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Pembroke Hall Student Council

President: Eric McCormack

Vice President: Richard Gilati

Faculty Adviser: Davida Rogers

Of course, Miss Rogers was the faculty adviser. It seemed that everything about this mission had been specifically designed to make me uncomfortable, stump me, and trip me up. Like one of those game shows where they knock people into a pool of green slime. I was just waiting for a huge foam battering ram to smack me in the face.

I looked at the first line of the agenda: Organic Lunch Initiative.

Then a bright idea popped into my head. “I’m going to let…” I looked down at the sheet again. “…Richard, our vice president, take the lead on this first issue, because I can’t really be impartial about something my mother is so passionate about.”

The council nodded respectfully, as did Miss Rogers. Phew.

I sat down and a pear-shaped boy with thinning black hair and bags under his eyes stepped to the front of the room. “Thank you, Eric. How unlike you to relinquish your podium.”

I smiled wanly.

“Okay, kids,” he went on. “The Organic Lunch Initiative. The plan has been brought to the board by local nutritionist Linda McCormack, who happens also to have birthed our president.”

Linda!
I thought, triumphant. My mom’s name is Linda.

Richard went on. “This is a hot-button issue. It would raise the nutritional content of our meals, while also raising the price. Do the nutritional benefits outweigh the increased cost? I’ll now hear opinions.”

Richard Gilati removed a miniature gavel from the pocket of his blue blazer and tapped it ceremoniously on the desk. He waited for the rest of the council to shout out their arguments, but the room was silent.

Miss Rogers cleared her throat. “Well, when I was here—”

“Six long years ago!” Platinum-Pigtails joked.

Miss Rogers smiled good-naturedly. “You have to respect me, no matter how young I am. I’m the only one here with a teaching degree.” She lifted her nose in the air. “Now, when
I
was here, I remember there being not too many healthy options for lunch. It doesn’t matter when you’re a teenager—you can still eat whatever you want and not have it show up anywhere on your body. But when you get to be an old woman, like me, you start to see how important it is not to eat processed junk.”

What a food snot!
came a voice in my head. The voice wasn’t my own—it was an older woman’s. I let my brain go soft, and the voice spoke again.
What a food snot!
Yes, I’d definitely heard it before. It was a memory. The woman sounded strong, Midwestern, sarcastic, funny. Could that be my mom? I tried to latch onto the sound, but it had gone.

Suddenly, the classroom door flew open and the two policemen I’d seen earlier were standing in the doorway, flanking the same comb-over-suit man.

“Eric,” the man said. “These policemen need to speak to you in private.”

A hush fell over the room. All eyes were on me.

I wanted to sprint through the wall of windows and continue running until I was deep in the woods. I didn’t like police. I instinctively shrank every time I saw a cop.

“About…what?” I asked.

“They just need to know where you were last night.”

The room began to tilt back and forth and I felt like there was a churning ball of hot metal behind the bridge of my nose. The jig was up. Miss Rogers would be fired, at the very least, and Eric would lose his new girlfriend.

“Let’s go down to the station, son,” the short policeman said.

I stood proudly and gathered my backpack. I turned to the room and said, “For the record, last night I was in my bedroom.”

Everyone let out an uneasy laugh. I hadn’t mentioned
what
I was doing in my bedroom, of course.

As I turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of Miss Rogers’ face. Her eyes were wide and black and glazed over with fear.

The police station wasn’t as crazy as it is in TV shows—no schizophrenic people pulling out guns and mowing down the officers—but it wasn’t a pleasant place to be, either. It smelled like shoe leather and sweat, and the lighting was the kind that could drive a person mad—so fluorescent that it was almost purple, with horseflies buzzing around the bulbs.

The two policemen, Officer Jackson (the shorter one) and Officer Braverman (the taller one), sat me down in a windowless room, while the man in the suit with the bad comb-over leaned in the corner, his arms folded over his chest. One strand of hair had fallen out of place and cut across his forehead like a rip in a painting.

“All right, son,” said Jackson. “Where were you last night?”

