Also Known as Rowan Pohi (14 page)

I was done lying. "Yep."

She just stared. Her face had gone to stone.

I glanced at my watch. "Listen, I've got to go to this disciplinary thing, and I can't be late. There's a bunch of stuff I need to tell you. Can we talk later?"

"I don't know." She held her body rigid as she walked away.

"Heather!" I called, but she had already disappeared around the corner.

When I walked into Dr. LeClerc's office, four people sat staring at me from the other side of the table: LeClerc, Ms. Ryder, plus a man and a woman I didn't recognize.

"Sit down, Bobby," LeClerc said, motioning me to an empty seat. His tie featured dozens of tiny tennis rackets in all different colors. "You already know Ms. Ryder. This is Mr. Nylander, who is head of our guidance department. And this is Dr. Horn, dean of student affairs."

Nylander nodded; Dr. Horn offered a weak smile.

Relax, Bobby,
I told myself.
You've got nothing to lose because you've already lost everything.
No reason to feel nervous, so why did I? My throat was parched. There was a pitcher of water on the table; I poured myself a glass and quickly drained it.

"This meeting of the Whitestone disciplinary committee is now in session," Dr. LeClerc said curtly. "This committee only convenes when a serious issue arises, one that demands our immediate attention. Your situation certainly meets that standard, Bobby. For nearly a hundred years, the motto at Whitestone has been Achievement and—"

The door opened and a man entered, causing everyone to look over. At first, I didn't recognize him. He was freshly shaved, his hair slicked back, and he was wearing a blue suit jacket that was too small for him.

My father.

"I'm Bob Steele."

I was flabbergasted.

"I'm sorry, but this is a closed meeting," LeClerc told him.

"Not to me it isn't." He shut the door behind him and pointed at me. "I'm Bobby's father. He's a minor, and I've got a right to be here."

LeClerc looked uncomfortable. He glanced at the other members of the committee.

"Very well, then, please have a seat, Mr. Steele. But I would ask you to remain silent while this committee deliberates."

"Fine by me."

He took the seat next to me and gave me a quick nod, which I did not return. With his bad grammar, my father could only make things worse for me. I really didn't want him there.

"Achievement and Integrity," Dr. LeClerc began again. "That is our motto here at Whitestone Preparatory School, and it is more than just a pretty slogan to put on our stationery. It is a motto we live by. We take it very seriously. Now, the basic facts in this case are not in dispute. It seems quite clear, Bobby, that you have violated the second principle: integrity. You deliberately misrepresented yourself by pretending to be someone else, both on your application and during your brief time here at White-stone. Isn't that true?"

I didn't trust myself to speak but I managed a half nod.

"We are talking about identity theft," Mr. Nylander put in. "That's a very serious thing. If—"

"He didn't steal anybody's identity," my father interrupted. "He made up a new one."

Even though I was alarmed to have my father interrupt the proceedings, I realized he did have a point.

"Mr. Steele," LeClerc warned.

"There's a big difference," my father insisted.

Impatiently, LeClerc drummed the table. "Mr. Steele, you will have your turn to speak. But if you cannot remain quiet and let this committee do its work, I will have to insist that you leave this room. Is that clear?"

My father lowered his eyes. "All right."

"I have a question for you, Bobby," Dr. Horn said. Her short, severe haircut contrasted with her kind face. "Why did you do it? Why did you change your name?"

"I, uh, well, I don't know," I stammered. "At first it was a crazy idea we had, me and a few friends, sort of fun, you know, just goofing around, seeing if we could pull it off. We weren't trying to hurt anyone. But then..."

My voice trailed off.

"The prank took on a life of its own," Dr. Horn said, finishing for me.

I nodded. "Yes."

"You must have realized that eventually we would find out," Ms. Ryder said, fingering a sheet of paper. "What about this letter of recommendation? Is Mr. Ramón García a real person?"

"We made him up too," I admitted.

"
You
wrote that letter?" LeClerc demanded.

'A friend did."

"Who?" my father demanded.

"I'd rather not say." I couldn't see any reason to throw Marcus under the bus. "It doesn't matter."

