. I can think of two off the top of my head.” I can count on Lila and Ryan to tell the truth. “Oh, and I asked Mr. Johannes to help once. He’ll confirm what he saw.”
“Then I’ll open an investigation. If the situation turns out to be as you’ve described, then we’ll deal with Mr. Smith accordingly.”
I have no idea what that means so I just nod. Maybe I can’t get Shane released, but I can make sure people know he had a reason for what he did. It’s better than nothing.
“You’ve put me in a delicate situation,” he says quietly.
“Because of what I know?” No point in pretending.
“Precisely. Can I count on your discretion?”
“If I was going to spread rumors, I’d have done it already. But Ms. Smith deserves better. Your wife and kids do, too.” I startle myself by being bold. Apparently, the new Sage speaks her mind and she doesn’t fear the shadows.
To my surprise, he flinches. He doesn’t acknowledge what I said, but he opens the door, looking like he’s got a heavy weight on his shoulders. I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes. Since I know, he must be wondering if other people do, too. And if so, how long before this explodes in his face?
“I can’t believe you pulled this shit,” Dylan snarls at me. “You couldn’t just admit that I beat you, huh? You had to go for round two. Well, guess what? I’m gonna—”
“Stop talking,” Principal Warick cuts in. “And get in my office. Right now.”
I get a pass from the secretary and head toward my next class, but before I get there, I hear the rapid click of high heels. Turning, I spot Ms. Smith coming toward me. She really is beautiful, tall and slim, with legs that go on forever in a black pencil skirt. She’s wearing a simple white blouse that looks more expensive than it is, because of her elegant frame. Her long blond hair is caught in a tortoiseshell clasp, and she hardly looks old enough to be Dylan’s mom. I understand all over again why he’s worried about his friends trying to sleep with her and I’m sad that he needs to be.
The world is so screwed up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“You’re Sage, right?” Ms. Smith asks.
I nod, wondering what she wants.
“I saw your videos. Your boyfriend’s really good.” She fumbles, twisting her fingers together. “The secret … the one about me … is it what I think it is?”
Oh, shit.
“Probably,” I mumble. This is so awkward. I never wanted to hurt her. She seems like a sweet woman, if not the most discerning about men.
“And my son really did all those things to you? He followed you?” This is what’s bothering her, I guess, not that her secret affair might get out. I like her better for it.
“Yeah. I’m sorry. I never intended to say anything. I just wanted Dylan to leave us alone.”
“I know he can be protective of me, but I swear I had no idea.” Ms. Smith bites into her lower lip, looking even younger. I feel like buying her ice cream. It must be hell to be her son. “What can I do to make this right?”
My answer doesn’t require much thought. “You could drop the charges against Shane. Unless Dylan’s eighteen, he can’t pursue this without your backing. That would be a start.”
“You can guarantee that Shane won’t go after Dylan again? He shouldn’t have done any of this, but he’s my son, and I love him. I won’t see him hurt.”
“I promise. I’ll make sure Shane knows it’s a condition of the deal.” It’s not a legal solution, but if Ms. Smith drops the charges, Shane could come home, right? Excitement surges through me.
“All right,” she says, her shoulders drooping. “I’ll go down to the station tonight. Dylan won’t like it, but I’m in no mood to care.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Dylan’s lucky to have a mom like you.”
“He doesn’t think so.”
There’s not much I can say to that. So I give her a half smile. “Anyway … I should get going.” My pass has a time written on it, and while I suspect teachers will cut me some slack, given the drama I’ve created with my videos, I can’t push it too far.
“You seem like a nice girl. I’m sorry about all of this. Dylan should’ve known better than to dredge up the past. Lord knows I’ve made my share of mistakes.”
I’m curious if she counts Principal Warick among them, but I only wave and hurry down to the hall to my classroom. Everyone looks up when I slip in, but the teacher doesn’t pause. I’m grateful for that. Since it’s chemistry, I join Ryan at our table, where the experiment’s already underway.
“How did it go?” he asks.
“I’m not sure. But … I’m hopeful.”
Three days
later, Dylan is suspended from school for a week … and the most astonishing part? Mr. Warick is seen at a local hotel because he’s apparently moved out of the family home. I feel bad for his wife and kids, but I guess it’s better to have a clean break. But I’m not sure if clean is ever the right word for a situation like his.