“I was in my room. All night.” It felt good coming out of my mouth. It was the truth.

“Anyone else home with you?”

Now came the hard part. “No,” I said. “I was alone.”

“You sure about that?” asked Braverman.

“Yes,” I said. The lies were harder to spit out, because my voice became gravelly and weak as I said them.

But what good would it do to get Miss Rogers fired? And what good would it do to destroy their burgeoning love affair? I had to lie.

“Why?” I asked. They hadn’t mentioned Miss Rogers yet—I wanted them to say it out loud, so I could make a dramatic show of denying it.

“Well,” Braverman went on, “it’s a shame that you were alone. Because the ‘studying by myself’ alibi doesn’t really hold up against fingerprint evidence.”

“Fingerprint evidence of what?” I asked, dumbfounded. Had someone swabbed Miss Roger’s boobs and found Eric’s prints?

“As it turns out,” Jackson said, “someone hacked into Principal Schecter’s computer last night, Wednesday the eleventh, at 8:13 p.m.” Jackson turned around and nodded in the direction of the comb-over man, who apparently was Principal Schecter. “Whoever this person was, they really did a number on your grades. Very imaginative. Lotta ninety-nines, lotta one hundreds. Raised every grade by at least ten points.”

My mouth hung open. This was not the controversy I’d imagined. So it had nothing to do with Miss Rogers, after all.

“Well, it couldn’t have been me,” I answered, “because I was home all night.”

“Interesting,” said Braverman, “given that your fingerprints were all over the principal’s keyboard.”

I gasped. “How?”

Jackson smiled. “Well, there’s usually only one way a person’s prints get on something, and that’s by them putting their fingers on it. So, if we’ve got your prints on the keyboard, and you’re home alone all night with no one to corroborate your story, do you see where that leaves us?”

But I do have someone to corroborate my story! I wanted to scream. I have a rock-solid alibi! Unfortunately, sharing the alibi might do more damage than staying silent.

“But it couldn’t have been me!” I pleaded. “I never left my house last night!”

“Then how do you suppose your prints landed on my keyboard, Eric?” Principal Schecter demanded, emerging from the corner. His voice was much lower than you’d imagine. He had an angular face, with a wiry body and teeth that were too perfectly formed to be real.

“I don’t know, sir, but I didn’t put them there!” I yelled, trying hard not to cry. I was getting a bitter taste of the nightmare of being falsely accused of a crime.

“Listen, Mr. McCormack,” Schecter said, sitting across from me. “You’re a good student. I know that you have a bright future, and I don’t want to see that damaged any more than you do. If you’ll just admit to what you did, I’ll go easy on you. I’ll have you expelled from Pembroke Hall, of course—I have no leeway there—but I will drop all criminal charges and your permanent record will be clean. Otherwise, you could stand trial and be sent to prison. Am I right?” Schecter turned back to Braverman and Jackson, who nodded.

“I…” I didn’t know what to say.

“We’ll give you a day to think about it,” said Schechter. “But I’m sure you’ll realize that what I’m offering you is quite…merciful.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Now, finally, I understood why I was being borrowed: to clear Eric’s name, without smearing Miss Rogers’ in the process.

Chapter
5

Thursday, 2:31 PM

W
hile Officers Jackson and Braverman drove me back to school, it occurred to me that I might have been mistaken in my protest.

I flashed back to when I’d arrived the night before: the clock had said 9:15 p.m. I’d certainly been in the house
after
9:15 p.m., but what about the hours beforehand? What if Miss Rogers had arrived at, say, 9 p.m.? What if Eric hadn’t been home until 9? What if he had been out hacking into the principal’s computer?

I had to know, because if that was the case, I had to accept Schecter’s offer. And the only person who would know the truth was my secret alibi: Miss Rogers.

When I got back to school, I headed straight for her office. As I walked through the halls, I felt heads swivel toward me as I passed. Did I have something on my face? I ran my hands over my cheeks and forehead, but nothing was there except stubble.

Why was everyone looking at me? Or did everyone already know what just happened?

