by Alex Flinn
“Normally, police won’t discuss a case in progress. But Mary has connections there as well.”
Okay, so you’re important. Cut to the chase, Charlie. Then, I felt guilty. Maybe Charlie hadn’t known about Old Carlos. Maybe he was as freaked out as I was. In any case, I had to talk to Charlie. It was good he was finding this stuff out. So, I said, “What did they tell her?” I couldn’t believe the police were involved. It was supposed to be a prank.
“No leads yet.” Charlie’s voice from the black-hole window. “Fingerprints are worthless—whole student body’s had their hand on that knob. No one saw anything, so they figure the culprit arrived on foot.”
Culprit. I wiped a sweat bead from my eyelid.
“All they have is a profile.”
“What’s that?”
“Something police do.” Charlie’s voice was louder now, confident. “Try to figure out what kind of person would do this kind of thing.”
“What type would?” Trying to match Charlie’s bravado, like it was so cool the police were looking for us, like they’d never find out.
Charlie laughed. “He’d be a loner, they say. Type who doesn’t interact well with others, hangs in the science wing or the computer lab.” He turned, and for the first time, I saw his face well. “Sound like anyone you know, Paul?”
That’s when I got it. Charlie had always known. He’d meant to take out half the school while he sat safely in a portable. Failing that, he’d convince them it was my idea. I was the computer whiz who knew how to use everything. Charlie didn’t even have a password for the school’s computer. We’d always used mine. But this hadn’t been my idea. I’d only been involved at the end.
“You’re trying to pin this on me?” I said.
“’Course not.” His voice was calm. Good Old Charlie again.
“Sounds like it. Sounds like you’re abandoning me.”
“Listen!” The word was a hiss. “I’m not abandoning anyone, but this is serious.” Serious, another hiss. “You can’t go running out of chapel or talking to your friend, Pinky, like it’s a miracle she’s alive. You can’t act guilty. I stand by my friends, but you can’t be my friend and act stupid.”
The word stung. After all we’d been through, all we’d done, I still wanted Charlie’s approval. I’d never get it, I realized, any more than I’d get Dad’s. I looked up at Mom’s blank bedroom window, and suddenly, I was tired, so tired I could cuddle beside her and sleep through the next week of school. I stepped away from the car, ready to leave. Then, I turned back.
“Are we friends, Charlie?”
“Of course we are.” Charlie’s voice was gentle again, almost loving in the darkness. “You’re the best friend I ever had, Einstein. Otherwise, I’d throw you to the wolves and move on.”
And he would. I’d always known it.
I nodded, and he drove away, lights off, like a shark gliding silently through the night ocean.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Everything seemed almost normal the next morning. Almost. In religion class, it was more like a Monday, because across the aisle, Kirby was enlightening everyone about the frat boy who’d tried to feel her up at a Sigma Chi party over the weekend (“Puh-leeze! Like, he was cool, but not that cool.”) and Tyler James flexed in his too-small polo. Ryan Moorman, who was marginally in our lunch group, leaned over to borrow a pen, but I didn’t have an extra one. I wasn’t sure I’d brought one. Maybe they’d ignore the bomb like they’d ignored David’s suicide. Maybe everything was okay.
But David’s death hadn’t affected them. This did.
Mrs. Sheridan looked like someone had to push her through the door. No one else noticed. They all kept flexing and talking, doing next period’s homework or reading Car and Driver. Sheridan stood there. At five after, Meeks’s voice blared over the intercom.
All teachers, please bring your classes to the gymnasium.
For the first time ever, he hadn’t cleared his throat.
Meeks stood at the intersection of two green lines on the floor. It was near the spot where I’d stood the day of registration, when I’d first seen Charlie. Meeks’s tie was undone. He watched us enter. Some people were talking, laughing, glad to miss class a second day. But most were quiet. And even though I hadn’t wanted the bomb to go off, I was glad. Something had finally moved them when nothing else could. Meeks watched us. We filled the bleachers, some orderly, others stumbling with backpacks, running to sit with friends. Meeks’s gaze saw us all. Most quieted down. Some talked on, oblivious. Meeks didn’t yell for quiet or try to get anyone’s attention. Just waited until we were all seated. Two police officers stood by the basketball hoop, watching, too. A few people looked at them. Most tried not to, the way you don’t look at cops. Finally, Meeks’s silence overtook the room. We all stared.
