Prom Kings and Drama Queens (6 page)

I looked at a tattooless Daniel, who was five foot ten and weighed 130. Could I get in even more trouble if I shaved a couple of pounds off my weight? I was only five foot five and weighed almost as much as he did.

That kind of information was never supposed to be public.

The room was freezing and every word we uttered seemed to echo a thousand times. When the cop was finished, Daniel and I sat motionless without saying a 50

word to each other. I’d seen enough shows on TV to know there might be a two-way mirror or a tape recorder or something.

The only sound in the room was Daniel’s heel bouncing up and down on the tile floor.

My life as I had formerly known it flashed through my head. I’d wanted Brian Harrington to notice me and now the whole school was going to notice me. But not in a good way. In a skanky ex-con kind of way.

I looked at my watch. Ten forty-five. Making curfew was just a fantasy now. I wasn’t sure what would happen next, but I was pretty sure it would involve me, my parents, and a whole lot of screaming.

After the longest half hour of my life, my mom and dad showed up. But, strangely, there was not a whole lot of screaming. There was, however, a lot of cold silence.

Daniel and I were told to go up to the front desk.

The only time my parents spoke was to talk to the policeman in charge.

It was different when Daniel’s parents saw him. His mom called out his name really loud, rushed over to him, and kissed him on the head. His dad, who was a lawyer, began talking in a booming voice with a whole lot of legal terms I didn’t understand. It reminded me of a cartoon I once saw with a man talking to his dog, but all the dog hears is “Blah, blah, blah, Ginger, blah, blah, 51

blah.” The only words I really heard were “let them go.” The next thing I knew, I was in the back of my dad’s car. This time I put on the seat belt.

Silence.

That is until we left the parking lot.

“Emily! What were you thinking?” That was my father.

“We were worried sick when we got the call.” That was my mother.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I said. My eyes stung as tears spilled out. “I’ll never do anything like that again. I’m so sorry.”

“Do you have any idea what the consequences of this could be?” My father again.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” Back to Mom, whose voice was verging on hysterical.

Silence.

“Well?” Both of them at the same time.

“I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong,” I said.

“I just wanted to get a scoop for the school newspaper.

I thought I’d be sure to get the editor job next year if I could show what kind of investigative reporter I was.”

“Excuse me,” my mother said. “Lying to me about where you were going wasn’t wrong?” I hesitated. “Well, that part was wrong. But really it was all because I wanted to get the story.” Again, maybe that wasn’t the whole truth. There was the tiny little 52

part about having a major crush on Brian Harrington and how I’d follow him anywhere just to find out more about him.

I tried to impress upon my parents how I’d thought getting the story, and subsequently the editor position, would have really helped me get into a good college, but they suddenly got way past wanting to hear more of my side of the story.

Both went on and on about what a stupid thing I’d done and thank goodness Lindsay had called them about the car. And who did Daniel and I think we were, anyway, Woodward and Bernstein?

I didn’t think it was a good time to tell them that Daniel and I were nothing like Woodward and Bernstein because Daniel and I were not partners in any sense of the word.

It was late by the time we got home. My parents sent me up to my room and told me to get a good night’s sleep because there was no way I was missing school the next day.

I took a quick shower and smeared some soap over my lips where Daniel had kissed me. He was definitely not the person I’d hoped to lock lips with that night.

53

SEVEN

Emily’s Power Wanes

Monday morning. The morning after. I’d heard that phrase used after an evening of excess and decadence.

But the only thing I’d done that came close to debauch-ery was the whole handcuff thing, and that was definitely not a kinky experience. Nope. No kink at all.

Unless you threw in Daniel’s surprise smoocheroo, which, eww, I was trying to forget.

After the parental Lecture on Lying, Part
Deux
over my cinnamon oatmeal, I was almost grateful to be in school. To be in homeroom with Ms. Davidson, who was also my third-year Latin teacher and all-time favorite. My gratitude, however, was short-lived. After the pledge, someone showed up at the door with a 54

request for my presence in the principal’s office.

Fortunately, Ms. Davidson didn’t make a scene when she handed me the note. But I could tell she was dying to know what was up.

Wait until she finds out: I came, I saw, I almost got arrested.
Veni, vidi
. . . crap.
Getting arrested
hadn’t come up in Latin class yet.

Ordinarily I’d find the principal’s office amusing—

Ms. Burns’s tiny frame tottering on four-inch heels that were supposed to make her look more authoritarian.

The giant oil painting of her on the wall. The embroi-dered pillow on her seat that read NO CHILD LEFT BEHIND

that she put her, uh, behind on. But as Daniel and I took the two seats across from her, all I could do was sit and tremble.

Ms. Burns pursed her lips, then spoke. “I received an interesting phone call this morning from the principal at Saint Bart’s. It seems a group of boys tried to cut down a landmark oak tree in front of the school.” She punctuated the sentence with more pursing.

There was a long silence. The only sound was Daniel’s heel bouncing up and down on the tile floor—again.

