“Yes, I understand that,” the secretary says. Her name is Ellie Winters. I know because I saw her nameplate when I got here. She looks like an Ellie Winters too, with gray hair piled up into a tight bun. “But it’s Mr. Brandano.”
“Mr. Brandano is right here, Mrs. Winters,” the superintendent says. He points at me, then takes his glasses off and puts them on his desk. He still has one of those old-fashioned calendars, where you write things down on a grid. Doesn’t he have an iPad or a BlackBerry or something? Is he that out of it? Obviously, he must be, since he’s calling his secretary Mrs. Winters. No one calls women “Mrs.” anymore. Everyone is “Ms.” This dude is completely behind the times.
“No, I mean the sen—” Ms. Winters starts to say, but before she can finish, I hear my dad’s voice out in the lobby.
“Is he in there?” he’s asking, trying to sound like he’s a personal friend of Dr. Ostrander or something. He’s acting like he’s at a party, not like he’s trying to worm his way into his son’s disciplinary meeting.
I look over at Kelsey and try to apologize to her with my eyes. I know how this is going to go now—my dad will come in here, and Dr. Ostrander will fall all over himself trying to make sure that everything gets smoothed over, and poor Kelsey will be left out in the cold.
But she’s not looking at me. She’s just staring down at the floor. “Senator Brandano,” Dr. Ostrander says as my dad comes pushing his way into the room.
“Hello, Dr. Ostrander,” my dad says, and smiles. He adjusts the buttons on the cuffs of his suit and gives the superintendent a big smile. To my knowledge, the two of them have never even met. But that’s how my dad is. He’s built his career on getting people he’s never met to instantly like him.
“Senator Brandano, this is highly inappropriate,” Dr. Ostrander says. Which actually makes me kind of like the dude. Because behind the times or not, he’s right—this is pretty inappropriate. “Parents were not invited to this meeting. If you’d like to speak with me, you’ll have to make an appointment with my secretary.”
Poor Ms. Winters. She’s standing by the door looking nervous. Probably because she’s afraid my dad and/or Dr. Ostrander is going to flip out on her.
“That won’t be necessary,” my dad says. “I’m just here to pick up Isaac.” He comes and stands behind me, resting his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure by now you’ve realized that he had nothing to do with this.”
His tone is careful and calculated—it’s friendly, but there’s also a hidden meaning behind it. The meaning being that even if I did have something to do with it, it better be overlooked because if it’s not, the school is going to incur my dad’s wrath. He’s tried similar things at the other schools I’ve been to, and it works, for a while. But then inevitably some other richer, more important parent starts to complain about me, or the school gets worried about its reputation, and then I have to go. But since this is the first time I’ve been in trouble here, my dad probably figures his little dog-and-pony show is going to save the day.
“We’re still figuring everything out,” Dr. Ostrander says, “so if you don’t mind, I’m sure Isaac will call you when he’s done.”
My dad’s grip on my shoulder tightens. He looks like maybe he’s about to say something else. But instead, he just keeps that fake smile pasted on his face and says, “Fair enough. Isaac, call me when you’re done. And I’ll talk to Ms. Winters about setting up a meeting with you, Dr. Ostrander.”
“You do that,” Dr. Ostrander says, not sounding too pleased at the prospect of a meeting with my dad.
“So,” Dr. Ostrander says once my dad’s gone, “where were we?”
I don’t say anything. I just stare at the floor. I’m sick of this whole thing. I don’t want Kelsey to suffer anymore. I don’t feel like getting revenge. I’m not even angry. I’m just tired. And I want to go home.
“We were talking about my violent past,” Kelsey says.
“That’s right,” Dr. Ostrander says. “Mr. Brandano, it’s your belief that this past led to what happened? Even though you’re the one who was violent?”
“I was only violent,” I say quietly, “because I was the last one to know about Kelsey’s past.” And then I turn and look right into her eyes. “And I hate being lied to.”
