On the Loose (29 page)

But they’re not looking at our history teacher. They’re looking at me. And pointing.

I hate my life. The only bright spot to this day is that it couldn’t possibly get worse.

“
Katie Parker to the office. Katie Parker to the office.”

The overhead intercom blasts my name for all the school to hear. Great, what now? Does the principal want to see me so he can laugh in my face too? Maybe give me detention for tackiest party moment ever?

I shrug my shoulders at Frances, gather my stuff, and head out the door.

I hope everything’s okay. What if Millie’s sick and they need me to come home? What if Maxine got pulled over for disturbing the peace with her bike horn again?

In the office the front desk secretary stuffs envelopes while smacking on gum. “Take a seat, hon.” She continues to stuff without even sparing me a glance.

“Um . . . I was called to the office. I’m Katie Parker.” Loser Extraordinaire. Most Unpopular. Least Likely to Get a Future Prom Date.

“Principal Wayman will be with you in a bit. He’s busy yelling at someone right now.”

Oh. How nice. Glad I caught him on a good day.

Ten minutes later (just enough time for me to imagine every possible horrible reason for being here), a lanky junior boy leaves Mr. Wayman’s office, followed by the principal himself.

“Katie Parker?”

I swallow. “Yes.”

The principal runs a hand under his tie then crooks a finger. “In my office.”

That was not a happy face. Apparently I am not here to receive the coveted student-of-the-month award.

I step into the man’s office with heavy dread resting on my gut. The interior does nothing to soothe my stomach. Total time warp. I think I just walked into 1985. Nice cracked “wood” paneling. The metal office furniture has more dents in it than my mom’s last car. And the peach and country-blue rug under his desk is the
pièce de résistance
. He just needs a Prince poster to hang on the wall.

Mrs. Whipple, the counselor, sits under a mallard duck print. She is the last person who should be in the position to help and advise people. I think she eats kids for dinner.

Mr. Wayman gestures toward the chair next to the counselor. “Take a seat.”

“I like your vest,” I say to the gray-headed woman. Her collection of quilted vests and matching denim skirts is beyond compare.

“We’re not here to trade niceties.” She holds up a pair of shoes. Angel’s. “Do you want to explain to us how these got into your gym locker?”

My heart beats triple time as I realize I am being accused of stealing. All because of Angel. Somehow, some way, she did this.

The principal’s chair squeaks as he shifts his weight to lean over his desk. “We’re waiting.”

“I . . . I . . . um.” Stop sounding guilty! I didn’t do anything. “I didn’t take those shoes.”

“Really?” Mrs. Whipple smirks. Did I mention she’s Angel’s aunt? Yes, she and Coach Nelson are sisters. I assume their dad goes by the name of Lucifer. “So these shoes just magically appeared in your locker?”

“I don’t know how they got there.”

“Do you really expect us to believe you had no idea they were in your locker?” Mr. Wayman’s face screams doubt.

“Yes.”

“Miss. Parker,” the counselor drawls. “These shoes, as well as Hannah Wilkerson’s, had been locked in each girl’s respective gym locker.”

I nod my head. Each locker has a built-in lock, and if the locker is shut, it can only be opened with the combination.

“And how is it you think I got into their lockers?”

Mrs. Whipple snorts and points a stubby finger. “You’re a smart girl, Katie Parker. And we know from your history you’re also a troublemaker.”

My mouth drops. “That isn’t fair. I’m not a—”

“Be quiet, Katie,” the principal warns. “Last semester there was some trouble between you and Angel Nelson, and she believes you’ve been harassing her.”

I jump to my feet. “That girl gave me a black eye in PE. Are you
kidding
me?”

“Sit down.” Mrs. Whipple glares above her bifocals.

The pressure of tears pushes at my eyeballs once again. “Angel Nelson is a coward and a bully. If anyone has been harassed here, it’s me.”