Meeks stared back. Did he meet my eyes? Impossible. When he started to speak, again, he didn’t clear his throat.
“Something terrible has happened.” He paused for us to hear it. “As you may now know, an explosive device was found in a classroom yesterday. Difficult as it is for me to believe, the police hypothesize that it was set by one of our students.”
Around me, a buzz, people talking. A too-loud voice said, “Bet it was Emily!” and people turned to look. Someone laughed.
“This is a serious matter,” Meeks said, and everyone quieted down. “Mrs. Zaller entered that room with several students. But for her quick thinking, they might have been killed. Everyone in the wing might have been killed.”
I looked around. Stunned faces met my gaze. And there was Charlie, atop the side bleacher, shocked as anyone. Blending in. Meeks was still speaking. He had everyone’s attention now.
“Shocked and saddened as I am by this incident, I know you must be also. We need your assistance in finding this troubled, troubled student. I urge you to search your excellent memories for any clue. The police inform me that there are usually warning signs of these tendencies. Ask yourself: Have any of my classmates behaved suspiciously? Or said anything to indicate a grudge against the school or Mrs. Zaller?”
I fidgeted, thinking of Charlie’s profile, then stopped myself.
“I have asked the faculty to report the name of any student absent from morning chapel yesterday. I do not wish to alarm you. Still, I will not rest until I have ferreted out this evil in our midst.”
Evil. I turned the word over in my mind. But what did it mean?
Meeks turned toward an upraised hand. “Yes?”
Everyone looked to see who it was. I did too.
It was Binky. Binky, who never spoke in class, much less in front of the whole school. She glanced around. Finally, she said, “What would happen, I mean, to the person who did this?”
“An excellent question, Miss … yes, uh, Miss…” Binky didn’t help him. She was ranked first in our class, yet Meeks didn’t know her name. Unbelievable. Finally, he said, “Unfortunately, it’s a question I’m not qualified to answer. However, I assure you that any person who would do such a thing is deeply troubled and in need of help.” Meeks nodded for emphasis. “Your reporting their tendencies would only be to their benefit.”
Binky didn’t respond, and Meeks dismissed us. We walked in silence. Somehow, I was in front, and I pushed through the yellow-painted metal door, its cold hardness resisting my shoulder. Everyone followed, fanning out to the classrooms, taking their seats in silence. I didn’t open my religion book, just sat while, around me, everyone else fumbled with their backpacks.
Then, Tyler’s voice boomed from the back. “All right, who’s the psycho?”
A few people laughed. But it was a nervous laugh.
Somehow, I got through the morning. I talked to the usual people—Charlie’s friends. It was pretty much like other days. But I felt like something was waiting behind me. Or above my head, like the raven in the Edgar Allan Poe poem, quothing Nevermore, whatever that meant, and ready to swoop. And maybe it was better that Meeks called me in at the end of fourth
period, before lunch. Because I wouldn’t have gotten through lunch anyway, not knowing. Not knowing was worse than anything. And when the office volunteer came to get me from history, his feet tyrannosauruslike on the hollow-floored portable classrooms, I knew why he was there. And I was relieved.
But I was freaking by the time I got to Meeks’s office. Would I be expelled? Go to jail? Could you go to jail at fifteen? I didn’t think so. But Mom would definitely lose her job if I was expelled. Sure, I’d been mad at Mom, but her job was our only money. She couldn’t lose it. She didn’t deserve this. What had I done to her?
Calm down.
Charlie was leaving when I got to Meeks’s office. Leaving—good sign. Big Chuck was with him. Bad sign. I could tell from Charlie’s face he wanted to talk. Probably a good sign. Except he couldn’t. Big Chuck didn’t acknowledge me. He gripped Charlie’s arm, supporting his son. And beyond them, Meeks sat, the American flag drooping behind him, like the president giving the State of the Union. He watched us, Charlie and me. So Charlie couldn’t talk.
