The Confessional

by Gabriel Goodman

  The doors to the board room opened. People standing at the back of the room parted as a river of students entered. Everyone was dressed sharply, playing the role of good little students. Leading the pack was Grant, wearing a suit, and Shaniece, wearing the tightest dress I’ve ever seen.

  The students—dozens—spread out around the back of the room silently. Grant came right up to the podium and shook my hand. I moved away from the microphone as he stepped up.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the board,” Grant said, straightening his tie, “my name is Grant Thomas. And I’m here to say that I had sex with Mrs. Krause, the drama coach. You know it’s true ’cause it’s on the Internet.” He held up his phone, which showed The Confessional and the entry he’d made yesterday.

  There was a distinct drop in cabin pressure as a hundred gasps echoed in the room. Then a boy I don’t even know moved up next to Grant. “My name is Boyd Collins. And I had sex with Mr. Henson in the math department.” Boyd showed everyone his phone and his Confessional entry.

  Every student in the room held up their phones. One by one, boys and girls stepped up to the mic and confessed imaginary sex with very real teachers. Gray Suit beat the table with his gavel, but even that didn’t shut anyone up.

  “I had sex with Mrs. Morrison, the librarian!”

  “I had sex with Mr. Schieffer, the wrestling coach!”

  Then Shaniece pushed her way up to the front of the crowd and grabbed the mic. “And, as anybody here will be more than happy to say, I had sex with all y’all!”

  The room erupted in shouting. School board members huddled together, trying to figure out their next move. I stood on my tiptoes and whispered into Shaniece’s ear. “You know,” I said, “I think I’m going to get angry more often.”

  As Gray Suit fought to get everyone quiet, I glanced toward the back of the room. Just past the crowd, I could barely make out someone standing in the hall, just outside. As the figure leaned forward into the doorway, my stomach hit the floor.

  It was Mr. Ashbury.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  NOW

  TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 3

  No one else saw Ashbury. Everyone was too busy arguing. But once I spotted him, I couldn’t turn away.

  Ashbury’s gaze swept the room. He looked like he was going to be sick. When he got to me, our eyes locked. His jaw clenched, and after the longest five seconds of my life, he turned and left.

  I pushed through the crowd of students. Most were still shouting the names of teachers they’d “had sex with.” My insides squirmed as I raced out the door, down the hall, and into the parking lot.

  Mr. Ashbury power-walked away, fumbling in the pocket of his blazer as he headed toward a white hatchback.

  “Mr. Ashbury!” I called out.

  He spun around and held up his arm. “Don’t come anywhere near me,” he said. Everything about his face—his narrowed eyes, his twisted mouth—said something completely different: I hate you.

  “Mr. Ashbury, I want to apologize. I know you probably don’t want to talk to me.” I reached into my skirt pocket and pulled out an envelope. This was the apology I’d written. I’d planned to give it to the school board and ask them to pass it on to Ashbury. But now I knew I had to do this myself.

  He stared at the envelope, then at me, like I was clinically brain dead. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

  “What I did was stupid. I never let Principal Boyle believe it was true for even a second. As soon as she asked, I told her it was all made up. I even told the school board.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered as he fished his car keys from his coat pocket. “I just saw your apology. Quite the rally. Are you proud?”

  “What? No, I just—”

  “Tell me something: what happens next? You’ve got your friends in there, crying wolf. You’ve won. You can all say whatever you want without any consequences because they can’t punish you all. Well, what happens if a teacher really does take advantage of a student? You know it already happened. Who’s going to believe a student who reports abuse now?”

  My heart started hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. That wasn’t what this was about. This was supposed to prove ... But it didn’t. Not really.

  “B-but,” I stammered, “a two month suspension wasn’t fair—”

  Mr. Ashbury laughed. “Now you’re going to tell me what’s not fair? Yeah, that sounds about right. Well, you got what you wanted. You fit in now.”

  I felt like I was back in front of the school board, not being heard. But this time, my angry ogre failed me. It knew I was wrong. “No. It backfired, and now half the school thinks I’ll sleep with anybody.”

  Ashbury threw his keys to the blacktop. “Oh, so this affected your reputation? Do you have any idea what your little prank cost me? I have been humiliated because of you. I have been treated like a criminal.”

  “I know and I’m sorry—”

  “You know? Really? Please, Jenny, tell me what you know. Did you know that I was escorted from my classroom by two police officers, in front of all my students? Do you know they interrogated me at the police station for five straight hours? They didn’t let me go until my boyfriend came to the station to swear that we’ve been a couple for the last three years.”

  His boyfriend? “I ... I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

  “Well, now everyone knows. This was my first year here. I was going to let myself get settled, let people get to know me before I told anyone about my private life. Not all schools are gay-friendly. You took away my ability to do this on my own terms. You forced me to come out to save myself from going to jail.”

  I’d never seen anyone this mad before. Ashbury picked up his keys and opened his car door. When the dome light came on, I could see the inside of the hatchback filled with boxes and school books.

  I held my breath, trying to hold in the tears. “What are those for?”