“Well, Miss. Parker, it’s not Angel Nelson who had the shoes in her locker, now is it?” The principal’s thick southern accent shreds my last nerve.

“What about Hannah? She’s one of my closest friends. Why would I steal anything of hers? And why would I leave the stuff in my locker?”

The counselor clucks her tongue. “Honestly, I’ve never been able to understand the mind of a thief.”

“I’m
not
a thief!”

“We are sending you home for the rest of the day.” The principal pulls out a form from his desk drawer and scribbles his name on it. “We want you to think about this situation for as long as is takes.”

“As long as it takes to fess up to something I didn’t do?” My hands tremble on my lap. “This makes no sense.”

The principal hands me a slip of paper. “Disciplinary Suspension” it reads.

I crumble it up and hold it in my clenched hand. “This is
not
fair.”

“Your foster parents have been called. Mr. Scott should be here anytime.”

I stand again. Shocked. Frozen. Outraged. “That’s it?”

The principal nods. “That’s all.”

“But know,” the counselors hisses, “we will be watching you.”

Mr. Wayman frowns. “One mistake, one more stolen item found in your possession, and we will punish to the fullest extent. We will not tolerate thievery.” He straightens in his leather chair. “Chihuahuas do not steal.”

With my suspension notice in hand, I grab my stuff and bolt out of the office. Deciding to wait for James in the parking lot, I bypass the front office waiting area, and cruise right into the hall.

And smack into Charlie Benson.

“Oh, hey, Katie, I—”

I jerk myself out of his grip and give him a slight nudge to get him out of my way. I gotta get out of this place. Now.

“What is your deal?”

I hear his voice, but I’m not stopping for him. Who cares about him? Who cares about this school?

“Fine. Be mad. I was just trying to look out for you Friday night.”

That stops me. I pivot and turn to face the jerk. “What?” With five good stomps I close the distance between us. “Are you serious? Do you really think I care what you have to say to me right now? Because I don’t. I don’t want to talk to you; I don’t want you to talk to me. In fact,” I poke my finger in his chest. “I don’t even want my plant anywhere near you.”

“Going to that party was really stupid.”

“Yeah, well you know what? Calling my house Friday night was really stupid. Because of you, my cover was blown, and Maxine stopped by the party and ruined my life.”

“You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

“That’s not for you to say, is it?”

“Excuse me for caring about you.”

“Did I ask you to?”

“No, but that’s what friends do.”

“Friends? I’ve had better treatment from Angel.”

“Oh, really? If I remember correctly, Angel gets you into trouble. I was trying to make sure you stayed out of it.”

“Well, maybe you should mind your own business. Why don’t you keep an eye on Chelsea, your girlfriend?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Haven’t you noticed how cozy she is with Trevor?” In some distant part of my brain, I immediately regret saying that. But the majority of my head doesn’t care a bit. I just got accused of stealing. I just got
suspended
, for crying out loud. I can say whatever I want.

He huffs. “Now you’re just trying to start crap.”

“They’re awful friendly with each other. I would think it would be a better use of your time to keep an eye on her rather than where I’m at during the weekend.”

“Whatever.”

“Right. Whatever.” Is there steam coming out of my ears yet?

“I just don’t want to see you get in trouble. Or get hurt. Is that so terrible?”

“But I
did
get in trouble. And I got humiliated. So thank you. What a great thing for a
friend
to do.”

“I meant
real
trouble. The police could’ve busted that party. Or someone could’ve gotten hurt. Or . . .” He runs a hand through his hair. “Forget it.”

“Wouldn’t I like to.”

“I’m sorry I messed everything up.” He shakes his head.

“No, hey, no problem. Who needs dignity?” I laugh bitterly. “If you hadn’t jerked my somewhat-redeemed reputation out from under me, then
this
would have anyway.” I wave the suspension notice in his face.

“What is that?” He snatches it out of my hand. “You’re suspended?”

My face burns crimson. “Yup.”

