The Mighty Quinn (23 page)

Neally snuck into the office and knelt beside the orange chair. “Quinn?” She glanced at the principal's door and lowered her voice. “Kelsey says you and Matt fought, and Matt's eye ...”

“No! He already
had
a black eye. He kept pushing me for no reason and bumped his head into me.” Quinn buried his face in his hands. “What's going on?”

“I believe you.”

“But it's my word against his. He's in there telling Shirkner that I hit him.”

The door next to the chair opened, and the secretary, Mr. Shirkner, and Matt emerged from the principal's office. Neally stood up and stared at Matt's face.

“Annie Parker usually arrives by eight forty-five.” The secretary clicked her long pink fingernails against her clipboard. “Shall I have him wait outside her office?”

“I won't see no stupid nurse,” Matt muttered.

“You wait with Matt, and get one of the teacher's aides to watch the phones,” Mr. Shirkner said to the secretary. “If Nurse Parker isn't in by nine, bring him back here ... no, belay that. She can check him out later.” The principal looked sternly at the two boys. “They're not missing class time for this. If she's not here by nine, walk him to his class. Quinn? My office, please.”

Neally wiggled her hand. Quinn saw that she was making the “okay” sign with her fingers.

“Excuse me, Miss ...?”

“Ms. Neally Ray Standwell.” Neally pointed at Quinn and Matt. “I know them.”

“Were you a witness to the fight, Ms. Standwell?”

“There was no fight. Everybody knows Quinn doesn't fight.”

“I asked, were
you
a witness?”

“There were no witnesses,” Neally said.

“So Matt tells me. So my playground supervisor tells me. We'll see what Quinn has to say.” Mr. Shirkner's face softened. “It's good of you to support your friends, Ms. Standwell, but you need to go to class.”

“Okay.” Neally slowly backed toward the office door, staring at Matt the entire time.

Mr. Shirkner addressed the boys. “So, what is he going to do with us, you're thinking.”

The voice was a rhythmic, muffled pounding in Quinn's ears, as if Mr. Shirkner was speaking underwater. Quinn felt his chin quiver, and he concentrated on looking directly into his principal's eyes, hoping a steady gaze would be taken as a proof of innocence. He felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle when he noticed that Mr. Shirkner was not wearing his signature bow tie, nor any kind of tie, but a green plaid sweater vest over a navy blue turtleneck shirt. Was this a good or bad omen?

“I am not going to call either of your parents until after I've spoken with Quinn. But I will call them. You two are aware of the school's policy on fighting?”

Quinn swallowed hard. “I didn't fight,” he mumbled.

“The one who starts it gets suspended,” Matt said defiantly.

Mr. Shirkner held up his hand. “Not now; not here. You've had your say, Matt.” He nodded at the secretary. “I want Matt in class in fifteen minutes. Let's not waste the morning on this. I'll get Quinn's story, then at recess I want you both
here
.” He pointed to the orange chair.

Mr. Shirkner escorted Quinn into his office and shut the door. Neally backed out of the office and into the hallway, then spun around and slapped her hand to her forehead. “I forgot my lunch, and I don't have a cafeteria account! May I call my dad?” she pleaded to the secretary.

“Make it quick.” The secretary tapped the phone on
the counter above her desk. She marched Matt out the main office door and down the hall, toward the nurse's office.

“Dad! I have to talk fast; it's very important,” Neally gasped into the phone. “No, I'm fine, but you've got to get Mom's nursing book—the one Quinn and I were ... yes, that's it. Can you bring it to me, in class, right now? It's practically a matter of life and death.”

The frog clicker made a record number of appearances before the dismissal for recess. Ms. Blakeman said nothing about what had happened; she merely nodded and said, “Take your seat” when first Matt and then Quinn returned to class. But the whisper level made it clear that every one of her fifth graders had a theory about what had happened by the bicycle racks.

Matt was the first student out the door when Ms. Blakeman excused the class for morning recess. Quinn was one of the last to leave. He thought of asking Neally to come with him, but she stayed at her desk, intently examining whatever was in the bag her dad had brought her.

Sam was waiting for Quinn at the bottom of the ramp. “I can't do recess,” Quinn said.

“Why?”

“I have to go back to the office. We have to stay there 'til ... I don't know. Shirkner wants to talk with both of us before he calls our parents.”

“Ah, yes, to give you a chance to get your stories
straight.” Sam tapped his finger against his temple. “It's a classic interrogation technique.”

The two boys walked toward the main building. “What did you tell him?” Sam asked.

“The truth. Matt's story was probably way longer.”

“I know you didn't hit Matt.”

