Little Black Lies (23 page)

Carling took Charlie down, all right. When her screams didn't stop, teachers, students, even a few parents who happened to be on the second floor rushed to see what had happened. There, through the open door to the girls' bathroom, was Carling—her back against the far wall, ripped shirt gathered in her fists, wailing and keening like a wounded tiger cub. Charlie appeared so shocked, so vulnerable, so naked, he might as well have been skinned, standing before the crowd as Carling pointed at him and cried, “Look what he did to me,” over and over.

Students and teachers stared at Charlie, their faces curled up in horror and disgust. Ms. Solange shouted for someone to go down to the office, tell them to call the police. Seeing my father held by two teachers, dazed and confused, was too much for me. I tried to make them listen to me, to tell them this was a lie, but couldn't make my voice be heard above the commotion. When I saw actual fear in my father's eyes, I started to feel like my skin was on inside out. Otherworldly and faint. I leaned over onto my knees and tried not to throw up on the floor.

When I stood up again, Dad's eyes met mine. He shook his head, so sad, impossibly sad, and I said, “I'm sorry.”

They whisked him away.

Minutes later, Dad was in the office surrounded by cops, office staff, the principal. Mrs. Pelletier took over crowd control, trying to keep students out in the foyer, but it was like trying to stop water from pouring through a leaky bucket. Next to impossible. I told everyone what happened—that Carling had set him up—but by this time word had spread about the lies I'd told, about who I was, who I was not. My credibility was gone.

Now I stand in the office oblivious to the commotion, feeling as if I'm trapped in a nightmare. All I know is, without my lies none of it would have happened.

Poppy wanders in and stops beside me, leaning over the counter and smacking her gum as if bored. “You're some kind of new kid, aren't you?”

I don't answer.

“If you'd just gotten caught up with me, instead of that bitch Carling, life for you would have been totally different. I gave you my number the first day. If you'd called me at the start, you wouldn't have had to lie and shit.”

Shrugging, I mumble, “If I hadn't done a lot of things, life would have been different. I effed up my existence way before Ant. Just ask my mother.”

“Where's your mother?”

“Does it matter?”

“Guess not.”

Through Mr. Oosterhouse's window, I can see a police officer moving closer to my father with a pair of handcuffs in his fist. In the same chair she sat in the day Brice admitted he was broke sits Carling, still weeping, pointing. Lying.

Poppy blows an enormous bubble, reaches for an office pencil, and pops it, pulling the shredded gum back into her mouth with her tongue. “He's a pretty cool guy, your dad.”

“Yeah. He is.”

“One time after school my bike lock was jammed. He stayed late to fix it. Could have just snipped it off with the school's lock cutters, but he didn't want me to have to spend the money to buy a new one.” She looks at me. “He's just a guy who really cares.”

I nod sadly.

“So don't go thinking I'm doing this for you.”

“Doing what?”

She shoots me a look that says
Watch me,
and steps behind the counter to tap Mrs. Pelletier on the shoulder. When the vice principal looks her way, Poppy says, “This is one big waste of taxpayers' money. It didn't happen.” One by one, people stop talking. Heads turn to face Poppy. “Charlie didn't touch Carling.” She holds up her camera and smacks her gum. “I have the whole scam on film.”

I could kiss her.

When Mrs. Pelletier and the camera disappear into the principal's office and Poppy follows, I stop her. Thank her. I dig inside my backpack and pull out a paper bag. Inside it are the yoga pants. “Take these,” I say. “Someone decent should have them.”

I hand it to her and she looks inside, crumples the bag shut, and hands it back to me. “I'm not like you, Sara. I don't need to profit from my choices.”

By lunchtime, everyone knows the truth. That Charlie did nothing but enter the girls' room and ask about the mess. That Carling had planned to take him down because of the stolen math test. That Poppy's camera finally proved to be something more than an annoyance.

The funny thing is, it was Sloane's laziness that saved Charlie. Her sleepy manner meant she checked most of the stalls in the girls' room, but never bothered to look into the last stall on the left. She bumped it open, Poppy said, but never poked her head in to see someone squatting on the toilet seat. Poppy had been in the end stall filming the graffiti on the walls to make a short video about adolescent poetry when Carling came in with her blouse ripped open and ready. “I figured the bitch was up to something,” Poppy explained to the police when they came out of the principal's office. “Why not get it on film?”

