Chapter 11
Monica
“Right in there, Mrs. Romano.” The woman standing at the front desk of the administrative office waved toward a conference room. “They’re waiting for you.”
This wasn’t the first time I’d been summoned to the principal’s office on account of Alex, but in the past, the principal, Gerri Lott, and I always met in her private office. When I opened the door to the conference room, I understood why we needed extra space.
Besides Principal Lott and Alex, who was sitting slumped with his head down and his arms wrapped across his body, Bob Smith, Alex’s computer teacher and cross-country coach, was seated at the table. So was a Portland police officer.
The sight of that blue uniform and badge made me gasp; I couldn’t help myself. Alex looked up. His expression was defiant, and fearful.
Was he under arrest? Would he be? Should I insist on having a lawyer present? But maybe that would make Alex look guilty . . . or guiltier. Or uncooperative. And I didn’t know any lawyers. Well, none besides the one who’d handled the probate when Vince died. I didn’t think he took criminal cases.
Criminal cases! Oh, dear God.
Alex looked away as I walked into the room. Bob gave me an encouraging smile as I pulled out a chair and took a seat. I was glad he was there. Though I’d only talked to him once at a recent parent/teacher conference, he seemed to like Alex.
“I’m sorry to keep you all waiting. I came as quickly as I could.”
“We’ve only just started,” Mrs. Lott said. “I was in budget meetings, Mr. Smith had a class, and Officer Langley just arrived.”
I looked at the policeman and smiled, hoping to win him over. He nodded but kept his expression neutral.
“To get everyone up to speed,” the principal continued, “earlier today, Mr. Smith observed Alex and another student standing in the courtyard when they should have been on their way to class. When he approached, Mr. Smith saw Alex take some money from the other student and then hand him a plastic bag of marijuana. As required by procedure, Mr. Smith immediately escorted both students to the office. My assistant then notified me of the situation before calling you, Mrs. Romano, and then the police department.
“The other student will be suspended for ten days. But as I’m sure you’re aware, this is an extremely serious offense. Selling drugs on school property is—”
“I didn’t sell drugs,” Alex said. “I didn’t,” he protested when I glared at him.
What was he doing? Lying would only make things worse. He needed to be contrite, throw himself on the mercy of the court.
The court? Oh, crap. Maybe I should hire a lawyer.
I felt a little fluttering skip in my chest. As soon as that passed, my head started to pound. I pinched the bridge of my nose. It didn’t help.
“Alex, Mr. Smith saw you take the money and hand over the bag,” I said, not quite hissing but close. Alex glared at me defiantly.
My stepson is a lot of things, but he’s not stupid. So why wasn’t he taking the hint? Officer Langley looked bored. I doubted he’d signed up to be a cop because he wanted to spend his days collaring idiotic teenagers for selling dime bags of weed. Maybe, if Alex admitted what he’d done, pled stupidity, and apologized, Officer Langley would give him a stern talking-to and let him go? Not likely. The policeman didn’t look like the kind who handed out slaps on the wrist. But it was worth a try. Besides, I didn’t have any other ideas.
“You’re not suggesting that Mr. Smith is lying, are you?” I said, making my words sound like an inquiry instead of an accusation.
“No,” Alex said, using his duh-do-I-look-stupid-to-you voice. “Mr. Smith saw Mike take the money and me give him the bag. But I didn’t sell him drugs.”
I frowned. Alex sounded so definite about it that I almost believed him.
“I don’t understand. If you didn’t sell him drugs, what did you sell him?”
He dropped his head and mumbled unintelligibly. I leaned closer.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“OREGANO!” Alex shouted. “Okay? Can you hear me now? It wasn’t marijuana! It was OREGANO!”
I gasped. “You stole my oregano from the restaurant? You ungrateful little—” I smacked the table to keep from swearing. “I can’t believe you would do something so rotten. And dumb! What were you thinking?”
“I DON’T KNOW!”
Alex dropped his head onto the table with a thunk and covered his head with his arms. I looked at Mr. Smith, then at Principal Lott. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she found her words.
“Oregano?” She looked at Bob. “I don’t—”
Officer Langley coughed. “Mrs. Lott, can I look at the . . . uh . . . evidence?”
She pushed the bag across the table. The officer took a sniff, then closed the bag and handed it back to the principal.
“Okay. I’m done here.”
He got to his feet and looked at Alex.
“Hey, kid.”
Alex picked up his head. His eyes were red.
“Yeah?” he sniffled.
“Yes,” the officer said. “Yes, sir.”
Alex sat up a little straighter.
“Yes, sir.”
“If you ever waste my time like this again,” Langley said, stabbing his finger toward Alex, “if I get called down here because you’ve been in a fight, or skipped class, or got caught selling so much as a Tic Tac, I am going to make your life fifty kinds of miserable, got that?” Alex nodded. “Good. And by the way, don’t you ever yell at your mother like that again. Understand?”
“She’s my stepmother.”
Officer Langley gripped the top of his billy club and glared.
“Sorry, sir. Yes, sir.”
“That’s better.”
Officer Langley left the room. Mrs. Lott heaved a sigh and closed her eyes. The expression on her face said she was seriously reconsidering her career choice.
“All right,” she said finally. “Alex, I’m glad that we don’t have to involve the police, but you are still in a lot of trouble. The fact that you weren’t selling actual drugs doesn’t negate the fact that you were trying to pass them off as such. Plus, you were attempting to trick a fellow student, and you were late for class. And you have wasted the time of every adult in this room.
