Breaking Point (21 page)

“Normally, police won't discuss a case in progress. But Mary has connections there as well.”

Okay, so you're important. Cut to the chase, Charlie
. Then, I felt guilty. Maybe Charlie hadn't known about Old Carlos. Maybe he was as freaked out as I was. In any case, I had to talk to Charlie. It was good he was finding this stuff out. So, I said, “What did they tell her?” I couldn't believe the police were involved. It was supposed to be a prank.

“No leads yet.” Charlie's voice from the black-hole window. “Fingerprints are worthless—whole student body's had their hand on that knob. No one saw anything, so they figure the culprit arrived on foot.”

Culprit
. I wiped a sweat bead from my eyelid.

“All they have is a profile.”

“What's that?”

“Something police do.” Charlie's voice was louder now, confident. “Try to figure out what kind of person would do this kind of thing.”

“What type would?” Trying to match Charlie's bravado, like it was so cool the police were looking for us, like they'd never find out.

Charlie laughed. “He'd be a loner, they say. Type who doesn't interact well with others, hangs in the science wing or the computer lab.” He turned, and for the first time, I saw his face well. “Sound like anyone you know, Paul?”

That's when I got it. Charlie had always known. He'd meant to take out half the school while he sat safely in a portable. Failing that, he'd convince them it was my idea. I was the computer whiz who knew how to use everything. Charlie didn't even have a password for the school's computer. We'd always used mine. But this hadn't been my idea. I'd only been involved at the end.

“You're trying to pin this on me?” I said.

“'Course not.” His voice was calm. Good Old Charlie again.

“Sounds like it. Sounds like you're abandoning me.”

“Listen!” The word was a hiss. “I'm not abandoning anyone, but this is serious.” Serious, another hiss. “You can't go running out of chapel or talking to your friend, Pinky, like it's a miracle she's alive. You can't act guilty. I stand by my friends, but you can't be my friend and act stupid.”

The word stung. After all we'd been through, all we'd done, I still wanted Charlie's approval. I'd never get it, I realized, any more than I'd get Dad's. I looked up at Mom's blank bedroom window, and suddenly, I was tired, so tired I could cuddle beside her and sleep through the next week of school. I stepped away from the car, ready to leave. Then, I turned back.

“Are
we friends, Charlie?”

“Of course we are.” Charlie's voice was gentle again, almost loving in the darkness. “You're the best friend I ever had, Einstein. Otherwise, I'd throw you to the wolves and move on.”

And he would. I'd always known it.

I nodded, and he drove away, lights off, like a shark gliding silently through the night ocean.

Everything seemed almost normal the next morning. Almost. In religion class, it was more like a Monday, because across the aisle, Kirby was enlightening everyone about the frat boy who'd tried to feel her up at a Sigma Chi party over the weekend (“Puh-leeze! Like, he was cool, but not that cool.”) and Tyler James flexed in his too-small polo. Ryan Moorman, who was marginally in our lunch group, leaned over to borrow a pen, but I didn't have an extra one. I wasn't sure I'd brought
one
. Maybe they'd ignore the bomb like they'd ignored David's suicide. Maybe everything was okay.

But David's death hadn't affected them. This did.

Mrs. Sheridan looked like someone had to push her through the door. No one else noticed. They all kept flexing and talking, doing next period's homework or reading
Car and Driver
. Sheridan stood there. At five after, Meeks's voice blared over the intercom.

Meeks stood at the intersection of two green lines on the floor. It was near the spot where I'd stood the day of registration, when I'd first seen Charlie. Meeks's tie was undone. He watched us enter. Some people were talking, laughing, glad to miss class a second day. But most were quiet. And even though I hadn't wanted the bomb to go off, I was glad. Something had finally moved them when nothing else could. Meeks watched us. We filled the bleachers, some orderly, others stumbling with backpacks, running to sit with friends. Meeks's gaze saw us all. Most quieted down. Some talked on, oblivious. Meeks didn't yell for quiet or try to get anyone's attention. Just waited until we were all seated. Two police officers stood by the basketball hoop, watching, too. A few people looked at them. Most tried not to, the way you don't look at cops. Finally, Meeks's silence overtook the room. We all stared.

Meeks stared back. Did he meet my eyes? Impossible. When he started to speak, again, he didn't clear his throat.

“Something terrible has happened.” He paused for us to hear it. “As you may now know, an explosive device was found in a classroom yesterday. Difficult as it is for me to believe, the police hypothesize that it was set by one of our students.”

Around me, a buzz, people talking. A too-loud voice said, “Bet it was Emily!” and people turned to look. Someone laughed.

“This is a serious matter,” Meeks said, and everyone quieted down. “Mrs. Zaller entered that room with several students. But for her quick thinking, they might have been killed. Everyone in the wing might have been killed.”

I looked around. Stunned faces met my gaze. And there was Charlie, atop the side bleacher, shocked as anyone. Blending in. Meeks was still speaking. He had everyone's attention now.

“Shocked and saddened as I am by this incident, I know you must be also. We need your assistance in finding this troubled, troubled student. I urge you to search your excellent memories for any clue. The police inform me that there are usually warning signs of these tendencies. Ask yourself: Have any of my classmates behaved suspiciously? Or said anything to indicate a grudge against the school or Mrs. Zaller?”

I fidgeted, thinking of Charlie's profile, then stopped myself.

“I have asked the faculty to report the name of any student absent from morning chapel yesterday. I do not wish to alarm you. Still, I will not rest until I have ferreted out this evil in our midst.”

Evil
. I turned the word over in my mind. But what did it mean?

Meeks turned toward an upraised hand. “Yes?”

Everyone looked to see who it was. I did too.

