Confessions from the Principal's Chair (7 page)

I was disgusted. Her whining voice made me think of Marcy Willis, and I did not want to think about that person. "I am not concerned here with what Mrs. Simpson thinks of you. As a matter of fact, she probably does like you, but she obviously knows why the Purples don't." I pounded my fists down on the desk hard. "I think you have some idea too. You look like a smart girl to me. Are you going to make me ask Mrs. Simpson to come in here and testify? That wouldn't be very pleasant for you, would it?"

Serenity shook her head and stared down at her sneakers. "I don't have nice clothes," she said. "The Purples all have nice clothes?"

"Really?" This subject really did interest me. "Where do they buy them? I didn't see many places to shop around here." Serenity rolled her eyes like she thought a principal wouldn't ask that. Focus here, Bird, I told myself. I sort of cleared my throat. "Well," I said. "Maybe it doesn't matter where they buy them. Let's get on with the matter at hand." I was proud of coming up with that phrase, "the matter at hand." Things I had heard in the principal's office were coming in handy for me now. "Does every girl who doesn't wear the latest fashions get picked on, then?"

Serenity gave me a surly look and shrugged her shoulders. "Serenity," I said, and I leaned toward her. "Do not shrug when I ask you a question. I expect words in your answer. Do you understand me?" I was surprised to hear how principalish I sounded. Well, the girl was getting on my last nerve. Shrugging seemed to be her number one talent. "Now, I want to know if every girl who does not dress in a certain way is tormented!"

"No," she said, "just me."

"Very well, then, I think we can eliminate your clothing as the reason. I suggest you look a bit more deeply." I looked at her and waited, taping my fingers against my desktop and humming the song "Oklahoma."

"Maybe it's partly the things I say." She was staring at the floor again.

"Give me an example." I tried to make my voice warm, yet firm.

"Sometimes I exaggerate things." I could barely hear her, but as soon as the words sunk into my brain, I knew we were getting to the root of the problem.

"Serenity," I said. "I know this is hard for you, but I can only help you if you are honest with me. What things do you exaggerate? Give me an example,"

Tears started to roll down her cheeks. "The other day in history class the kids got Coach Pickle to talking about movies. If we can get him off the subject of history, sometimes we don't have to do anything all period." She stopped talking then, like she was finished with the story.

"Come on, Serenity. What did you say?"

"Well, Coach Pickle started talking about this Marilyn Monroe woman and how he loved her old movies." She stopped again.

"Yes," I said, "I know about Marilyn Monroe." I started using my hand like I was urging her to move. "Come on. What did you say?"

"Well, I put up my hand and I was going to say that I had watched some of Marilyn Monroe's movies, but I didn't." She stopped talking and made little sobbing sounds instead.

"I'm waiting," I said, using my hands again.

"I sort of said that I was adopted and that Marilyn Monroe was my birth mother."

I laughed out loud, and Serenity stopped crying to say, "You're not supposed to laugh at me and stuff. You're supposed to make me feel better."

"Serenity," I said, "Marilyn Monroe died ages ago. My mother told me once it was a long time before she was even born. Marilyn Monroe couldn't possibly be your birth mother."

"I didn't know when she died. I didn't even know she was dead." She wiped at her eyes with her hand, and I pulled a tissue from the box on my desk and handed it to her. Suddenly she stopped dabbing at her eyes. "Ms. Miller," she said, "how old are you?"

"Serenity, I don't think that my age is . . . " I paused. Trying to talk like a principal was suddenly hard. My mind raced. "Relevant! I mean my age is not relevant to this conversation."

She shrugged, and that was when I learned she was as good in math as she was in shrugging. "Well," she said, "I was just wondering because Coach Pickle said Marilyn Monroe died in 1962, and if that was before your mother was born, she must not be over forty-two, and that is pretty young for a principal's mother." She smiled at me.