I pester Aunt Gabby daily for updates on Shane’s situation. And the day after Dylan returns to school, she comes home wearing a frown. My stomach clenches.
“What happened?”
“I talked to Shane’s lawyer. Since Ms. Smith has dropped the charges, his offense no longer goes on his permanent record, and he can be released from Ingram.”
“But that’s good news, right?” I don’t understand why she looks so sad.
“His dad still isn’t around, Sage. Since he’s not willing to assume custody, the state has to send him into foster care until he turns eighteen.”
“That’s only four months away,” I protest, remembering he told me his birthday’s in July.
“It doesn’t change anything. Four months or four days, right now he’s a minor, and he can’t live on his own.”
“He could get … what’s it called … emancipated. Can’t his lawyer help him with the papers?”
“I’ll check into it,” my aunt promises, “but legal petitions take time. It may end up being faster for him to wait until he ages out of the system.”
“What does that even mean?”
“When he turns eighteen, the state will no longer assume responsibility for his care.”
What the hell. This seems incredibly messed up. Now, he’s facing the one situation he wanted to avoid—having to deal with a strange family. After taking care of his mom and managing his own life, he’ll have to follow their rules. I hate that it’s worked out this way; it seems so unfair. He deserves better.
“Where is he?” I demand.
“He’s with a family two hours away.”
Two hours by car, roughly 120 miles. There’s just no way I can bike to see him. I’m still recovering from the trip I took to see his dad. I curl my hand into a fist, taking comfort in how my nails bite into my palms because I’m sad and angry at the same time. But for Shane? For a happy reunion? Okay. Maybe I can ask Aunt Gabby to drive me. I still don’t approve of gas-guzzling vehicles, but Shane’s worth an exception.
“Do you have his address?”
Aunt Gabby shakes her head. “The social worker wouldn’t tell me since I’m not family.”
“Did they give his phone back when they released him from juvie?”
“I imagine so.”
Then why hasn’t he called me? How long has he been out? But maybe his battery’s dead—he probably didn’t have a charger with him—or he might be out of minutes, since it was a prepaid phone. With some effort, I calm down. Honestly, I can’t wait to get to my room, so I can try texting him. If he doesn’t reply, it might not mean anything bad.
“Thanks,” I say quietly. “It means a lot to me that you’ve been calling around.”
“No problem. I like Shane, too. And I don’t want you running off again.”
A wry laugh escapes me. “I won’t. My thighs were sore for a week.”
“You had it coming.”
“I know. I’ll be in my room until dinner, okay?”
“Sure, honey.”
Once I get in there, I shut the door behind me and lean on it for a few seconds, eyes closed. I wish I’d memorized every moment with him, so they’d be sharp as crystal instead of dream-fogged. Lonely, I pull out my phone and type:
You there?
No reply.
I fling myself on my bed and lie there on my face. Ten minutes later, my phone vibrates. I snatch it up and swipe the screen to unlock it. I don’t recognize the number, but the message clues me in. This is Cassie. I know it’s short notice, but I wondered if you had time for coffee.
I text back, sure. OMW. It’s better than sitting here, worrying about Shane. So I put my shoes on and call to my aunt, “I’m meeting a friend at the Coffee Shop. Is that all right?”
“Who?”
“Her name’s Cassie.”
She brightens at hearing a new name. “Okay. Be home before dark.”
The days are a little longer as we roll toward spring, so I think I can manage. After putting on a jacket, I get my bike out of the shed and head into town. Cassie’s already waiting when I arrive, but she stands up when she sees me. For a minute I think she’s going to hug me like we’re old friends instead two girls who were briefly infatuated with Ryan McKenna. He’d die if he saw us together.
“You look like you’ve lost weight,” she says.
Do I? I have no idea. But I guess riding your bike a hundred miles in the cold burns a lot of calories. I decide to pretend it’s a compliment. “Thanks. You look good, too.”
She’s got some highlights and new glasses, and she’s wearing jeans and a cute sparkly top instead of her work uniform. “I got a coffee already. Hope you don’t mind, but I could use an actual caffeine transfusion.”
“Still working both jobs?”
“Yeah. I don’t see an end to that for another two years.”
“I admire your dedication.”
She shrugs. “If you want something bad enough, you do what it takes to make it happen.”