  “I cleaned out my classroom. I resigned today, effective immediately.”

  “No! You can’t do that.”

  “Already done. I want this over with. That’s why I didn’t press libel charges. It just would have dragged this out. I’m ending it. Last thing I need now is for some guy to claim we had sex, just so he can boast to everybody. Do you know that’s every teacher’s worst nightmare? Being accused of something they didn’t do.” He glared over at the window where we could see the school board meeting, still in chaos. “And you just made it easier for that to happen.”

  I wanted to scream. I wanted to hit something. I couldn’t even think straight. “I’m ... so ... sorry ... ”

  I couldn’t say anything else, because I was crying too hard. I just held out my apology letter at arm’s length and prayed he’d take it. But he got into his car and drove off. I never saw him again.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  NOW

  WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 4

  “The suspension’s been lifted. You can go back to school tomorrow.”

  I stirred in bed that morning to find Dad standing just inside my bedroom. He handed out the news casually, like he’d just told me the sky is blue.

  I should have jumped up and down. I should have squealed. I’d won. And it felt lousy.

  “Did they admit the punishment was unfair?” I asked.

  “Not in so many words,” Dad said. “More likely, I think they realized they didn’t have a legal leg to stand on. Someone may have threatened a lawsuit.”

  “You said we couldn’t afford a lawyer.”

  “I said that to you. Not to them.”

  I nodded. I must have looked as sick to my stomach as I felt. Dad sat on my bedside and gave my hand a pat. I sat up and laid my head on his shoulder.

  “Mr. Ashbury wouldn’t accept my apology.”

  Dad sighed. “That’ll hurt for some time.”

  He was calm, assured, and Stone Faced. As always. Sometimes that drove me nuts.

  “So,” I said, “what was all that stuff about an angry
ogre inside you? All these years ... ”

  “I used to be very angry,” Dad confessed. “I argued with my family constantly. I didn’t agree with what our culture demands, at least those bits that are upheld by the most traditional families. Like ours. Your grandparents disowned me when I married a girl they didn’t approve of.”

  My mouth went dry. “Mom? You never told me that.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You were right. I grounded you partly because I was trying to protect you. I knew what your grandmother would do once she found out about The Confessional. I should have known it was going to happen sooner or later, no matter what I did.

  “Our traditions work fine for many people. Just not me. I never wanted to rob you of your identity. That’s why I brought us back to Madison after all these years. I had to give you a chance to decide for yourself if you wanted those traditions. You’re old enough now.”

  I didn’t know what I wanted. If I chose to honor our traditions, I was sure I could find someone at the Community Center to show me. But I had a lot of thinking to do first.

  “Thank you,” I said. “For supporting me if I honor our traditions. For supporting me through this whole mess. For everything.”

  He put his arm around me. We sat there, each with an ogre inside, waiting to get out. But not today. Hopefully, not for a long time.

  •••

  I was on my third milkshake in the food court. The cleaning crews had started making their rounds. Any minute now, they were going to kick me out. The mall had closed five minutes ago.

  I stared at my phone, trying to make it buzz. I’d sent three texts to Mee, begging her to respond. Telling her how desperately I need to talk to someone. But she hadn’t responded and, deep down, I knew she never would.

  “Was I right? She has an addiction to milkshakes.”

  I looked up to find Grant pointing at me. Shaniece was at his side. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere, girl,” she said. “Answer a damn text, wouldja?”

  Yes, my phone had been buzzing plenty. Just not from Mee. She was the only one I’d wanted to talk to.

  “I really want to be alone now,” I said, slurping out the last bits of milkshake from my cup.

  “When you ran out of the room last night,” Grant said, “I followed you. I saw you talking to Mr. Ashbury in the parking lot. It looked ugly.”

  They sat down across from me, looking genuinely sympathetic. Giving up on Mee, I let it all spill out. I told them everything Ashbury had said. When I got to the part about how our demonstration at the school board meeting would make it harder for the administration to believe a student who really was being abused, they both got quiet.

  “I thought we were helping,” Grant said. “It ... it made sense at the time.”

  “Last night,” I said, “when I went to bed, all I could see was the guy from the school board’s smug face, telling me that actions have consequences. He looked so satisfied when he said it, like it was something I didn’t know. I knew, I just ... ”

  “You can’t take all the blame for Mr. Ashbury quitting,” Shaniece said. “The school board could have stood behind their teacher.”

  “No, Shaniece,” I said, “this is all on me.”

  No one said anything. Even with the mall closing, I couldn’t even think about going home yet. Last night, I’d seen Gray Suit talking down to me. Tonight, I had a feeling that all I would see was Mr. Ashbury, driving away. I imagined a road that stretched out forever. No matter how long he drove, he could never get where he was going.

  Grant and Shaniece each laid a hand on my arm. Somehow, I thought fitting in would feel better.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Gabriel Goodman is a writer living in St. Paul, Minnesota. He has written for other Darby Creek series including After the Dust Settled, Bareknuckle, and Surviving Southside.