"Did I say before my mother was born?" I didn't wait for her to answer, just went on fast. "Of course, I meant to say before I was born. Of course my mother would have to be lots older than forty."

"So," said Serenity, "you're over thirty, then?" She leaned across the desk to peer closely at me. "You look pretty good for that age."

This idiot girl was beginning to make me nervous. "Face cream," I said. "I use a lot of face cream." Then I remembered something important. "And stay out of the sun, Serenity." I nodded my head seriously. "Sun, that will make you look old before your time."

"Are you married, Ms. Miller?"

"Serenity, my personal life is not open for discussion, but I will tell you that I am not married. I have been too busy with my studies and my work to . . . " I sort of trailed off thinking what to say.

"To find a boyfriend? You've been too busy to find a boyfriend, right? Well, maybe I can help you out. Coach Pickle isn't married either. I think he was, but his wife left him or something. He's probably about your age."

"Serenity," I stood up. "Stop this nonsense at once. I would certainly never date a man who teaches at this school. It wouldn't look good to the school board or to Superintendent Morris."

"Sorry." She put up her hand as if to stop me from hitting her. "I didn't mean to set you off or anything. I guess you're pretty sensitive about not having any men in your life. I won't bring it up again."

I wanted to get the subject back to her, and I sat back down. "Tell me what happened in history class after Coach Pickle said Marilyn Monroe died in 1962."

"They all laughed, and today in math class, Nicole said right out loud that I was a big fat liar. Then I got up and slapped her."

"Well, you aren't fat, but I'd have to say you are a liar. Why do you make up lies and tell them at school? You know people will not believe you."

Serenity pushed her lips together hard, and at first I didn't think she was going to answer, but finally she started talking. "I don't know. Usually I'm just sitting there kind of daydreaming. I don't have any plans to say anything out loud, but then I get to thinking it would be so neat if what I was daydreaming about turned out to be true, and the next thing I know, I've said my dream out loud."

I tapped my fingers against the desk again and tried to think of what to say. I was pretty sure there had to be more to Serenity's problem than just not being able to keep her mouth shut. I had heard enough from counselors and principals and during my "deep inside yourself talks" with Rendi to know that adults always wanted to talk about serious reasons for kids acting out. I couldn't come up with any reasons that Serenity made stuff up, and I was pretty sure she wasn't going to come up with any right now. I'd have to stall for time. "Tell you what, Serenity," I said. "Why don't we end our little talk for right now and continue tomorrow."

"What time?" she said, "I could miss English again." I thought she looked too hopeful, and I made myself a note to check her schedule and make sure she didn't miss English again. "I'll call for you," I said. That was something I knew plenty about, being called to the principal's office. Then I remembered the last conversation I had had with Mrs. Howard, the counselor at my school in Denver. Like I told you, one of my real talents is remembering words. Anyway, I decided to repeat what Mrs. Howard had said to me, just with changes to make it fit Serenity's situation. "Before you go, though, I have a bit of wisdom to share with you." Mrs. Howard hadn't used that part about "wisdom," but personally I thought it was a good touch. "You know what the
Titanic
was, don't you, Serenity?"

"Sure," she said "I saw the movie, and we talked a bunch about it in Coach Pickle's class."

I wondered if she meant they had talked about the movie or about the real ship in Coach Pickle's class. I made a note that said, "Try to get into C. P.'s history class." I mean, I was the principal now, but I knew I would have to go to history class eventually. I got back to Serenity. "Good. Remember how the people fought over places in the lifeboats?" I waited for her to nod, and then I went on. "Well, Serenity, middle school is a lot like the
Titanic.
People who are in the right crowd, the in-group some people call it, well, those people aren't really bad people, but they are scared, just like the people on the
Titanic.
They get vicious when they're scared. They are afraid if other people get in the boat, or in the in-crowd, there won't be room for them, so they turn vicious and start hitting people over the heads with oars and stuff to keep them out of the boat."