It was Binky. Binky, who never spoke in class, much less in front of the whole school. She glanced around. Finally, she said, “What would happen, I mean, to the person who did this?”

“An excellent question, Miss … yes, uh, Miss…” Binky didn't help him. She was ranked first in our class, yet Meeks didn't know her name. Unbelievable. Finally, he said, “Unfortunately, it's a question I'm not qualified to answer. However, I assure you that any person who would do such a thing is deeply troubled and in need of help.” Meeks nodded for emphasis. “Your reporting their tendencies would only be to their benefit.”

Binky didn't respond, and Meeks dismissed us. We walked in silence. Somehow, I was in front, and I pushed through the yellow-painted metal door, its cold hardness resisting my shoulder. Everyone followed, fanning out to the classrooms, taking their seats in silence. I didn't open my religion book, just sat while, around me, everyone else fumbled with their backpacks.

Then, Tyler's voice boomed from the back. “All right, who's the psycho?”

A few people laughed. But it was a nervous laugh.

Somehow, I got through the morning. I talked to the usual people—Charlie's friends. It was pretty much like other days. But I felt like something was waiting behind me. Or above my head, like the raven in the Edgar Allan Poe poem, quothing
Nevermore
, whatever that meant, and ready to swoop. And maybe it was better that Meeks called me in at the end of fourth period, before lunch. Because I wouldn't have gotten through lunch anyway, not knowing. Not knowing was worse than anything. And when the office volunteer came to get me from history, his feet tyrannosauruslike on the hollow-floored portable classrooms, I knew why he was there. And I was relieved.

But I was freaking by the time I got to Meeks's office. Would I be expelled? Go to jail? Could you go to jail at fifteen? I didn't think so. But Mom would definitely lose her job if I was expelled. Sure, I'd been mad at Mom, but her job was our only money. She couldn't lose it. She didn't deserve this. What had I done to her?

Calm down
.

Charlie was leaving when I got to Meeks's office. Leaving—good sign. Big Chuck was with him. Bad sign. I could tell from Charlie's face he wanted to talk. Probably a good sign. Except he couldn't. Big Chuck didn't acknowledge me. He gripped Charlie's arm, supporting his son. And beyond them, Meeks sat, the American flag drooping behind him, like the president giving the State of the Union. He watched us, Charlie and me. So Charlie couldn't talk.

I thought maybe the police would be there, like they'd been at assembly. It was good they weren't, wasn't it?

“Close the door, Paul.”

Meeks's voice grabbed me. I moved toward it, then back to shut the door. I'd never seen his office before. I stopped a second, entranced by the doorknob, shiny yellow brass, not like the cheap brushed chrome knobs on the other doors. My mind was doing ninety. What had Charlie said? What had Meeks asked? My story had to match Charlie's, but what had he said?

Chill
. Meat's word. Charlie had said nothing.

“Have a seat, Paul.”

Even my name sounded wrong. Meeks usually called everyone Mr. or Miss. Still, I decided Charlie had denied it. He was walking away, wasn't he? I'd deny it too. They knew nothing, or the police would be here. The lighting made me squint. I looked down.

“I've meant to call you in for a while, Paul.”

Hope tickled my heart. Maybe this wasn't about the bomb at all then. Please, let it not be about the bomb. If I could get away with this one thing, I'd never do anything wrong again. I said, “You have?”

“Yes. Since the Blanco boy's death. Unfortunate business. You had a part in that, I know.”

Relief flooded me like sunlight. I tried not to grin. This wasn't about the bomb. It wasn't about the bomb. I didn't think to wonder why he wanted to see me about David's suicide. I'd had nothing to do with that. I'd been an innocent bystander.

“Paul?”

“Well, I was there, sir.”

“Yes.” Meeks's fingers played here-is-the-steeple. “We were deeply saddened by the incident, deeply saddened. Still, your mother is an excellent employee, and we'd had no other problems with you.”

Open the doors. Here are the people
.

“Paul?”

Problems with me? Was he blaming me for David's suicide? Impossible.

“We saw your friendship with Charlie Good as an excellent sign,” Meeks said.

The steepled fingers went flat. He
was
blaming me.

“I barely knew David Blanco, sir.”

“No?” His eyes didn't believe me. “And yet, you were with him when he took his life. And now, another incident where it seems you were involved.” Meeks's eyes wandered to the window. Mine did, too, saw what his saw, Charlie and his father leaving out the downstairs exit.

“Incident?” Downstairs, classes were changing. It should have been too far to hear, but I did, every conversation and laugh, all those feet walking, running, swarming like flies on a dead man's eyes.

“I think you know, Paul.” The noise stopped, and I heard Meeks's voice. “The bomb in Mrs. Zaller's room. His eyes returned to me. “We wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. That's why we spoke with Charlie first.”

“Charlie told you I was involved?”

“Were you involved, Paul?”

“What did Charlie say?”

Meeks's fingers rose again. “Charlie told us all we needed to know.”

I stared at him, realizing. Charlie had ratted me out. Gave me up to keep himself out of trouble. I felt something in my throat, bile, and clapped a hand to my mouth. My head was pounding, pounding. Meeks yelled, “Come in!” and I realized it was the door. But it kept on.

Rhonda, Meeks's secretary, stuck her head in. “Mrs. Richmond is here.”

Mom rushed in. Could she stop me from puking, screaming? But she was pulling hairs, saying, “Oh, Paul,” over and over, pulling, pulling her hair. And I felt sicker at how much I'd hurt her. She was my mother, after all. I began to cough, cry before I could stop myself, and before I could stop myself, my words came like puke. “It wasn't just me. Shit. It was Charlie's idea, Charlie and I. But I didn't want to hurt anyone. I mean, it wasn't just me. I didn't want to hurt anyone.”