It's a full hour before the office is cleared out, the police gone. Dad and I are told we can collect ourselves in the principal's office, which looks nothing like you'd expect from a man who heads up one of the most elite high schools in the country, with its painted cinderblock walls, buzzing overhead lights, and sick plants on the windowsill. I would have expected a roaring fireplace maybe. A wet bar and a leather chair that smells of stale cigar smoke. As it is, the only thing worthy of such a room is the brass banker's lamp on Mr. Oosterhouse's desk—but it looks embarrassed by its humble surroundings. This office could be in any other school, even Finmory.

Mr. Oosterhouse is still with the police, so Dad and I are alone for the first time since the incident. Neither of us speaks.

Outside the window, fat snowflakes drift down from the darkened sky. As I nudge Charlie to look outside, I notice a crowd gathering at the window of the outer office as well. People are smiling and pointing. It's the first snowfall of the year.

I finished
Crime and Punishment
last night. There's a moment at the end, after he's confessed, where Rascal looks around at the other convicts in prison. He's kind of astonished by how much these guys appreciate life, even while locked up. How much they appreciate simple things—trees, sunlight, babbling streams. For a moment he thinks he's different. That he's oblivious to whatever life there is around him. But a few pages later he sits on a riverbank, on a log, looking out at the sunshine and listening to a song coming from a gypsy camp. It is here that he finally appreciates life. Sadness, too, because he must wait seven more years to live free again and finally be with his girl.

People aren't as different as you'd think. Anyone, whether from Lundon or Boston, would find this office depressing. Anyone, with the exception of the most determined snow haters, would get a little thrill from the beauty of these snowflakes. If I hadn't lied, I would still be looking at these snowflakes, wishing I could taste them. Would it have really been so bad to have tasted them as the janitor's daughter?

Just like Rascal's prisonmates, the Carlingettes would have sneered at me anyway. They sneer at everyone! My lies never bought me Carling's respect. My brains did. The
janitor's daughter's
brains.

Wait. Did I just disprove the Genius Theory?

The office is silent but for the stuttering
tick-tock
of an ailing clock on the desk.

“Dad?” I scoot my chair closer until our knees touch. “About what happened. No, not about what happened. About what I did …”

Placing his hand behind my neck, he pulls me forward and lays his cheek against the top of my head. “I know you're sorry.”

“You don't know
how
sorry, Dad. I'd come up with a list of reasons why I lied, but there won't be one single reason that will even come close to explaining it away or making it better. Plus, I stole your keys and snuck into the office….”

“You were absolutely right.”

“To lie and steal? You might change your mind when you hear what I took.”

“What you said back in the hallway this morning. About me. You warned me about that girl and I didn't hear you. All this time you've been telling me something and I've chosen to block it out. I'm sorry for that.”

I stare at his hands; only one bandage remains on his knuckles. For the first time I notice he's taken off his wedding ring. There's no white strip of skin where it once was, always was. Which means I've been too busy counting his bleeding knuckles to notice my father has taken at least one big step toward moving on already. I reach forward and wrap my arms around his neck. “I wish it would just vanish—the OCD.”

He kisses my head and releases me. “It doesn't work like that, Sarie-bear. I wish it did. But I think it's time your old man gets himself some help.”

The principal glides into the room and hands me my cell phone. “I'm told this is yours, Sara. It was found on the floor. Looks like it's taken quite a beating.”

I try to turn it on but it's dead. “Thanks.”

He drops into his chair, leans forward onto his desk, and smiles at us. “I am truly sorry for all of this. Charlie, you've been here a relatively short time, but the staff has come to care about you. I hope you'll accept the school's apologies for what happened.”

Charlie shakes his head. “Not necessary.”

“I hope it hasn't turned you off our school?”

“No, no,” says Dad. “Anton's a fine place. A bit toilsome when it comes to homework, but a fine school.”

“Good. Nasty business, all this. All over a stolen exam. We come down hard on cheating in this school. With all the pressure, it can be tempting for students to look for the easy way. But it's bad for our reputation and with all the fuss that's gone on today, you can be sure we'll be conducting an in-depth investigation with regard to the theft.”