Mr. Nylander cleared his throat. "Where did you come up with the last name Pohi?"

I started to lie, but then I remembered the vow I'd made to myself.

"It's IHOP backwards. International House of Pancakes."

As I suspected, Dr. LeClerc did not have much of a sense of humor. "So, you were trying to make fools out of us, is that it?"

I shook my head without looking at him. "I swear, it was like she said"—pointing at Dr. Horn—"just a harmless prank, Dr. LeClerc. We never really thought Rowan would get accepted. After he did, I got the idea to, you know ... become Rowan Pohi and come to Whitestone as him."

LeClerc shuffled some papers. I closed my eyes. For some peculiar reason, the image that appeared in my head was that off-limits room I'd seen at Heather's house. The forbidden bowl of chocolates. I should never have set foot in Whitestone. Seth was right: I didn't belong here. I opened my eyes.

Leaning back, Dr. LeClerc sighed. "Look, Bobby, you are not giving us much to go on. This is the time to speak up for yourself. Can you tell this committee why you shouldn't be dismissed from Whitestone?"

I didn't answer because my mind had gone blank. I honestly couldn't think of one good reason.

"Well, I guess that's about it, then," Nylander said.

"Hold it," my father objected. "You said I could have a turn."

"Very well, Mr. Steele," Dr. LeClerc said wearily. "Go ahead."

I closed my eyes, dreading what my father would say or do next.

My father leaned forward, putting his hands on the table. I was sorely aware that they were hands unlike any others in that room. Dark-stained. Muscular. Dangerous. I didn't like to see him displaying those hands, especially with the jagged stitches across his knuckles. They reinforced the idea that he didn't belong in this school. And neither did I.

"I'm not an educated man. Never did the college thing. I work with these." He held up both hands as evidence. "I own CarWorks, an auto-repair shop on Fifteenth and Remington. If we ever worked on your car at my garage, well, I hope we didn't gouge you too bad."

I winced. This clumsy attempt at humor fell flat, as I knew it would.

"I had no idea Bobby was going to Whitestone Prep," he continued. "I figured he was going to Riverview, like he did last year. Why wouldn't I? Bobby has never given me any trouble, so I had no idea there was anything fishy going on until you called me last night. After I got off the phone, me and Bobby had a talk. I told him I was mighty mad about it. Am. That's between us."

He shifted in his chair.

"This kid's in trouble for pretending to be someone else, am I right? The question is—why'd he change his name like that?" He looked at me. "He won't say why, but I think it's partly because his name is my name."

He paused and I was thinking,
Oh God, no, don't...

"Last year me and my wife ... let's just say things turned ugly between us. Real ugly. I got arrested. My name was in the paper. Maybe you heard about it. Iron Steele. That's me."

Pause.

"Please get to your point, Mr. Steele," LeClerc said carefully.

"I paid for what I did." My father lowered his voice. "I spent more than two months in jail. I felt shame, a boatload of it, and still do. I lost my wife forever. That's my cross to bear. But there's no reason why
this
Bobby Steele"—he pointed at me—"should be punished for what I did. Alls he wanted was a fresh start. Believe me, there's worse things in this world."

He made a fist with his right hand and tapped it lightly against his mouth.

"I'm not saying what my son did was right. It was flat-out wrong, and Bobby knows it. But he's doing good in his classes, isn't he? Didn't he win some kind of scholarship for his writing?"

LeClerc nodded. "That's true."

"All right, then," my father concluded. "Maybe Bobby didn't get into this school the right way, but that don't mean he don't belong."

I closed my eyes, cringing at the way he had mangled that sentence. I prayed that he was finished; fortunately, he was.

LeClerc tapped his pen on the table. "Thank you, Mr. Steele. Your comments are helpful. But I must state for the record that there's a reason we ask students—
all
students—to go through proper admission procedures. We want to make absolutely sure they belong here at Whitestone. It's not just for us; it's for their benefit too. Not every student flourishes in this kind of intense academic environment."

My father looked troubled. "What are you saying?"

"I'm just saying it may well be that Whitestone isn't the right school for Bobby."