Before
Kelsey
Okay, so the thing is? Isaac and I are kind of together. And when I say “kind of,” I mean, like, completely. At least, I think we are. We’ve spent, like, every day together for the past two weeks. We hold hands in the hallway. We sit by ourselves at lunch. We spend the day texting and making plans to meet up after school. We’ve gone to, like, five different movies where we spent the whole time making out.
And the most surprising part? Isaac is nice. He’s always asking me how I’m doing, if I’m okay with things. He’s always looking out for me.
Like right now, for example.
We’re having a Face It Down meeting to draft a letter to send to the head of the student council at Concordia Prep. It’s a small meeting, a committee we put together just to work on the letter—me, Isaac, Isaac’s friend Marshall, Chloe, and Marina. If it were up to me, Marina wouldn’t have even been on this committee, but she insisted, and I couldn’t exactly tell her no just because she and Isaac kissed. I mean, hello, jealous girlfriend. So she’s here and she’s being a little bit . . . I guess you could say, um, annoying. Like, she keeps muttering things under her breath and questioning me on everything.
“I don’t understand why we have to send it to the head of the student council,” she says. “Wouldn’t it be better to just send it to the principal?”
“Well, we’ll definitely send a copy to the principal, too,” I say. I’m sitting at my laptop, reading over the draft we’ve put together, checking it for any typos or inconsistencies. “But the point of Face It Down Day is really to connect with the students. We want the students to be the ones who come together.”
The fact that we’re sending this letter to the student council is definitely a carefully constructed plan on my part. First of all, because I really don’t think the principal of Concordia Prep is going to be too excited to see anything with my name on it come across her desk. And second, because the fewer adults involved, the better. That way I can make it out to colleges like I’m the one who put this whole thing together.
“Great,” Marina says. “And I guess the rest of us don’t have a say in it?”
Isaac and I glance at each other nervously.
“Not really,” Isaac says.
“You do have a say,” I tell her, mostly because I’m afraid she might get all psycho. “We can take a vote if you want.” I already know I have the votes to do it my way; otherwise I wouldn’t have offered. And Marina knows it too.
“So you and Isaac can gang up on everyone and get them to vote with you? No, thank you.” She picks up her books and then flounces out of the room, her dark hair bouncing as she goes.
“What’s wrong with her?” I ask.
“She’s mad because Isaac kissed her and then dumped her for you,” Marshall says. Marshall’s one of those people who has no filter. Seriously, he just says whatever crazy thing pops into his brain. He and Isaac have actually become sort of close, which is funny. They don’t seem like two people who would be friends.
“How do you know?” I ask, glancing at Isaac. He’s suddenly superbusy writing something down in his notebook. I hit print on my laptop, and the wireless printer in the corner whirs to life.
“Because she told me.” He shrugs. “Besides, everyone knows it.”
“They do?” I’m shocked by this. I didn’t know I was the subject of school rumors. Not that it’s really anything new. I was the subject of a few school rumors at Concordia Prep. Hell, I’m probably the subject of a few rumors over there right now. I can’t even imagine what crazy stuff they’re saying about me. I suppose if I really wanted to, I could ask Rielle about it, but I don’t care to know.
Rielle. I still
haven’t talked to her about seeing her at the mall a couple of weeks ago when she told me she was at her grandma’s. She’s called me a few times and sent me a couple of texts, but for the most part, I’ve been avoiding her.
“Yeah,” Marshall says. “Marina is very pissed off.”
“Apparently,” I say.
“She’ll get over it,” Isaac says.
“Maybe you should talk to her,” I say to him. I don’t really like Marina all that much, for obvious reasons. But maybe Isaac should try to smooth things over. I mean, even though I don’t like her, the last thing I want is to have enemies.
“Talk to her?” Isaac looks aghast, like I’ve just suggested he go talk to the Taliban or something.
“God no,” Chloe pipes up, looking equally horrified. “That’s just going to make it worse.”