I squeeze the arms of my chair and try not to faint. I'm going to need my strength.

The principal reaches for a sheet of paper and slides it across the desk to my father. “I'd been planning to speak with you for a few days now, but thought, with what's happened, I'd better catch you before you go home because I'm hoping you'll consider what I have in mind. This facility has never looked better since you've come aboard. You're exactly the sort of dedicated professional we've been looking for, right down to your pressed uniform.”

Dad glances at me and winks.

“There was a certain incident a little while back, but if you're willing to guarantee you will seek help through a school board–approved doctor, we have an offer for you. What I'm hoping you'll consider is a promotion to head up our custodial staff.” The principal taps the edge of the paper. “It will mean more money and a definite step up.” He wiggles the paper on the desk.

Dad studies it for a moment, then pushes it away and shakes his head. “Sorry. It's a kind offer, a good offer, but I can't accept.”

No. He can't keep avoiding promotion. He can't keep clinging to failure. “Dad, don't keep doing this! You just said you were going to listen. You were going to change.”

He pushes my hair off my shoulder. “I was planning to tell you this tonight, sweetheart. But I guess now's as good a time as any. I've been speaking with Alex Reiser, the man selling the cars over in Brookline. Leo's father.”

I look at him, stunned. And terrified. “About what?”

“I asked him for a job. In Reiser's vintage-cars division. He said he's willing to give me a chance. It's a division he's never really staffed properly and I convinced him we might be able to make it profitable. If he ever agrees to sell any of the cars, that is.”

“Seriously? You'd be working in an office?”

“More of a garage slash showroom. But you, of all people, will understand there's not much, other than looking at my daughter's face, that makes me happier than being under the hood of an antique car.”

I'm still too stunned by the morning to smile, but I'm happy for him. “Wow. I can't believe it.”

The principal clears his throat. “Well, I can't exactly compete with Reiser Industries. I don't suppose you'll miss the cleaning.”

Dad laughs. “My daughter always says it's the dirtiest thing I could do. I finally agree with her.”

“We certainly won't be happy to lose you, Charlie.” Mr. Oosterhouse frowns, then turns to me. “Sara, I do hope you'll consider staying on with us. From what I hear, you're a solid student. Your teachers are all quite happy with you.”

“I haven't signed anything yet,” Dad says to me. “Not until you give your approval. Because if I take the job, it'll mean leaving Anton High. Moving to New York, starting over yet again. What do you think, Sara? Maybe try to get into another one of these schools for geniuses in New York?”

Mr. Oosterhouse interrupts. “I'm not sure they'll take a new junior, even if she could pass the entrance tests. Not without a parent on staff.” He shoots me a smile. “But if you'd like, we can make a few phone calls and find out. You're a good student and we'll help any way we can.”

It's time to end the charade. I can't stand one more person thinking I'm a decent human being. “I'm not sure you'll feel that way when you hear what I've done.”

Dad and Mr. Oosterhouse wait for me to continue.

“Carling had the test because I stole it.”

“You?” The principal is shocked. “But your grades are the highest in your class.”

“I didn't take it for me.”

He looks away, blinking fast. “I don't know what to say. It's the last thing I expected.”

“If anyone gets expelled, it should be me.” I set the yoga pants on his desk. “And while I'm at it, it's not something I set out to do, but I stole these from the Store.”

It's as if I've grown warts, fangs, and two extra heads. His expression is one of horror mixed with sorrow. “I'm afraid stealing the exam means an automatic expulsion. Now, it does appear you're leaving anyway, but an infraction of this magnitude will mean the better high schools in New York will be out of the question. Your record will reflect your … misdeeds.”

“You mean, I can't go to
any
high school?”

“Only the designated public high school for your neighborhood. A regular school for regular kids.”

“This record, will it follow me to college?”

“I'm not going to lie, Sara. Even with your grades, it is likely you'll get passed over by more than a few colleges.”

But not
all
colleges. Surely he doesn't mean
all
colleges.

It's as if he reads my mind. His face softens. “Don't worry. There are plenty of good schools out there. You'll find your place in the world.”

My place in the world. I'm not sure that will ever exist.