"Wait a sec," my father objected. Until now his tone had been mostly congenial, but now I could see dark storm clouds gathering. His voice turned hard.

"His old school, Riverview, got a substandard rating from the state," he said. "Substandard. That's the school he'd have to go back to. So don't try to tell me it would be better for Bobby to leave Whitestone and go back to Riverview. I wasn't born yesterday."

"Mr. Steele, please don't raise your voice," LeClerc warned. "Calm down."

"I spent three years in Mississippi when I was in the navy," my father shot back. "They have a saying down south: 'Don't piss on my back and tell me it's raining.'"

Well, that shut everybody up.

"I think we get your point, Mr. Steele," LeClerc finally said. He pushed back his chair and stood. "Thank you for your perspective. Bobby, I'm going to ask that you and your father please step outside while the committee deliberates."

D
R. LECLERC'S SECRETARY GOT MY FATHER A CUP OF COFFEE
.
He thanked her and took a seat on the couch; I sat at the other end. At first there had seemed to be some insane logic in returning to Whitestone, but now it felt like a colossal mistake. It was barely nine thirty, but already I was exhausted. I swear I could have crawled back into bed and slept for a solid month.

"This is one fancy school," my father said, looking around. "You see all that marble in the foyer? That stuff don't come cheap."

"No, it doesn't," I replied, correcting him like I always did, not that it ever made any difference.

I knew I should thank him for coming to support me, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. It felt wrong having him at White-stone. He just didn't fit in this world.

"Don't you have to go to work?" I asked.

"That's one of the perks of owning your own business. If you want to take the morning off, you can." My father sipped his coffee. "So, I wasn't just talking trash in there, was I? This school is a big upgrade from Riverview."

"Yeah, they've pretty much got everything here," I told him. "There's an Olympic-size pool, a rifle range, even a planetarium, brand new."

"No kidding. What about the teachers?"

"Real good."

"You gonna do any sports?"

"I'm trying out for football. Was."

I got a sudden image of Coach Throckmorton that made me jump up and start pacing.

My father stared. "You okay?"

"What's the point of just sitting here waiting around?" I fumed. "I want to leave."

"Sit down, Bobby," he said calmly. "It would be stupid to leave now. We gave it our best shot in there. Now let's see how this all plays out."

Hearing him use the word
we
irritated me something fierce.

Right then my cell phone buzzed. A text message from Marcus.

Hey puke-head Y arnt U in school?

I texted back: Cant talk TTYL.

I shut off my phone and stowed it in my backpack.

"You won a scholarship, huh?" he said. "I guess you inherited your mother's brains."

"I guess." It was unusual, his asking all these questions about me. And somehow it didn't seem right for him to mention her.

He placed his coffee on the table next to him. Then he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

"Thirteen months. Since your mother left. I miss her."

I was stressed out, so I wasn't feeling sympathetic. "You make it sound like she just bailed. Just waltzed off."

He raised his eyebrows. "What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing," I mumbled. "Forget it."

"No," he persisted. "C'mon, Bobby. Spill it."

The way he was looking at me, I decided to take a chance.

"She didn't just leave," I reminded him. "You drove her away."

There. I said what I'd never said before. I worried he might try to grab me with those dangerous hands, but at the same time it was a relief to finally get that out in the open.

He didn't go ballistic. Instead, he met my eyes.

"Maybe I did drive her away. Yeah, okay. I did. Would you believe that every single night of my life I lie in bed wishing I could have a do-over? So I could undo what I done?"

I didn't answer.

"It wasn't just what happened that night either. There was plenty of other times I didn't treat her right."

He was talking to me now, something he hardly ever did. Neither one of us knew how to do it, not with each other.

"I'm sorry, Bobby."

My throat was tight. I could feel him reaching out to me.

"I know."

"That's water under the bridge," he said.

Cold, dark water,
I thought, though I conceded his point.

"You told Dr. LeClerc you lost her forever," I said. "But Mom could still come back. I mean, it's technically possible."

He exhaled. "I got the divorce papers six days ago."

I was stunned. "Mom contacted you?"