I reached Miss Rogers’ office and peered inside. She was seated at her desk, her hair pulled back in a headband and hanging, thick and smooth, to her shoulders. She was dressed like a businesswoman—merlot sweater, charcoal trousers—but her face still looked like it belonged on a teenager.

She was staring down at some papers while a boy stood beside the desk, arguing with her. I ventured closer and recognized the thinning black hair and thick glasses as those of student council vice president Richard Gilati.

“I don’t think that Eric should be allowed to stay in office while his moral qualifications for leader of the student body are under suspicion,” said Richard. His nose floated in the air on a cloud of self-righteousness. How had he already heard about my moral qualifications being under suspicion?

“I think, under the circumstances, that I should assume the position of student council president.”

Miss Rogers looked up from her lap, amused. “I appreciate your concern, Richard, but I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“But Miss Rogers,” Richard said, lowering his voice. “You and I both know the position should have been mine in the first place. Unfortunately, these things typically turn into a popularity contest, but if we’re considering true qualifications—intellect, dedication, computer-engineering skills—then the position is mine.”

“Again, Richard, I appreciate your concern, but no.”

Richard scowled. “I hope you’ll reconsider once he’s expelled,” he said, huffing out of the office. I hid behind the open door and watched as he scurried down the hallway.

Could Richard have changed the grades? Seemed like he couldn’t wait for Eric to be expelled so he could take his seat on the student council.

I took a deep breath. Before jumping to conclusions about anyone else, I first had to rule out myself.

I stepped into Miss Rogers’ office and closed the door behind me.

“Hi,” I sighed. “Listen, before you say anything, they weren’t asking me about you at all.”

“I know, baby,” she said. “And I know what they’re accusing you of.”

“Geez! Does everyone know?”

“No one can keep a secret around here, you know that,” she said. “I was so panic-stricken that I called the vice principal right after you left and asked what they were questioning you about, and he told me.”

I sank miserably into the chair opposite her desk.

“I know you didn’t do it, love,” she said softly.

“How?”

She looked at me, cock-eyed. “Well, you and I were together the whole time yesterday, from three o’clock on. The only time you were out of my sight was when you went to pee. Unless you can run to a school and perpetrate computer fraud in the time it takes a normal person to pee, I don’t see how you could have done it.”

So I
was
innocent. I sighed with relief as she banged a fist on her desk.

“This
sucks
,” she said. “Way for the cops to put a damper on the whole thing.”

She
thinks it sucks? What about me?
“Is there any way…you can tell them that I was with you? Like, vouch for my whereabouts? Without telling them what was going on?”

Miss Rogers laughed and shook her head. “Eric, you know I can’t do that! Why would I be with you for hours after school? And off school property? It’s inappropriate!”

“But you
were
,” I said loudly.

“No, I
wasn’t
,” she said louder. “Okay, I need a hug,” she whispered. “This is too stressful.”

I personally didn’t mind wrapping my arms around Miss Rogers. But shouldn’t
she
be hugging
me
? I was the one being accused of fraud.

Plus, there was a window in the door of her office. What if someone passed by and saw us?

“What about the code of silence?” I asked. “We’re in school.”

“I don’t care,” she whimpered. “Just come here.”

I wound my way around to her side of the desk and wrapped my arms around her. She melted onto my shoulder.

We stayed there for a few moments, breathing together. Then we heard the sound of footsteps coming toward the office.

“Get off me!” she cried, pushing me away. “Someone could see us!”

“But
you’re
the one who wanted me to come hug
you
!” I said, bewildered.

There was a knock at the door—it was Reggie outside, the allergy-ridden student who’d accosted her with a doctor’s note in the parking lot that morning.

Miss Rogers motioned for me to stand aside and opened the door to let Reggie in. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, Miss R., but I’m concerned about the material I missed this morning.”

“It’s no problem, Reggie. Eric was just leaving.”

I walked out of the office, shaking my head in confusion. Miss Rogers seemed more concerned with keeping me by her side at any cost than helping me figure a way out of this. And she was acting, to quote Caterpillar in the cafeteria, “all twitchy.”