Don't Get Caught(69)

Once the kids finish singing, Mayor Hite calls Mrs. B to come stand beside her. The mayor puts an arm around Mrs. B and says, “The humble person she is, Mrs. Barber has asked I keep this short. As most of you may have heard, Mrs. Barber just completed her fortieth year in the Asheville school district. That’s twenty-two years in the classroom and eighteen as an administrator. Any celebration of Asheville wouldn’t be complete without a few words from one of its most dedicated and beloved servants.”

More applause—aren’t people’s palms getting numb?—and Mrs. B smiles and waves, waiting for the noise to die down. Then she starts thanking people for coming, and that’s when I stop paying attention and instead scan the crowd, wondering if the Chaos Club is nearby. It’s frustrating, thinking they’re possibly within spitting distance, probably laughing at me at this very minute. One of these days, I’ll learn to be strong in defeat, but today is not that day.

Mrs. B tells a quick anecdote about her first day as a teacher at AHS and talks about all the fantastic people she’s had the pleasure of teaching and working with. It’s a nice, short speech that she ends by saying, “And with all of you here, I’d like to announce that next year will be my last as principal.”

Even my mouth drops at that.

“Forty years is a long time, and I’d like to retire while I still have the energy and health to do some traveling. It’s time someone else takes over and leads this school and these wonderful students.”

I immediately look to Stranko, who’s as stunned as the rest of us. I’d have thought he’d be doing backflips at Mrs. B announced retirement. Instead, he’s slack jawed. When the applause begins, it takes him a few seconds to join in, and even then it’s halfhearted.

“Now enough about me,” Mrs. B says. “Before we unveil the renovated statue, we’d like to show you a fantastic short documentary about our beloved Zippy made by one of our students, Ellie Wick.”

Mrs. B motions to Ellie, who squeezes my arm before stepping onto the stage and waving. She looks great up there, and as instructed, I ogle appropriately. Ellie then motions to a table off to the side, and unexpectedly, there’s Wheeler, sitting with one of his stage crew friends at the soundboard. I guess with everything going to shit last night, he still wants a good seat in the house for the unveiling.

Ellie’s documentary is shown on the screen behind the stage, and the speakers on both sides boom the sound. Ellie and Wheeler did a private screening for all of us when it was completed. Coming in at just over seven minutes, the film interviews the widow of the eagle’s creator, Gregor Hitchens, about the statue’s production and gives a detailed travelogue of the various display sites the eagle had before the school was chosen as its permanent location. The video ends with a montage of different Asheville citizens, from the mayor to a local sportscaster to Mrs. B herself, all saying, “We love Zippy!”

We’re nearing the start of this montage when I sense movement behind me. Someone’s so close I can hear breathing, and I turn, expecting to see some dope crowding me for a better view of the movie. But no, it’s not just any random dope.

It’s Jeff Benz and Becca Yancey.

And unlike everyone else, they’re not looking at the movie.

They’re looking at me.

My body goes cold.

“Hi, Max,” Becca says. “Can we ask you a question?”

“Um, sure.”

Benz leans in with a professional-grade shit-eating grin.

“What’s it like to fail?”

? ? ?

My brain tries to wrap itself around the revelation, looking for clues in the school year that I should’ve picked up on or some forgotten history with either of these two that would have led to the water tower setup, but there’s nothing.

Benz says, “I mean, you, or whoever, makes that announcement at the assembly, promising to expose us, and now here we are at the celebration, and you can’t deliver. That either makes you a failure or a liar. Which is it?”

Becca gives Benz a little shove.

“Knock it off,” she says. “Max is a good guy.”

“A good guy you got suspended,” I say.

“We gave you a choice,” Benz says. “Remember that.”

The anger I feel is a different, deeper kind of anger—an I would blow up the world if I could anger. I’ve waited nine months to discover who was in the Chaos Club, focused an unhealthy amount of time and thought on the question, and now that I know the answer, I really just want to see the world burn—with Benz as kindling and Becca as the match.

“Why are you revealing yourself to me now?” I say.

“Because it’s over,” Becca says. “You can’t pin anything we’ve done on us.”

“You don’t mess with the Chaos Club, Max,” Benz adds. “We’re too smart to get caught. Why do you think we’ve lasted this long?”

“Besides, there’s nothing you can do about it now. Jeff graduates tomorrow, and I’m moving next month,” Becca says. “He didn’t want to tell you, just have it be a mystery you go your entire life without solving, but I thought we should put you out of your misery.”

“Wow, thanks. That’s really kind of you.”

“No, it’s us who should be thanking you for getting Stranko and Hale out of our way,” Benz says. “If you hadn’t, we couldn’t have pulled our final prank. But I have to say, I’m a little disappointed in you. You went to those lengths to clear them out, and the best you could do, or whoever that was who cut the curtain, is to drape a ‘Chaos Club Sucks’ sign over Zippy? That’s pretty embarrassing, man. But don’t worry, we took yours down and did a prank a bit more memorable for the day.”