“
I
know I didn't hit him. But if I didn't, who did? That's what Shirkner will be thinking.”

“Maybe Matt accidentally bumped into something, and he's trying to get you in trouble because you told on him about the Noble Woods. Does Shirnker know about that? I would be happy to present my hypothesis.” Sam bowed deeply. “Samuel Jefferson Washington, Elementary School Attorney, at your service.”

“This isn't funny.” Quinn stomped his foot. “Matt said I did it, I said I didn't. Who's Shirkner gonna believe?”

“Excellent point. You need the services of a Master Crime Scene Investigator.”

Quinn and Sam stopped outside the office and peered through the window. Matt was sprawled on the orange chair.

“Brave Master Barker doesn't want to brave the playground with a black eye,” Sam said.

“We're
both
supposed to be here. I'm staying outside 'til Shirkner calls us. I don't want to be around Matt until I have to.”

“So, until you have to, what did you do yesterday?”

Quinn grinned at Sam, grateful for the distraction. He told Sam about how he had gone with Neally's family to Gales Creek Park, how they had picked up trash, how Neally's dad had even scooped up dog poop.

“You went to a park and picked up dog poop?” Sam cleared his throat. “The Universal Park Users Manual clearly states that people should go to parks to play, or have a picnic. Some kind of enjoyment must be involved.”

“We did have a picnic. But we worked first. Neally, her mom, and I picked up trash. Her dad was the only one picking up dog poop. And he used two pairs of really thick gloves.”

“A dog-poop, trash-pickup picnic.” Sam shook his head. “That's my idea of a fun time.”

“Me too.” Quinn pretended to take Sam seriously. His day at Gales Creek Park
did
sound funny. Funnier still was figuring out a way to describe what a good time he'd had. Yes, he picked up trash at another park, but this time was different. They did it by themselves, just because it needed doing. Nobody was there to clap for them, and there was no prize involved ...

“They do this every other week. A family of Canada Geese was in the creek, and a beaver paddled right past the goslings. The goose parents didn't chase the beaver. They must be friends or something. Next week I'm going with Neally's family to make lunches for a food bank. I bet you could come along. We could ...” Quinn
had almost forgotten where he was, until the principal tapped on the office window. Quinn felt as if an icicle had slid down his spine.

“Quinn?” Mr. Shirkner tugged at the sleeves of his shirt. “Step inside, please.”

“No, wait!” Neally ran down the hallway, clutching a large book to her chest with both hands. She skidded to a stop, bracing herself against the office doorframe. “Quinn couldn't have caused Matt's black eye,” she panted, “and I can prove it.”

“Ha!” Matt jabbed his finger at Sam and Neally. “They're his friends,” he snarled.

“Friends with
evidence
,” Sam said brightly.

Quinn looked eagerly at Sam, who turned expectantly toward Neally.

The corners of Mr. Shirkner's mouth twitched upward. “Come on in.”

“Whaaa ...?” Matt sputtered.

“I'll hear the so-called ‘evidence.'” Mr. Shirkner shushed Matt with a sharp look. “Then Matt, if you've anything to add, you may do so.”

The principal led the four students into his office and shut the door. He directed Neally and Sam to the sofa by the side of his desk, and Quinn and Matt to the two chairs in front of his desk. Mr. Shirkner sat in a leather chair behind the desk. “All right. Ms. ... Ms. Standwell, is it?”

“Please, I hope you'll call me Neally.” Neally smiled sweetly. “This is my colleague, Samuel Jefferson Washington. And you've met Quinn.”

“Yes, I have.” Mr. Shirkner's mouth began to twitch again. “Now, what's this evidence?”

“There's no way Matt's eye could be that color if Quinn hit him, or if
anyone
hit him, just this morning. I looked it up.” Neally stood up and set her book on Mr. Shirkner's desk. “This is a medical book on skin injuries, and here's the chapter on bruises.” She opened the hefty volume to a bookmarked page. “These pictures show the stages a bruise goes through when it heals. See how it starts out red and puffy, then goes to black and bluish-purple, and then fades to a yellowish-green? Here's an example of the stages on a person's leg, and here,” she turned the page, “are the stages of a bruise on a face.”

“Where did you get this?” Mr. Shirkner asked.

“My mother's a professor at a nursing school. What did Nurse Parker say about Matt's eye?”

“Nurse Parker hasn't seen him yet.” Mr. Shirkner stroked his fingers across his chin and looked across his desk at Matt. Shirkner did not protest when Sam and Quinn came over to the side of his desk and leaned over his shoulder to look at the book. Matt remained rooted to his chair, his arms folded across his chest, his heels kicking the chair's front legs.