“How can it make it worse?” I’m creating a mailing label now, typing in the address of Concordia Prep so that I can print it out and put it on the envelope. It’s addressed to Kristin Smith, the president of the student council. She’s this sort of type A control freak, but she’s going to love something like this. I just know it.
“Because if Isaac goes and talks to her like she’s some kind of pathetic loser, she’s just going to think you’re patronizing her,” Chloe says.
“He wouldn’t treat her like a pathetic loser,” I say. “And besides, isn’t it better to just get everything out in the open?” I type in the zip code on the mailing label and then hit print again. “Then we can all move on.”
“I’m with Chloe,” Isaac says. “It will just make things worse.”
“You’re saying that because you don’t want to talk to her,” I say.
“True.” He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me toward him. “I don’t want to have to talk to anyone but you,” he whispers so that I’m the only one who can hear. “Are we done here?”
I grin, and he kisses me on the lips.
“God, you guys are so cute it’s gross,” Chloe says. She’s sitting cross-legged on a desk, and she jumps down, then flips her head over and gathers her hair up into a ponytail.
“Seriously,” Marshall says. “Get a room.”
“La la la,” I say, pretending to ignore them. “Hey, we should all go out and do something to celebrate getting our letter sent out.”
“Celebrate writing a letter?” Chloe asks. “Isn’t that the easy part?”
“Yeah,” I say, “which is why we should celebrate it. It’s going to be weird having these kids at our school, and who knows what’s going to happen? Plus it doesn’t have to be all play. We can make it a working dinner, try to come up with a good list of ways to facilitate communication between the two schools.”
“Oooh, can we go to Chili’s?” Marshall asks. “I’m really in the mood for Mexican.”
“Chili’s isn’t Mexican,” Chloe says, rolling her eyes.
“They have chips and salsa,” Marshall points out. “And queso. If you’re good, I’ll even buy you some.”
Chloe’s cheeks flush. Huh. Are they flirting? I don’t really see her and Marshall as a couple, but I didn’t see me and Isaac as a couple either, so . . . who knows?
• • •
Two hours later Isaac pulls up in front of my house to drop me off.
“That,” he says, shifting his car into park, “might have been the most boring thing I’ve ever been involved in.” We spent the past hour and a half at Chili’s coming up with lists of questions and prompts to facilitate communication between our school and Concordia Prep. It was really productive, but he’s right—it was also really boring.
“Really?” I ask. “That’s shocking.”
“How come?”
“Because I would have thought that as the son of a senator, you’d have been involved in way more boring stuff—state dinners, inaugurations, that kind of thing.”
“Nope,” he says, and unhooks his seat belt. “My dad likes to keep me hidden away when the important shit comes up.” He gets out of the car, then circles around and opens my door for me. I step out and into his arms.
“So I’ll call you later?” he asks, and kisses my neck.
“Yes,” I breathe.
Suddenly the front door opens, and my dad’s standing there, his face stormy. Shit, shit, shit. There’s nothing worse than having your dad catch you in the middle of making out with a guy.
“Dad!” I say.
Isaac jumps back from me like I’m on fire. “Mr. Romano,” he calls, recovering quickly and pasting a smile on his face. He gives my dad a friendly wave. “It’s nice to see you again.”
I haven’t brought Isaac around my family. One, because it’s way too early for that. And two, because my family is crazy. My dad is definitely not going to be excited that I have a boyfriend. If Isaac even is my boyfriend. I mean, I’m assuming he is, but we haven’t exactly had the talk about us being official or anything. But we’re spending every second together, so that has to mean something, right?
“Nice to see you, too,” my dad says. But it’s all sarcastic, like, “Nice to see you, too, even though I’ve hardly ever seen you before.”
“Well, I should get going,” Isaac says. He pauses for a second, waiting for my dad to say something like, “Why don’t you stay for dinner?” or “You don’t have to leave on account of me” or “Where are you headed off to so fast? Stick around for a bit.”
But my dad, apparently, is not a fan of fake politeness or pleasantries. So Isaac squeezes my hand, kisses me on the cheek, and then climbs back into his car and pulls out of the driveway.