“For what?” His eyes scan the paper. “Stealing?”

“Yeah. Stealing. So now I’m a party-ruiner
and
a criminal.” I turn to walk away, but his hand on my wrist halts my attempt. “Let go of me, Charlie.”
Before I start clinging to your shirt and bawling
.

“Tell me what happened.”

I pull on my arm, but he doesn’t let go. “It doesn’t matter. Just back off, okay? I gotta go.” I try not to, but I can’t stop myself. I search his face for disappointment, revulsion. For any sign he believes I would do what that slip of paper says. I see only a blank expression.

With a final tug, I free my arm and turn away. “Forget it.”

“Tell me.” He moves in front of me.

I run a shaking hand through my hair. “Angel set me up. I don’t know how she did it, but she did. She planted some stuff in my locker.” And I tell Charlie, the boy I am totally furious with, the entire story.

He raises a thoughtful eyebrow, as his steely gray eyes meet mine. “I think I can help.”

My raw attitude flares again. “Look where your help got me Friday night. Just leave me alone and mind your own business.”

“Don’t be mad, Katie.” He tilts his head. “I said I was sorry.”

I stare at him and shake my head.

“You don’t need to be hanging around Trevor. I told you he was trouble.”

And you don’t need to be hanging around your Gucci-snot girlfriend, but do I butt in and tell you that? Um, no.

“I gotta go.”

“You still mad?”

“Yes, Charlie, I am.”

“And there’s nothing I can do to fix it?”

Shaking my head, I walk away. Leaving him standing in the middle of the hall.

“Nothing?” he yells.

I shuffle toward the main exit. “I don’t ever want to talk to you, Charlie Benson. Nothing you can say is going to change my mind.”

His voice calls out as I put my hand on the door. “I can prove you didn’t steal the shoes.”

My hand stills. “Well . . . now that changes everything.”

J
ames slams the
car door. “I never could stand that principal.”

“So you talked to him?” When James arrived at school, I waited in the car while he went in and spoke with the twins of terror, Mr. Wayman and Mrs. Whipple.

“Yes, for all the good it did. He didn’t hear a word I said.”

I study his face. “So you believe me?”

He rips his glasses off. “What kind of question is that? Of course I believe you.”

If relief were a blanket, I’d wrap myself in it and snuggle deep. I wasn’t sure how James would react—what he would believe. Despite the sheer hideousness of the day, I smile.

“Well, you deserve a day off anyway. You’ve been working really hard. Your grades are good, and you have a big part in a very important play.” He pats my knee and then starts the car. “Not to mention, you’ve had to put up with Maxine for a roommate.”

He’s right on the last part. Someone should nominate me for sainthood. Except for the fact I went to a party last weekend without my foster parents’ permission. The guilt of that little deception still gnaws at me.

I sigh. “Let’s just get out of here.”

James puts the car in reverse. Stops, and shifts it back into park. “You can drive.”

“Oh, no. No way. Remember—light poll? Crash? Many unhappy In Betweenies on Smith Street?”

He opens his car door and slides out. “Get in.” He notices I’m not budging. “You can do it.”

We switch places, and I settle into the driver’s seat. I adjust the rearview mirror, the side mirrors, the seat, check my lip gloss, my seatbelt, and finally change the radio station.

“Any day now.”

I shoot my foster dad a withering look and finally back the car out of the parking spot.

Dear God, if I hit a car before we get out of here, please don’t let it be an expensive foreign import. How about a nice, banged-up farm truck? Plenty to choose from here.

Though it takes us nearly twenty-five minutes to get there, I pull us safely into the Scott’s driveway.

“I did it.” I beam with pride. “I really did it! And I did a good job, huh?”

James opens the car door. “Yes, great job. Though you know at some point you’re going to have to drive faster than ten miles per hour.”

I level him with a frown. “Kinda ruining the moment here.”

Together we walk to the front porch.

Where three chickens wait for us.