Serenity stood up. "Well, Ms. Miller, I'll tell you. I am tired of being hit over the head. I am just real real tired of it. Sometimes I think I'd be better off dead."

I looked up at her. The look in her eyes made me look away. This girl had a serious problem, and I wanted to help her, but even more than wishing I could figure out how to help Serenity, I wished I could go back to Denver. I wished I could turn back time. I wished I could refuse to put that note in the slot. No, I'd go even farther back than that, back to lunch the day before. If I could go back to the cafeteria that day, I would scoot over and ask Marcy to sit beside me, and I wouldn't even care what Ivory said about it either.

Chapter 5

W
hen Serenity left, I just sat in my chair and thought about Marcy Willis. From where I sat now, Marcy looked totally different. From a principal's point of view, she seemed like a kid who needed help. Oh, sure, I had told Rendi that the Six-Pack had been trying to help Marcy, but it was a plain lie. I had felt a little bad for Marcy, but I didn't like to dwell on it.

"Is this seat taken?" she had asked that last day at lunch. The seat was beside me, and I had my bag on it to save it for Stephanie.

"Marcy," Ivory said from the other side of the table. "You know that seat is taken. You can count, can't you?" She paused, sort of cocked her head, lifted her eyebrows, and looked straight at Marcy. "Duh? One, two, three, four, five." She pointed at each of us as she counted. "Five of us here, so of course that seat is saved for our missing member."

"I just thought . . . " Marcy let her voice trail off.

I glanced across the table at Katie, and she was kind of biting at her lip. Katie and I didn't really care about Marcy, but what had happened with Marcy the week before when she wanted to sit with us in assembly made us feel sort of weird and embarrassed. Ivory had told her to quit trying to hang around us. Katie and I had talked about how we wished Ivory wouldn't be so mean sometimes, but, of course, we hadn't said anything to the others.

"Move on, Marcy," said Felicity that day in the lunchroom. "Like we told you before, we aren't looking to take any more girls into our group." She laughed, "I mean, we couldn't be the Six-Pack then, could we?"

Marcy looked like someone had slapped her. "Don't get excited. I don't want to be part of your silly group," she said. "I was just looking for a place to eat. You make me sick."

Marcy walked off, and Ivory hit the table with her hand. "Okay, that does it," she said. "It's time we taught that little twit a lesson."

"That's right," said Taylor. "She is really getting on my nerves."

Before the lunch period was over, we had a plan. We would type a note on a computer in the library and print it out. The wording was important. It would say, "Dear Evil Group, You have been mean to me for far too long. Now you will pay. My father has a gun, and I will bring it to school." We would sign it, "Marcy."

I knew it was wrong to write that note. I knew schools got really excited about guns. "Wait, guys," I said when Stephanie read back what we had settled on. "This is serious stuff we are messing with here. We could get in big trouble. I mean BIG."

"Why would we get in trouble?" Ivory shook her head. "No, it's whiny little Marcy who will be in trouble."

"She will tell them right off that we wrote the note," said Katie.

"So? How can anyone prove we did it? All we have to do is stick to the same story, right?" said Felicity.

"Let's take the pledge," said Ivory. "I promise to tell absolutely no one that we wrote a note. Pledge," she said, and she looked at each of us until we pledged.

"Hey," I said, relief flooding through my body. "If we use the library computer we will be listed on the sign-up sheet. They'll know right off."

"True," said Katie, and I could see that she was glad, "and it would be too risky to use a computer from any of our houses."

"Okay," said Ivory. "I've got it. There's this Internet cafe place across from where my mom works. I'm supposed to go down there after school today to wait for her so we can go shopping." She flipped her hair away from her collar. "I'll go to the computer place first."

"Great plan," said Felicity.

"Marcy will know we did it," I protested.

"Good," said Ivory. "Maybe it will teach the mouse a lesson!"

