Chapter 44
Robert
I turn that thought over in my mind the rest of the night. By morning I know my answer.
I get to school early, hoping against hope that Caleb has been able to elicit some kind of confession from Stephen. I sit on the floor and lean against the sax lockers and wait.
I’m thinking about Andrew—Did he sleep? Is he safe? Is he afraid?—when Luke drops down on the floor next to me.
“Did you see the news last night?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I twist my head to look at him.
“How you holding up?”
Before I can answer, Caleb calls to me from across the band hall. He’s holding a piece of paper high in his hand. My heart thuds in my chest, and I hope to hell that’s what I think it is. We get to our feet. “I’ve got it,” he says excitedly. “I didn’t think he was going to respond, and then this morning I got up, and, well, look for yourself.”
Luke reads over my shoulder. “You got him.”
“That motherfucker,” I say softly.
“Caleb, I love you.” I grab his face and plant a kiss right on his mouth. He beams and maybe swoons a bit, but I’m already running across the band hall.
I’m out of breath when I burst into the front office. I barely register the receptionist’s surprised look or Mrs. Stovall’s “Ex-cuse me” as I slip past them to Mr. Redmon’s door.
“I have proof that Mr. McNelis did not send those text messages.”
Mr. Redmon looks up from his computer screen. I enter his office and place the screen shot of the private Facebook conversation on his desk. “Andrew—Mr. McNelis didn’t do it. Stephen admits right here that he set him up. And it all makes sense. Andrew—I mean, Mr. McNelis—his phone disappeared Friday morning. I can prove that. He sent me this note during fourth period to let me know it was missing so I wouldn’t—” I stop. Shit.
I lay the note on his desk next to the other paper. “Stephen took his phone, then he used it to send texts to himself. Then he made an anonymous phone call to you that morning. He made it so you would call him in and then he acted like he’d been too afraid to tell anyone when all along there was nothing to tell. He made it up. They have to let Andrew go. You have to make them see that.”
Mr. Redmon drops his eyes to the two pieces of paper on his desk. He picks up first the Facebook screen shot, then Andrew’s note, then stacks them neatly together.
I don’t get it. He should be jumping all over this evidence. Instead, he sits quietly and stares at the papers. I want to shake him. “Mr. Redmon, he’s innocent. He didn’t do anything wrong. He would never do anything like that. He’s a good person. Pick up the phone,” I plead. “Just call them. Please.”
“Robert, sit down,” he says, looking up at me.
“Call Stephen in. Ask him. Search his house. You already have all the evidence you need right there. You can’t let this happen.”
Mr. Redmon props his elbows on his desk and presses his mouth into his clasped hands, then rests his chin on them. “You speak very passionately on his behalf, Robert. I assure you, I will turn this over to the police. But I need you to be honest with me about your relationship with Mr. McNelis.”
“We’re friends,” I say too quickly. “That’s all.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Robert. I assume you are aware that we’ve already spoken with Mr. McNelis about the time he’s been spending alone with you.”
I shake my head, desperate to make him believe the lie.
“There’s a photo of you on his phone. And a call came into his phone yesterday afternoon from your cell number. Let me ask you again: Have you been involved in a relationship with Mr. McNelis?”
“No,” I say emphatically.
“Robert.” He sighs heavily. “The police will subpoena you. I understand that they have some pretty solid evidence that you were with him Saturday night.”
I am mute with shock. He’s lying. He has to be lying.
“You can’t protect him from this, Robert. He is a grown man, and he has violated a sacred trust. He used the power of his position to take advantage—”
“He took advantage of nothing.”
“He used his power—”
“I wanted to be with him,” I snap. “I pursued him.” I suddenly realize what I’m saying, but I’m helpless to stop. It’s too late for that. “No one made me do anything I didn’t want to do,” I say more quietly. “I’m not a child. And in just a few more months I’ll graduate and none of this will even matter.”
The weight of what I’ve just confessed presses down on me, and I sit, numb. “Mr. Redmon, you have to see that—you can’t—he’s not—” I don’t know how to make him understand.
Mr. Redmon leans back in his chair and wipes his hand down his face. “All right.” After a moment he gets to his feet. “I want you to wait here for a few minutes. Okay?”
When he returns, it’s with Mr. Hough. He has a form with him. He tells me he needs to take a statement from me.