I’ve never been called to the principal’s office. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve never even talked with the man in all my time of being at this high school. Still, I’m nervous as hell when I’m called to the front of the class, even though I know I haven’t done anything wrong. Maybe there’s something wrong with my schedule. Hopefully it’s not some kind of emergency. 

“Hi, Clarissa,” he says as we step out of the classroom and the heavy door swings shut behind us.

“Hello…” I say, as my thoughts shoot off in different directions. Why is the principal walking with me? Even knowing I haven’t done anything wrong, I’m still a little scared right now.

“I’d like you to join me in my office with Linda Bradley,” he continues, his steps much longer than mine so I have to rush to keep up with him.

“Mrs. Bradley?” I say, totally confused. But then I remember what I saw this morning, and I’m pretty sure I know why the boss of my part time job is here at the school. “Is this about the greenhouse?”

“Yes. I’m afraid some vandals have destroyed it. Linda Bradley asked me to get you because I hear you’ve had something to do with maintaining it.”

I shrug. “I built it this summer. We were supposed to plant flowers in it for the kids.”

“That’s a shame,” he says as we step into the front office. He leads me down the hallway and to his office, which is huge and has a whole wall of windows that faces the front of the school.

Mrs. Bradley sits in one of the chairs, and she smiles at me as I enter. “Have you seen the damage?” she asks. Little frown lines cross her forehead.

I nod. “I saw it from a distance this morning, but I haven’t been over there yet. What happened?”

“I’m afraid it was vandalized,” Principal Walsh says. “The police have already looked into it, and I’ve asked for more time to find the culprits before they do anything.”

“Oh, I don’t want to press charges,” Mrs. Bradley says, shaking her head. A strand of her auburn hair falls out of the bun on top of her head. “I would like restitution so we can buy the materials and rebuild.”

She looks over at me, giving me this encouraging smile that I guess is supposed to make me feel better.

“Is any of it salvageable?” I ask.

They both shake their head. “I’m afraid the damage was extensive,” says Principal Walsh.

My throat tightens. No, no, no, Clarissa. Don’t do this here, my brain screams. But my heart doesn’t listen, and soon hot tears are pouring from my eyes, rolling down my cheeks.

I swipe them away as soon as they begin, but it’s no use. I keep thinking of the greenhouse, of all that hard work and sweat and blood I poured into it with Grandpa. Mrs. Bradley’s hand rubs my back.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” she says. “We’ll fix it.”

I shake my head. “I can’t fix it. Not without my grandpa.”

When I look up, both the principal and Mrs. Bradley are watching me with curious expressions. I take a deep breath and explain. “He has glaucoma. He did all the hard work this summer but now he’s mostly blind. He can’t help me build it again.”

“We can hire someone,” Mrs. Bradley says. “It’s okay. We’ll get someone to build it.”

I shake my head. “It’s not the same. I was doing this for my grandmother and now it’s just—not the same.”

I look at my hands in my lap and try to remember all the work Grandpa did this summer. Building the wooden frame and raising it into place was the hardest part. Maybe Livi can help me and we can do it again. I’ll need tools and more strength than I have, though.

The office door opens and a short woman with curly black hair enters. “I found something,” she says, handing Principal Walsh a flash drive. “I believe you were right.”

“So it was a student who did this?” he says, frown lines deepening on his lips. He shakes his head. “Since the property lines are so close together, we’ve had trouble with students going to the daycare over the years. Usually they just hop the fence and play on the playground after hours. But this is unacceptable and not at all the kind of behavior I’d expect from a Robert Cullen High student.”

He plugs in the flash drive and then turns his computer monitor sideways so we can all see it.

The video is of security footage from the side of the school building. It’s black and white, in night vision mode, and the picture isn’t that clear, but I can make out my greenhouse in the distance. It’s still standing when the video starts.

We all watch silently as a guy runs up to it. He’s swaying a little like he might be drunk. He turns around and yells in the distance. Then another guy runs up. They seem to argue for a minute, but we can’t hear anything because the video doesn’t have any sound.

I watch the two figures as one of them picks up a hammer, my hammer, and swings it at my beautiful greenhouse.

My heart plummets as the first hole cracks through the surface. The drunk guy throws his hands in the air victoriously and swings some more. It almost seems like the second guy is trying to talk him out of it, but before long, he’s taken up another tool and is smashing my greenhouse, too.

My chest aches and I want to look away.

“I’m sickened to say that these people are definitely high school students,” Principal Walsh says.

“Wow,” Mrs. Bradley murmurs as we watch the guys swing together at one of the corner posts. It wobbles and shakes, but eventually it falls, taking half the roof with it.

My tears have dried up, but it hurts so bad to watch these assholes rip apart my entire summer’s work. They jump on the green plastic walls, cracking them into bits so they can never be used again. My clay pots are thrown and smashed. The five gallon bucket Grandpa used as a chair gets slammed against the concrete foundation until it cracks in half.

“What is wrong with people?” I say softly as I continue to watch the destruction.

“Maybe they will get closer to the camera when they leave,” Principal Walsh says. “We need to find a way to identify them.”

We keep watching the destruction on screen. It lasts for over twenty minutes. When my entire greenhouse is destroyed, the two people stop and admire their work. They look like guys, but from the small, grainy video footage, it’s hard to tell for sure.

When they decide to leave the scene, they don’t come closer to the school like we’d hoped. Instead they just walk the property line between the daycare and the school and head back to the road. But right before they leave the camera’s pathway, they walk under the light of a nearby streetlamp.

The light illuminates the bright white logo on the front of their matching black hoodies.

The Hornets Soccer team logo.

Only a handful of students in this entire school have that jacket. They are all guys, and they’re all on the soccer team.

“It should be easy to weed out who is responsible for this,” Principal Walsh says. “And when we do, we will get restitution for you, Linda.”

Mrs. Bradley nods, then turns her attention to me. “It’ll be okay, Clarissa. We’ll get the greenhouse fixed again. I know how important it is to you.”

I nod dumbly but I’m not really paying attention. All I can think about is the memory of that video, of those complete jerks who would destroy something that’s not theirs. I think of the soccer team hoodies, how all of those popular jocks walk around wearing it all day long.

And then I think of my homeroom class where I sit next to three of them. They’re always loud and obnoxious, making jokes and whispering stupid stuff to each other when we’re supposed to be paying attention in class. Like Gavin Voss, who has a face that’s permanently cocky, and he’s so stuck up he thinks it’s okay to put his feet on someone else’s chair.

I don’t know which one of these guys destroyed my grandpa’s last project, but as soon as I find out, I will make them pay.