I thought maybe the police would be there, like they’d been at assembly. It was good they weren’t, wasn’t it?
“Close the door, Paul.”
Meeks’s voice grabbed me. I moved toward it, then back to shut the door. I’d never seen his office before. I stopped a second, entranced by the doorknob, shiny yellow brass, not like the cheap brushed chrome knobs on the other doors. My mind was doing ninety. What had Charlie said? What had Meeks asked? My story had to match Charlie’s, but what had he said?
Chill. Meat’s word. Charlie had said nothing.
“Have a seat, Paul.”
Even my name sounded wrong. Meeks usually called everyone Mr. or Miss. Still, I decided Charlie had denied it. He was walking away, wasn’t he? I’d deny it too. They knew nothing, or the police would be here. The lighting made me squint. I looked down.
“I’ve meant to call you in for a while, Paul.”
Hope tickled my heart. Maybe this wasn’t about the bomb at all then. Please, let it not be about the bomb. If I could get away with this one thing, I’d never do anything wrong again. I said, “You have?”
“Yes. Since the Blanco boy’s death. Unfortunate business. You had a part in that, I know.”
Relief flooded me like sunlight. I tried not to grin. This wasn’t about the bomb. It wasn’t about the bomb. I didn’t think to wonder why he wanted to see me about David’s suicide. I’d had nothing to do with that. I’d been an innocent bystander.
“Paul?”
“Well, I was there, sir.”
“Yes.” Meeks’s fingers played here-is-the-steeple. “We were deeply saddened by the incident, deeply saddened. Still, your mother is an excellent employee, and we’d had no other problems with you.”
Open the doors. Here are the people.
“Paul?”
Problems with me? Was he blaming me for David’s suicide? Impossible.
“We saw your friendship with Charlie Good as an excellent sign,” Meeks said.
The steepled fingers went flat. He was blaming me.
“I barely knew David Blanco, sir.”
“No?” His eyes didn’t believe me. “And yet, you were with him when he took his life. And now, another incident where it seems you were involved.” Meeks’s eyes wandered to the window. Mine did, too, saw what his saw, Charlie and his father leaving out the downstairs exit.
“Incident?” Downstairs, classes were changing. It should have been too far to hear, but I did, every conversation and laugh, all those feet walking, running, swarming like flies on a dead man’s eyes.
“I think you know, Paul.” The noise stopped, and I heard Meeks’s voice. “The bomb in Mrs. Zaller’s room. His eyes returned to me. “We wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. That’s why we spoke with Charlie first.”
“Charlie told you I was involved?”
“Were you involved, Paul?”
“What did Charlie say?”
Meeks’s fingers rose again. “Charlie told us all we needed to know.”
I stared at him, realizing. Charlie had ratted me out. Gave me up to keep himself out of trouble. I felt something in my throat, bile, and clapped a hand to my mouth. My head was pounding, pounding. Meeks yelled, “Come in!” and I realized it was the door. But it kept on.
Rhonda, Meeks’s secretary, stuck her head in. “Mrs. Richmond is here.”
Mom rushed in. Could she stop me from puking, screaming? But she was pulling hairs, saying, “Oh, Paul,” over and over, pulling, pulling her hair. And I felt sicker at how much I’d hurt her. She was my mother, after all. I began to cough, cry before I could stop myself, and before I could stop myself, my words came like puke. “It wasn’t just me. Shit. It was Charlie’s idea, Charlie and I. But I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I mean, it wasn’t just me. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”
And Meeks stared at me. Mom stopped talking, stopped pulling, and they both stared. And finally, Meeks said, “Charlie said neither of you had anything to do with it. He knew nothing about it.”
But I couldn’t stop crying.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
It was like I’d broken a gasket and I couldn’t stop crying or talking or get fixed. I cried all afternoon and on and off the next week. And somewhere in the middle, I told the whole story. About Charlie and changing the grade in the computer, the Mailbox Club, the bagels. And the bomb. Meanwhile, the police were working.