“So,” I say brightly to my dad as I push by him and into the house, “how was your day?” I take my shoes off and then head over to the pantry, where I pull out a Rice Krispies Treat. I wanted to get dessert at Chili’s, but I could tell Isaac really wanted to get out of there.
“So that’s your boyfriend?” my dad asks, folding his arms across his chest as if it’s more of a challenge than a question.
I think about it. “Yes,” I say finally, deciding not to get into the whole I-don’t-know thing. But then I think, Fuck it, why shouldn’t I just tell the truth? “Actually, I’m not sure. I guess we’re just seeing each other.”
“Do you think that’s such a good idea?” my dad asks. “Given what you just went through because of a boy?”
“Um, I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But I know that I like him, and so I’m going with it.” I open the Rice Krispies Treat and take a bite.
My dad shuts down. I can literally see his face shutting down.
“Don’t get too full,” he says. “We’re going to dinner at the Marshes’.”
My stomach does a flip. “Dad,” I say, “I really don’t—I mean, I already ate, and I have a lot of homework.” I don’t want to see Rielle.
“I wasn’t asking if you wanted to go,” he says. “I was telling you that we’re going. All of us.”
• • •
An hour later I’m standing on Rielle’s front porch with my mom and dad, holding a Bundt cake. The awful thing about the Bundt cake (besides the fact that it’s a Bundt cake, and honestly, who the hell wants a cake with a big hole in the middle?) is that it’s store-bought. Apparently, my mom had forgotten that she’d agreed to bring dessert, and so she didn’t have time to make anything.
My dad, surprisingly, didn’t really seem to care and said we could just pick something up on the way. But my mom freaked out, and was all, “Sharon Marsh would never show up with something store-bought,” because Rielle’s mom is kind of like Martha Stewart. (Of course, Rielle’s mom doesn’t have a job, and she took, like, private cooking lessons last year in France after reading that book about Julia Child, Julie & Julia. Actually, I’m not sure she even read the book. She might have just watched the movie.)
So then my mom had this great idea that she was going to go to this fancy bakery downtown to buy something because she’d had this warm fruit compote tartlet there once, and apparently it was very elegant an
d wonderful, the exact kind of thing you should bring to dinner at the Marshes’. But when we got there, the bakery was closed, so we had to go to the normal grocery store.
Which is how we ended up with this Bundt cake. Which is actually very plain-looking. It doesn’t have fruit or chocolate on it or anything. It was slim pickings at the store since most of the stuff looked like it had been sitting out all day.
Anyway, so my mom picked out this Bundt cake, and then she ran next door to Target and bought this very fancy-looking cake stand, and she put the Bundt cake on it. She did this in the car, which caused one side of the cake to get sort of smushed, but in the end I think it helped because now it at least looks more homemade.
“How’s it going?” Isaac texts to me while we’re getting out of the car.
“Mom bought a Bundt cake and is trying to pass it off like it’s homemade,” I text back.
“LOL.”
Yeah. Real funny. Not if you’re here.
Rielle answers the door.
“Yay!” she squeals, jumping up and down. She’s wearing a black boatneck sweater and white capri pants. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and she has a single string of pearls around her neck. She looks effortlessly put together, exactly like the kind of girl my dad would want as a daughter. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
She grabs me in a hug. It feels forced. And weird.
“We brought dessert!” my mom declares. “A Bundt cake!” She thrusts it into Rielle’s hands.
If Rielle’s surprised by my mom’s enthusiasm, she doesn’t show it. “Great,” she says. “Let’s go put it in the kitchen.”
When we get there, Rielle’s mom is pulling appetizers out of the oven, some kind of meat wrapped in a pastry crust.
“Here’s the dessert,” Rielle exclaims, and then plops it down on the counter.
“Great,” Mrs. Marsh says. She doesn’t even look at it twice. Yikes.
The Thing About the Truth Page 14