“So, if you think you’re off the hook, think again. You are going to be punished for this.” She furrowed her brow. “I just have to figure out how.”
Mr. Smith cleared his throat. “Mrs. Lott, could I speak with you for a moment?”
“Sure. Excuse us.”
The two educators went out into the outer office, leaving me alone with Alex. He looked so miserable that I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“Really, Alex, what were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. It was stupid. I needed money.”
“For what?”
Alex opened his mouth and closed it again, a couple of times, as if he couldn’t quite make up his mind to tell me or not. But, finally, he did.
“There’s this girl—Gwen Mikesell. She’s gorgeous. She’s perfect. But she doesn’t know I’m alive. So I thought . . . I thought if I could get her something amazing for Valentine’s Day, like have a dozen roses delivered to her at school, she might . . . You know. Notice me.”
“You needed money to send flowers to a girl? Why didn’t you just ask me?”
Alex let out a disbelieving huff of air. “You’d have just said no.”
I wished I could have argued the point, but Alex was absolutely right. If he’d asked me for money to impress a girl, I’d have said no. Not because I would have necessarily objected to the request, especially if he would have explained his feelings exactly like he had a moment before.
That poor, dumb, rotten kid. He must be in love. Which, of course, meant he was in agony. In my limited experience, the two generally go hand in hand.
But Alex was right, if he had asked me for money for roses, or anything else, I would have said no. When it came to Alex, no was my default response.
No wonder he hated me.
Mr. Smith and Mrs. Lott came back into the conference room and sat down. The principal folded her hands on top of the table, fixing Alex in her gaze.
“Alex, I cannot impress upon you enough how very, very close you’ve come to being expelled today, or how closely I am going to be watching your behavior in the future. If you put one foot wrong for the rest of the year, I will have no hesitation about kicking you out of this school. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I twitched. I couldn’t help myself. I’d never before heard the word ma’am come out of Alex’s mouth, nor heard him speak in such a polite tone of voice.
“However, Mr. Smith has convinced me to give you ten days of suspension and a second chance. During that time, besides keeping up with your regular assignments, you will write a ten-page paper on why deception is wrong. You will also write a note of apology to Officer Langley for wasting his time, and to Mike for getting him into trouble. And, before you ask, yes, I am still suspending him—what matters isn’t what he purchased but what he intended to purchase.
“And, Alex,” she said, taking off her glasses, “if I were you, I’d steer clear of Mike from here on out. For all the hot water you’re in at this moment, you don’t really seem like a kid who’s bent on a life of crime. I can’t say the same of Mike.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Also, you will write one more letter, to your stepmother, apologizing for stealing her . . . herbs.” Mrs. Lott looked at me. “I’m sure this goes without saying, but all of these assignments will be completed with careful attention to grammar, punctuation, spelling, and sincerity. Mr. Smith will check them. If he finds them lacking in any way, you’ll do them again. Understand?”
Alex bobbed his head.
“Finally, I have asked Mr. Smith to serve as your faculty advisor for the rest of the year. Once you return to school, you’ll meet with him once a week.”
“Really?”
Alex looked toward his coach and smiled. Mr. Smith didn’t smile back, but I had the feeling he wanted to. Everyone got up from the table.
“Mrs. Lott?” Alex cleared his throat and ducked his head. “I’m sorry. Really.”
“I hope so, Alex. Because you won’t get a second, second chance. Now go home. We’ll see you in two weeks.”
We stopped by Alex’s locker to pick up his books and then got into the car. The bell rang for lunch. Seconds later, the sidewalks were packed with laughing, yelling, jostling teenagers.
“Wow. This feels weird,” Alex said, watching the crowd he was exiled from for the next two weeks. “What am I supposed to do now?”
That was a good question. The easiest thing would be to take him home. He was old enough to look after himself, and I really needed to get back to work. But for all of Alex’s seeming remorse, I could see that leaving him to his own resources at the house, where there were televisions and video games, might end up being more a reward than a punishment. Plus, he had all those writing assignments. I didn’t really trust him to finish them unsupervised.
I started the car. Alex looked at me.
“Where are we going?”
“To the restaurant. You can sit at one of the empty tables and do your homework.”
For a moment, I thought he was going to argue with me, but then his expression softened and he buckled his seat belt. I pulled out of my parking spot.
“Hey, Monica? I know that Mrs. Lott is making me write you that letter, but I really am sorry.”
“Good. Apology accepted. And since I know you really mean it, after you finish your homework you can keep on being sorry by doing dishes at the restaurant. The pay is five bucks an hour. So, it’ll only take six hours for you to pay me back for all that oregano you stole.”
“Oh, man! That is so—” Alex let out an exasperated growl and slumped in his seat. “Fine. Whatever. I guess I owe it to you.”
“Yes, you do,” I said, shooting him a look before turning right out of the lot. “Also, I’m confiscating your cell phone for the next two weeks.”
“What!” Alex cried, his eyes practically popping out of his head. “You can’t do that! It’s so unfair! How will I—”
“And after you’ve paid me back,” I said, raising my voice and talking right over him, “assuming I think you’re worth the salary, you can keep the job for the rest of your suspension.”
Alex, suddenly quiet, stared at me.
“Well, there’s no point in having you sit around my kitchen taking up space all day, is there? Might as well make yourself useful. Now, let’s see—when do you go back to school? February thirteenth, isn’t it? Right before Valentine’s Day. You ought to be able to make some pretty serious coin by then—maybe sixty or seventy bucks.”
I looked over to the passenger seat.
“That’s about the same price as a dozen roses, isn’t it?”