Her words take root inside me as I’m standing in line for my chai latte, but the problem is, I don’t know what more I can do for Shane. I can’t magically emancipate him or roll time forward so that he turns eighteen faster. What else can I do?
“You look thoughtful,” Cassie says as I sit down across from her.
I don’t know what comes over me then, but I dump the whole story in her lap. Her eyes widen as I unburden myself. Finally, I pause to draw breath and she holds up a hand. “So what’s your ultimate goal here?”
“To bring Shane home.”
“And you can only achieve that through emancipation or his father’s cooperation, correct?”
“Sounds about right.”
“So go after Cavendish again. I’m not suggesting you ride out to visit him,” she adds hastily. “But call him. Call him every damned day until he can’t take anymore. Pressure him into doing the right thing.”
“You think that would work?”
Cassie shrugs. “It can’t hurt. Isn’t it better than sitting around for four months?”
“Yeah.”
“This isn’t how I imagined this conversation would go,” she admits, taking a sip of her coffee. She drinks it black, no cream or sugar to dilute the caffeine.
“What did you picture?”
“I figured we’d talk about Ryan. This was better, I think.”
“Did you want to ask about him?” I don’t blame her if she still cares about him. They were together, so to speak, for a while. There are bound to be residual feelings. It’s impossible to turn them off and on. All around me, I see relationships in stages of coming together and falling apart. Sometimes it feels like it’s happening at the same time, like a cascade of fireworks that sets a house on fire.
“Maybe. Is he seeing anyone?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure what’s going on with him, romance-wise.”
“It’s immature, but I’m glad he hasn’t moved on. I haven’t. Not that I have time.”
“I get it. You loved the guy you thought he was. And it’s hard to let go.”
“You’re pretty wise,” she says.
“I’m still figuring things out. For the first time, though, I think maybe I have a clue.”
She laughs. “Just one?”
Before she leaves, we take a duck-face photo together with my camera and I promptly post it on my Facebook wall, along with a tag for Ryan. My caption reads, Cassie and me, girl talk. Yep.
Ryan responds immediately. OMG. WTH! More acronyms! Cassie’s laughing so hard she can hardly stand to leave. Soon, she has to run because she hasn’t had any sleep in two days. Time for me to imitate her determination.
; Like Cassie advised, I call Mr. Cavendish daily. The first time, I’m polite. “Did you know Shane’s out of juvie? He’s in foster care now. But you could save him.”
He hangs up on me.
Day after day, I’m relentless. He keeps slamming the phone down. Finally, I say, “Look, do the right thing. Shane gave his mother how many years? You can give him a few months.”
In time, he stops answering his phone, so I leave messages with the front desk. I don’t care how he feels about the office workers knowing his private business. Like Cassie said, you have to be willing to fight.
School is … normal, I guess. My geometry grades slip a little without Shane tutoring me, but Ryan and Lila take up the slack. We’re like the Three Musketeers, but I miss the fourth side of our quadrangle. Shane still hasn’t texted me.
And I haven’t received any new mail from him, either. It’s been a month since he left juvie.
Where the hell are you, Shane?
It seems like he could find some way to get in touch with me. I told him my e-mail when he was sending that message to Mike, his former guardian. If he remembers.
If he remembers me.
Pain overwhelms me. Maybe he just wants to forget everything. Start over. And it would be selfish of me to drag him back here, back to that crappy trailer, if he’s happier where he is.
And I want Shane to be happy. I do.
I just thought he was happiest with me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
So I’m planting the garden without Shane.
It’s a warm day. Sunny. Green World is hard at work. Both Lila and Ryan are here, our usual members, and even the four sophomores who deserted me. They’ve all apologized. Mel told me that she reported seeing Dylan bully people, so that’s something. She’s partially responsible for his social downfall, and it’s scary how fast people turn when you’re booted off the football team. Now Dylan Smith’s a pretty face with no crew, and payback is a bitch.
So I’m absolutely stunned when he shows up here. Everyone freezes.
I’ve got my fingers in the dirt, planting the seeds according to Gwen’s directions. I don’t know that much about gardening, but I like how it looks already. This lot looks like somebody cares. We care. And I would’ve sworn Dylan Smith doesn’t—about anything except his mom, that is—so nobody knows what to say.