First thing, they got a search warrant and took Charlie’s computer. That was my fault. I’d told them we’d gotten the bomb instructions off the Internet.
The day they took it, Charlie came over our apartment. He must have taken a bus. At least, I didn’t see his car in the parking lot or even Rosita’s. But when I heard the knock on the door, I knew. Who else would be coming to see me?
Our apartment was empty. Mom was still working at Gate. She said it’s hard to replace someone midterm, though she guessed they’d probably can her over Christmas. Of course, Meeks had asked that I not return. So I was home alone when Charlie stepped into our narrow front hall. I didn’t worry about our door, white paint flaking to reveal beige underneath, the pitted cement in the breezeway or our molting doormat. I was through worrying about what people—Charlie, especially—thought.
Charlie stepped inside. Mom had bought our Christmas tree the morning Charlie and I planted the bomb. I’d refused to go with her. She’d brought it back by herself. It was $19.95 at Target, and she’d said it would look big in our tiny place. It didn’t. The tree was dotted with tinsel and a few lights and awful things we’d made over the years from clothespins and balsa wood. I hadn’t helped put it up. I was sorry about that now. Still, the pine scent decorated the room. Charlie sat, looking like he belonged there, blending in.
“They took my computer,” he said.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Maybe they won’t find anything,” he said. “I mean, you cleaned it out, right—the temporary Internet files, the cookies?” He could have looked up, then, for reassurance. He didn’t. He didn’t need my reassurance.
And I didn’t give it to him. “They’ll find something,” I said. “You can’t completely delete stuff. It’s there if they look hard enough.”
He leaned back, putting his tennis shoes—always his tennis shoes—onto the stack of Ladies’ Home Journals on our coffee table. Couldn’t you just look scared, Charlie? Be human for once?
He still didn’t look at me. “Why’d you do it, Paul?”
“Do what, Charlie? Listen to you?”
“Come off it.” He stared at the horrible Christmas tree. “Why’d you tell? We were riding this out.”
I panicked, I wanted to say. But I didn’t. Even now, I couldn’t admit that to him. “They’d have found out anyway,” I said instead.
“Glad you’re so sure.” Still gazing at the tree.
Look at me, you bastard. I wanted to grab his face, make him look. He’d used me and now, I knew it. “You’re bla
ming me for this?”
He met my eyes finally. “See anyone else around?”
“Yeah, Charlie. I see you. I’d never have done this without you.”
I heard something then, a low chuckle from the back of his throat. “Without me,” he said. “Is that what you’ll tell them, Paul? Is that what you tell yourself—I made you? Charlie Good took your innocent baby hands and made them plant the bomb?”
“You got me to do stuff I’d never have considered.” I stared at him, silhouetted in the sun filtered through the Gumbo Limbo trees and our blinds. He said nothing, so I added, “It’s true.”
“You could have said no.”
I started at his words. The pine was stronger, choking me. And something else. The realization that he was right. I could have said no. I could have said no, but I hadn’t. No matter what Charlie had done, I could always have said no.
Why hadn’t I? Because I’d wanted to be cool for Charlie? No, not just that. Because I’d wanted to do it. In that way, I was no different than Charlie. The realization terrified me.
“David Blanco said no,” Charlie said. Then, he laughed at the incredulous look on my face. “Pretty sad, when the kid who offs himself has more inner strength than you. But then, you wanted to go along with me. You wanted so badly to be part of the cool group.”
“You asked David to do this?”
Charlie shrugged. “Needed someone with access to the building keys.”
“And that’s why we were friends? Were we ever really friends?”
“Don’t get self-righteous, Paul. Like I said, we all use one another. You used me, maybe more than I used you.” Then, his face softened. Good old Charlie. “No, it’s not why. You know that. You were my best friend, Einstein. You were the best friend I ever had. The only person I’m closer to is my dad.”
I started at the word. “Your dad? You mean, Big Chuck?”