"Yeah!" Taylor rubbed her hands together, like she was dusting them off. "We won't be bothered with Marcy Willis anymore."

That night I couldn't eat any of the pizza Rendi ordered for us. I didn't want to talk to any of my friends on the phone either. I turned off my cell. "If anyone calls me tonight," I told Rendi, "tell them I went to bed with the flu."

"What's wrong?" she asked. I told her I had a problem, but I didn't feel like talking about it yet. I went to my room and thought about whether I had the nerve to quit the Six-Pack. If I did, I knew my former friends would hate me. They might even do something to me worse than they were doing to poor Marcy, and who would I run around with? I didn't want to walk down those halls alone all the time.

Finally, I did go to bed, telling myself that Marcy had brought it all on herself, and besides maybe Ivory would change her mind. Maybe she would come to school tomorrow and say the whole thing was off. She didn't, though.

I got to school late on purpose. There were only five minutes left before first hour when I got to my locker. I didn't care if I was late. I just wanted to avoid the Six-Pack, but they came while I was digging for my algebra book.

"Where have you been?" Ivory sounded a little angry.

"Had trouble getting Rendi up again," I lied.

"Well, we had a meeting without you, and you've been elected." Stephanie laughed.

Ivory held out her hand, and I saw the piece of folded white paper. "Here," she said, "take this into the library and put it in the book drop. Hurry."

"Someone might see me."

"So what? Don't you have a book to drop in? You most always do," Felicity said.

"I don't have one this morning." My stomach was starting to hurt. I looked at Katie, but she was staring at the floor.

"You'll think of something to do there," said Taylor.

"We'll all walk down there with you, but hurry. If we're late, it will call attention to us," said Ivory, and we started to walk.

My legs felt heavy, but I kept moving. Taylor got to the library first. Her hand shot out to open the door, and she held it for me. "After you," she said.

I didn't think I could move, but I did. Mrs. Evans was standing right by the spot at the counter where the book drop was. She looked up from her work and smiled at me. She had a book in her hand about Abraham Lincoln being killed. I had been wanting to read it because part of it is told from the viewpoint of John Wilkes Booth. I knew I was on the waiting list, but I started to talk to her about it anyway. "Oh," I said, "is it my turn yet?"

"No," she said, and she smiled at me. "There is still one person ahead of you." Just then a fight broke out between two boys over by the door. Mrs. Evans rushed over there yelling, "Stop that at once."

I figured no one was watching me, but I was still careful. I put my hand on the edge of the counter, moved up close so no one could see, and bent over to drop the note in the slot.

"Get to class everyone," Mrs. Evans said, and she went out the door, a hand on each boy's arm. I didn't know that Ivory had taken the book until we were outside of the library. "It's your reward," she said, and then she said that part about how I'd have it read in no time.

"Good job," I heard her say before we separated, but I couldn't say anything, not a word.

Marcy was in first period class with me. When Mrs. Golliver gave our assignment, I sat in my chair writing numbers on my paper. They weren't the right numbers. I didn't even try to copy the problems correctly. My stomach hurt really bad. It wasn't long before the voice from the office said, "Mrs. Golliver, will you send Marcy Willis to the office please?

Marcy passed my desk on her way out. I kept my eyes on my paper. I remember how I thought I would have to do the algebra assignment all at home that evening, but of course, that didn't happen. That was one algebra assignment I never had to do at all because before the day was over Rendi had checked me out of that school for good.

It wasn't thirty minutes before that same voice on the PA system called for me. That walk to the principal's office seemed so long. My friends were already in the outer office when I came in. Katie looked scared. I couldn't tell about Felicity, Taylor, or Stephanie, but there was no doubt about the look on Ivory's face. She met my gaze and shot me one of her, "Don't you dare fail me" messages with her eyes.