Would we be able to stick to our original story—

that it was too dark and Daniel and I weren’t able to see who was there? Or would she force the truth out of us with threats of expulsion or black marks on our per-manent records? My pulse kept time with Daniel’s foot 55

as the blood rushed to my head and began to throb at my temples.

Ms. Burns folded her hands on top of her dark wooden desk. “The vandals apparently were frightened by the police and got away before any real damage was done. But you two were not as fortunate. In fact, if you weren’t so-called
covering
the event for the school newspaper, the whole connection to Crestview Prep might have gone unnoticed.”

Wait a minute. What exactly was she saying? That Daniel and I were the ones to blame?

Ms. Burns shifted on her pillow. “I’ve spoken to Dean Anderson and your parents, and we’ve all agreed that it’s best to forget the whole incident.” Again.
Hello
? Was I hearing right? She actually didn’t
want
to know the identities of the chain saw gang?

She turned toward Daniel. “I believe your father worked it out that there would be no charges against either of you if you agreed to perform community service.”

I vaguely remembered hearing Mr. Cummings say something about that at the police station. In between trying to keep all my bodily functions from releasing at once.

“You may count those hours toward your school service requirement,” she added, “as long as there is absolutely no gossip about this incident at all.” She 56

leaned forward so that I could smell her stale coffee breath. “Are we clear on this?”

Daniel and I uttered low yesses in unison.

“You may go to class now,” she commanded, without getting up.

Daniel and I fumbled with our backpacks in silence and took the walk of shame from the chairs to the door.

Thankfully, none of the secretaries seemed interested in us as we slunk past their desks into the main hall.

“What was that?” I said. “Did I understand right?” Daniel shrugged. “Depends.”

I adjusted the weight of my backpack. “On what?”

“On what you think she said.” He walked away from the office door and down the hall toward a big sign that read BLUDGEON THE BULLDOGS.

“It sounded to me like she was telling us it was a
good
thing that we didn’t tell who we saw and we should keep it that way.”

Daniel snickered. “What happens at Crestview stays at Crestview.”

“Huh?” I said.

He snickered again. “How long have you been going to this school?”

I glared at him. “Since elementary school. Same as you.”

“And you still haven’t figured it out? Basketball reigns supreme. The team keeps winning. The school 57

gets more name recognition. That means more rich parents can brag at the beach club. If the team gets booted out of the finals, good-bye bragging rights and good-bye big-time benefactors.”

I thought for a second. “So it’s like we’re taking one for the team.”

Daniel laughed, and for the first time I noticed he had really straight teeth. “If you want to look at it that way, go ahead.”

The stench of Meatloaf Monday wafted from the cafeteria as we paused in front of the school trophy case. “Takin’ one for the team,” I said. “Pretty cool.”

“Yeah,” Daniel said. “Think we can get an athletic scholarship now?”

I caught the sardonic tone and didn’t respond. We continued walking down the deserted hallway. Several teachers’ voices penetrated their classroom doors and merged into one disjointed lecture. “So why did you lie about not knowing who was there?” I asked, conscious that it was the first time either of us had used the
L
word.

Daniel shrugged. “After you told the cops you didn’t see who it was, I realized you were right. I kept quiet for the same reason you did.”

I was pretty sure Daniel did
not
mean he also had a crush on Brian Harrington and that he did
not
want to jump Brian’s bones. But before I could think of a clever way to ask what he meant, I didn’t have to.

58

“You know,” he continued, “the First Amendment.

Freedom of the press.”

“Oh . . . yeah. Definitely,” I said. Well, I
could
have done it for that reason—maybe on a subconscious level.

“Even though we’re only in high school, we have rights, too. If we told who we saw, the next thing they’d want us to do was reveal our sources. No good journalist does that.” Daniel stopped and turned to me. “And there was another reason I couldn’t reveal my source.” I really hoped it was some shallow reason like mine so I wouldn’t have to feel like such a sleaze. So far Daniel seemed more concerned about the Constitution, while I was more worried about my crush.

“What was the reason?” I said.

Daniel leaned toward me and I got a whiff of a woodsy smell. “You promise you won’t tell?” I shook my head.

“You know my sister’s a cheerleader. Well, she’s dating Austin Morell, one of the guys on the team. She’s got kind of a big mouth, and when we were talking about school, it slipped out that the players were planning something at Saint Bart’s.”

Okay. Daniel lied because of loyalty.

I lied because of lust.

Could I feel any guiltier?

“It wouldn’t have been fair to get her in trouble just because she can’t keep a secret,” Daniel added.

59

“Uh, sure, no,” I said. “Definitely not.” He looked at his watch. “The bell’s about to ring. I guess we may as well go on to second period.”

“Guess so.” As Daniel and I headed toward the stair-well, I thought of one more thing. “Would you have told if those guys had been doing something really wrong?” I said.

“Like what?”

“Like if they’d succeeded in cutting down the tree.” Daniel shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What if they’d hurt someone?”

“That’s different. I definitely would have stopped it,” Daniel said.

“Why?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it since last night.

Maybe journalists shouldn’t just report the news. When it’s something you really care about, maybe you should get involved.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“See you seventh period,” Daniel said. He climbed the stairs two at a time and I headed toward my U.S.