I didn't fail her. They made us go into the office one by one and face questioning. Mr. Kaylor, the principal, and Mrs. Howard, the counselor, played "good cop, bad cop," with us. Mr. Kaylor walked around his office. "Come on, Robin," he yelled, "tell us the truth. We know you girls wrote that note."

"I don't know what note you're talking about," I said.

Mrs. Howard sat at the end of Mr. Kaylor's desk. She leaned over to touch my arm. "Robin, I've always thought you were a good-hearted girl. I can't believe you liked doing something like this to another person."

I could feel my lower lip start to quiver, but I swallowed back the tears. "I don't know what you mean."

Mr. Kaylor called all our parents, and we had to sit outside the office while he talked to them. The door was closed, but Ivory's mother's voice came right through. She was yelling about how the school had no right to punish us if there was no proof we were guilty. I couldn't hear Rendi saying anything, but I knew by the way she had looked at me when we were all in there together that she knew I was guilty.

Now, sitting in the principal's chair in Prairie Dog Town, Oklahoma, I started wanting to talk to my mother. Rendi had written our new phone number on a piece of paper that she stuck in my skirt pocket just before I left. "In case you need me to enroll or something," she had said. I took out the number and called it. "Hello," she said.

For a second, I couldn't say anything, and I was afraid she might hang up. She didn't though. She knew somehow that it was me, and we didn't have caller ID on our new phone. "Bird," she said. "Is that you? Are you okay, honey?"

I found my voice then. "I'm okay. I just . . . well, I wanted to say I'm sorry for disappointing you. I mean with the Marcy thing. It was really bad for us to treat her that way."

"You're right, Bird, and I am proud of you for admitting it. Maybe one of these days you will want to write Marcy or call her. I think she should hear that you're sorry."

"Maybe so," I said. "I've got to go. I'm using the principal's phone, and I can't talk long. They don't give me any time to waste around here."

I heard her say, "Good," before I hung up.

I looked at the list of names Serenity had given me.

"Oh, the Purples." She took off her glasses, leaned toward me, and whispered. "I'd advise you not to see them all at once."

Mrs. Simpson and her advice were beginning to get on my nerves. After all, I was supposed to be running this place. I didn't protest, though. "We'll start with Nicole, then," I said. I turned to go back into my office.

"Wait," said Mrs. Simpson. "It might help if you know something about Nicole. She used to be a sweet little girl. The family lives next door to me. Well, two years ago her mother met some man on the Internet, left her husband and three kids for him. She lives out in California, they say. I don't think the child has seen her mother since."

"I see," I said.

I left my door open until Nicole came. "Come in," I said when I saw her in the doorway. "Close the door, please, and have a seat." I pointed toward the chair across from my desk. For a minute, I just looked at her. She was pretty except that I could see she wore too much makeup. Her dark hair was thick and curly, and her neck was the perfect length. She had on a totally awesome black outfit, but she looked scared.

"Am I in trouble?"

I leaned way back in my chair. "Why would you think that?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, I mean, why else would I be called down here?"

"I like your purple jacket," I said. "Do you wear it often?"

"Is this about Serenity Blair?"

"Serenity Blair?" I sort of twisted my face like I was thinking hard. "Oh, is she the girl who slapped someone this morning?"

Nicole tossed her curls. "I am the person she slapped."

"Ummm, any idea why she would do a thing like that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Who knows why Serenity does anything? She went off her nut, I guess."

"Hmmm."

"She's always making up wild stories and acting gooney."

"Hmmm."

"Well, she gets on everyone's nerves. I'm not the only one."

"I see," I said, "so, of course, her getting on your nerves gives you the right to be cruel to her. Is that correct?"

"Cruel? I'm not cruel."

"I hope not, Nicole. Not so long ago, I was young like you. I was cruel, Nicole, very cruel, and you know what? I can't go back and change that although I would like to do that."

She looked down and started to zip her purple jacket. "You may go now," I said. "It has been a pleasure to have this little talk with you."

She got up and hurried from my office.